Page 53 of Taming the Scot
To put an end to this torment.
She kept reminding him they were here to find him a bride, and he’d wanted to burst out at least a dozen times in the last hour that he was no longer looking. That she was the woman he wanted for the rest of his days.
Giselle and Jaime exchanged a look with each other and then him. “Fresh air sounds like a splendid idea,” Jaime said, reminding him of their presence, which he’d nearly forgotten about. “If ye’ll excuse us, we are going to find our husbands and do the same thing.”
“Aye, it’s verra stuffy in here,” Giselle added, fanning her face.
Bronwen watched the two women rush away with a puzzled look, then glanced back at Euan. “It is rather warm in here. I could use some air too, I suppose.”
Thank the saints. Getting her away from the crowd had been easier than he anticipated. Euan offered her his arm, and they took their punch cups through the throngs of ballroom dancers and chatterers until they crossed over the threshold into the night air. The sun had yet to set all the way but cast a grayish-purple glow over the back garden.
Several other couples milled about in their own corners. Hushed whispers reserved only for each other, and his chest swelled with anticipation. He led Bronwen to a corner of their own, leaning his elbow against the stone rail to steady himself.
“How are ye enjoying the ball?” he asked, taking a sip of his punch and wishing it were whisky. Good heavens, but he felt as though he were a wee lad asking the first lass he’d ever met if she cared to dance. Only this was so much bigger than that.
She grinned, glancing back toward the dancers inside. “Quite a bit more than I anticipated.” Her gaze slid back to his. “But I must apologize, for ye’ve yet to dance with any of the other lasses. And it would seem the only one ye’ve had yet to talk to besides me was Lady Mary.” She shook her head and placed her punch cup on the railing. “And I dare say that was no’ what ye expected.”
Euan chuckled softly. “No’ at all.” He set his cup on the railing and then took Bronwen’s hand in his, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles. “Everything save for Lady Mary is exactly the way I want it.” Then, he raised her hand toward his mouth and pressed his lips to the fabric of her knuckles.
Bronwen sucked in a breath, her eyes wide as she stared at him. “Captain?”
Now. Now was the perfect time for him to confess everything. He had her full attention, and they were not in danger of being interrupted, at least not yet. If he didn’t do it now, he might lose the opportunity.
With a deep breath, he plunged ahead. “I do no’ care about any of those other lasses. And I do no’ want to talk to them. Ever since ye stormed my castle, Bronwen Holmes, ye’ve laid siege to my heart. I must confess how verra much I admire ye. And that I wish to make ye my wife. No’ anyone else. I want to spend the rest of my life with ye. Dancing with ye. Laughing with ye. I love ye. And I can no’ imagine feeling that way about anyone else. I do no’ want to feel that way with anyone but ye. When I think of my future, of my family, it is with ye there, right beside me.”
With every word he uttered, her eyes grew wider until they were twin moons peering back at him, glistening with tears. Her lips had parted in a small O, and she looked shocked at his confession. But she wasn’t saying anything. Her hands were trembling in his, and he had the sudden fear she might bolt.
“My sisters adore ye as much as I do. And I’m saying all of this now because Bronwen, ye would make me the happiest man alive if ye would agree to be my wife.”
She shook her head slowly at first, then faster. “I am flattered, sir, but I can no’ accept your proposal.”
Euan was stunned. She yanked her hands away from his grasp. This was not at all what he’d expected to happen. Certainly, he thought she might be confused, but a flat-out denial? A pain started somewhere in the middle of his chest.
Her words gutted him worse than any cannonball on the battlefield ever could have. “Why?” he managed to say.
Bronwen swiped at a tear that fell down her cheek. “There’s too much we do no’ know about each other. Too much ye do no’ know about me.”
“Then tell me,” he said earnestly. “There’s nothing ye could say that would make me change my mind.”
She shook her head all the more, biting her lip as tears spilled down her cheeks lovely cheeks. Recalling the lesson in the garden at Drum, he pulled out his handkerchief and handed it to her. Bronwen took the offer and dabbed at her eyes.
“Ye will be happier with someone else,” she said in a voice that was tight with emotion. “Someone who was born and bred to be your wife. I am less than common, Euan. Less than everyone. I will only sully your bloodline and your reputation. No’ to mention that of your sisters’, all of them.”
Euan was reeling from her words. Who would dare think she didn’t deserve to be his? “I do no’ care where ye were born or to whom, Bronwen. I’ve never cared about that sort of thing. I know I love ye, and I want no other.” It was as simple as that in his mind.
However, it seemed to go so much further in hers, beyond where he could fathom.
“Ye should care,” she insisted.
“Nay I should no’. That does no’ make ye who ye are, and it bears no weight on how I feel. I love ye.”
“Och, nay, Euan. Ye can no’. Ye must understand.”
But he didn’t. He stared at her, confused, hurt. She made no sense. All he could comprehend was that the woman he loved was refusing him because of what other people might think about her upbringing. God, it was so strange, but he realized how Bronwen worried much more about bloodlines than even he had.
“I’m sorry.” And then, she turned and fled down the wide stone steps of the balcony into the garden before he could pull her back or explain that none of that mattered.
Whispers buzzed like a horde of bees from those who’d witnessed her hasty retreat, but Euan didn’t give a damn about them. All he cared about was the woman running away from him.
