Page 41 of A Scot's Pride
“I can’t believe I said that.” She shook her head again, glancing around herself nervously. “I did not kiss you to trap you into marriage.”
“I didna think ye did.” He touched her arm, wanting to take her hand back, but she glanced down to where he touched her much as she had the first time they’d met—not a good sign. “If ye recall, I asked ye for a kiss first.”
She nodded, her lips pinched. “You did. So, are you saying you intended to trap me?”
Bryson wrinkled his brow, smiling through his confusion. “No. I dinna think anyone could trap ye into anything.”
Her smile faltered, and she flicked her gaze away. No longer was there anything jovial in her expression or her tone. “I may not have a choice in the matter with the way things are going with Riley and Ashbury.”
“What does that mean?”
Freya peered back at him then, her eyes serious and filled with disappointment. “My cousin Arthur.”
“Ah, yes, the elusive cousin.”
“He is going to be here this week.” She slid her palms down the skirt of her dress.
“Is he?”
“Aye. And I’m certain it is for my hand.” Then she glanced up at him sharply. “I don’t tell you this for you to offer me a pity betrothal.” Her face flamed harder. “I can’t seem to control my mouth.”
Freya stood suddenly. And Bryson stood with her. She looked ready to bolt, and he felt the need to anchor her in place.
“Lass.”
“No, no.” She cut him off with a wave of her hand. “None of that ‘lass’ stuff. Every time I’m around you, I seem to lose my mind. It’s a reason why we could never be together.”
The words, uttered in such a rush, stung him more than he would have thought.
“I have to go.” She turned her back on him and started to walk hurriedly away.
“Wait.” Bryson gripped her arm, wanted to pull her against him and kiss her one more time, if only to prove to her that everything she was saying was nonsense and that a kiss between them wasn’t just for fun. “I didna want to kiss ye for a lark.”
“A lark? What?” She looked almost frantic now in her need to escape.
“I know we started off on shaky ground, Freya, but I have come to enjoy your company.”
She stared up at him, startled, wide-eyed. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”
“On the contrary, I am in full control of my faculties.”
She shook her head at him. “No, Lord Lovat. This is…this was…a mistake.” Then she lifted the hem of her dress and took off toward the house at a run, leaving him utterly confused.
15
The Ladies’ Marriage Prospects Bulletin
General Alec Hay, Earl of Errol: 20,000 per annum. Castles and estates in Scotland. House in Edinburgh. House in Mayfair.
Before this week, the only person that Freya had successfully tried to avoid was her mother. And she had become quite adept at it, having done so since she was a little girl. Every other problem in her world she typically met head-on, feet planted and ready to rumble.
But she had also been working hard to avoid Bryson, and now she could add her cousin to the list.
She’d gone from being a woman who was ready to battle the world to one who was constantly running. And it wasn’t a change she liked at all.
For all he was worth, Bryson had been coming by daily with Ashbury. Even brought Lucy around as well, hoping to entice Freya out of hiding, she was sure. But Freya couldn’t face him. Not after the garden incident. She’d been so mortified at her behavior. My goodness if anyone knew… And the two of them being together was impossible. He was in search of some wife from a list, and the two of them had done nothing but butt heads since they’d met.
Well, she supposed that wasn’t exactly true. There’d been a lot of time she’d spent admiring him—enough so that she’d planted her lips on his.
