Page 48 of A Scot's Pride
“I suspect she would have loved to, though with men like Campbell in attendance, I’m glad she’s at home. I’d have had to march her right back into the carriage.” He mumbled something under his breath, likely something derogatory about the fellow.
Freya wished she could dig deeper into his dislike of Campbell. The fact that he didn’t even want his sister around the fellow made her think Campbell was some lascivious rogue. What other reason could there be for the vehemence? For his warnings?
“Why are you here tonight?” she asked instead.
Without hesitation, Bryson said, “I wanted to see ye.”
The words affected her more than she could have guessed, warming her from the inside out. He wanted to see her. Came all this way from London to the country and attended a silly country dance—for her. No one had ever done anything for her, let alone so many things. Freya swallowed.
“Why have ye been avoiding me?” he asked.
“Me? Avoid?” she said coyly, feigning ignorance.
“Aye. Dinna deny it. I’m fairly certain ye were doing it on purpose.”
Freya let out a soft chuckle. “I was.”
“Why?”
She slightly tightened her fingers on his arm. “Fear, I guess. Like we spoke about before.”
Bryson’s arm flexed a little, the muscles rippling beneath her fingertips as he pressed his arm close to his body. The back of her hand touched the side of his rigid torso as if he were trying to protect her, pull her in against him, if only a little bit. “What are ye afraid of?”
“You. Myself.”
“And what? That we may hold an affinity for each other? Is that so terrible?”
She felt his gaze on her and saw him peering down. In the moonlight, his eyes were shiny, flecks of white in the gray reflected from the sky.
It was an honest question, one she had a simple answer to and wasn’t afraid to admit anymore. “Now that you say it, and now that I’ve spent a week torturing myself, I think it is not so terrible.”
“Torturing yourself?” Even in this dim light, the arch of his brow and the slow curl of his lip were enticing.
Freya gave his ribcage a little nudge with her elbow, which only made him increase his hold on her, which in turn ratcheted her heartbeat up a few notches.
She drew in a deep breath, hoping that her voice would sound mostly normal when she spoke. “Oh, yes. Do you know how hard it is to hide from you? You were everywhere. Always there.” She laughed at this, so he would know she was teasing.
“I admit, the last week without your company has been a misery.” Bryson’s tone was serious.
“And why is that?” she asked softly.
“When I’m in their company, Ashbury talks on and on about your sister, and your sister has nothing to say except about Ashbury. And I’ve no one to talk to about the monotony of it. I would have rather been back at Almack’s in London being henpecked by prospective mothers.”
“Oh, my. That is bad. And you think I’d be a good conversationalist?”
“I dinna think, lass. I know ye’d be good to talk to, as we’ve had many conversations. We’ve had a few that I’d like to forget, but I think the good ones outweigh the bad.”
Freya nodded with a small smile on her face. “I like talking to you too.”
Bryson stopped suddenly, turning to face her. They were beneath a large tree—
maybe oak or yew—it was hard to tell in the dark. Behind them, the dance hall loomed in the distance. She could make out figures dancing through the lighted windows, but they were so tiny from where she stood she couldn’t tell them apart. The music barely reached this far, so they stood with the sound of night bugs, a gentle breeze and the occasional call of a bird of prey.
While she stared in the distance, trying to avoid looking at Bryson, he touched his fingers to her chin and gently guided her back. She blinked up at him, her mind going to mush. Could he see how her body leaned toward him, feel the tremble in her chin? He was so incredibly handsome, even under the darkened sky. The intensity of his gaze lit something inside of her that made her knees grow weak.
“What are we doing?” he whispered.
She had no idea, and she seemed to have forgotten how to speak too. She shook her head, then nodded, seeming to be at a loss as to how to answer or respond.
