Page 33 of A Scot's Pride
Bryson watched Riley squeeze Freya’s arm as she mouthed “thank you” and then stood to take Ashbury’s arm. The ladies had clearly spoken and understood each other’s feelings. If only Bryson could know what those were exactly. But, short of demanding they tell him, it would be impossible, for such questions and demands would be seen as heathen behavior, and the last thing he needed was for the baroness to associate Ashbury with the heathen likes of Bryson and his Scottish background. Ashbury would never forgive him if he were the reason a wedding didn’t take place between him and Riley.
Bryson offered Freya his arm, but just as she’d stared at him an hour before trying to decide if she would offer her hand in greeting, she gaped at his elbow as if taking hold of it would give her some horrible disease.
Baroness Grysham came up beside her daughter and gave her a fleeting look that Bryson wholly understood from his own mother growing up, and it was a “behave yourself” look if he ever saw one.
“Miss Freya,” Bryson prompted with a gloating wink.
She took his arm with a long sigh that could have been heard all the way back in London. Even though he wore a jacket and a shirt beneath, he felt the steely coldness of her fingers seep through the fabric.
Riley and Ashbury were way ahead and out the door already, with the baroness running after Riley with a parasol.
Freya stopped at the door to grab one herself; he guessed to avoid the badgering. For the briefest moment, she raised her brows at him, a twinkle in her eyes that brought him back to when they’d gone to Hyde Park and the whole parasol conversation.
Bryson inhaled the fresh country air and glanced down to see that Freya, too, was breathing in. She’d let go of his arm now that her mother was out of sight, and he wouldn’t push it. She’d also made a show of opening her parasol, though as soon as the house was out of sight, she closed it up and dumped it in the grass.
“Remind me to pick that up on our way back,” she said.
Bryson chuckled.
“I suppose you want to know why we left London.” The lass wasted no time getting to the heart of the matter. It was one of the things he admired about her. She wasn’t coy but straight to the point. Sometimes brutally so.
“I admit I’m curious, but I didna want to pry.”
She laughed. “If you didn’t want to pry, you wouldn’t be here.”
The lass had a point, but he felt the need to go a little deeper. “Ashbury is my oldest friend, and I came for him.”
“Ah.” She nodded and bent to pick up a mallow flower. As they walked, she plucked the petals.
“I also came to apologize again,” he continued. “I am truly sorry ye overheard that conversation at the ball. It was no’ my finest hour.”
“To tell you the truth, Lord Lovat,” she tossed the shredded mallow flower aside, “I had stopped thinking about that evening altogether until you showed up.”
Bryson grinned. Talking to her was ever so much fun. “Is that so?”
“Yes.” She nodded matter-of-factly. “I have thought nothing of you or your terrible insults.” Her nose went into the air.
Bryson laughed, then stooped to gather up another mallow flower, drawing their walk to a stop. As they stood in the center of the path, he plucked the petals one at a time, his eyes on hers. “She hates me. She hates me not.” With each declaration, he removed a petal and let it flutter between their feet.
Freya shook her head. “I really don’t hate anyone, my lord, but I did come close that night.”
Without thinking, Bryson tucked the half-plucked flower in her bonnet, his fingers grazing her temple as he did so.
“Oh, my, what a wonderful gift, a half-dead flower,” Freya said sarcastically with a small grin. “Actually, seems fitting for our situation, doesn’t it?”
Bryson cocked his head to the side. “And what is our situation?”
“Two people who are forced to get along for the sake of those we care about.” She glanced down the path where Riley and Ashbury were well ahead, two tiny figures well out of earshot.
Bryson looked back at her, keeping his face and tone serious. “I dinna feel forced to get along with ye, lass.”
“Ah, true, you had no problem showing your outright disdain before. My apologies for the confusion. With no one around, we needn’t continue being pleasant.”
Bryson shook his head. “Ye mistake my meaning. I dinna feel forced to get along with ye because, despite it all, I rather enjoy your company. I wish there were a way I could make up for the hurt I caused. Honestly, I do.”
“Well, I suppose I can thank you for coming along with Ashbury.” She squinted over his shoulder to the couple meandering ahead of them. “Lord knows he needs the boost.” She quickly glanced back at him, biting her lip as if she’d not meant to say that aloud.
“It’s true. He is rather shy.”
