Page 46 of A Scot's Pride
“You have to stop looking at me like that,” she demanded under her breath.
“Like what?” That seemed to intrigue Bryson, for his smoldering smile deepened, and he raised a questioning brow—but not as if he were wondering, more like he knew and wanted to hear her say it.
Freya swallowed around the dryness of her throat, trying to remember how to form words. “As if I’m a piece of chocolate, and you’ve never had dessert.”
Bryson laughed, then leaned in to whisper against her ear. “Or like as a man who’s tasted sweetness and needs another helping.”
Freya’s face flamed red, and her heartbeat kicked up a notch. “You can’t say such things.”
“Why not, if it’s true?” He winked.
She didn’t have an answer to that, mostly because her brain had stopped working.
When the dance concluded, he offered his arm, and she took it. Really, what was the use of running away from him? Besides, she felt extremely off-balance and holding onto him seemed the only way to keep herself upright.
They walked toward the punch table. “Can I get you a glass?” he asked.
“Yes, please.” She turned to study the dance floor, watching Leila dancing with one of the same young men again. The smile on her sister’s face was wide and genuine and so full of life. At least she was having a good time, even if it was going to set tongues wagging. Freya suspected that her sister would relish being a scandal versus being embarrassed by it.
Bryson let out a little growl as he joined her, handing her a glass of punch. “That man is a menace.”
“Which one?” she said, following his line of vision to see it was placed on her sister’s dance partner.
“Name’s Campbell. A real bas—” He cut himself off before he said what she presumed would have been “bastard.”
“Do tell me more.” She gave him a saucy grin and nudged him with her elbow.
But Bryson didn’t seem amused. “There’s not enough time in the world to list why he’s the worst sort of man, but suffice it to say, I wouldna let your sister spend any time with him. And especially no’ alone.”
Freya frowned in her sister’s direction. Leila looked halfway to smitten already.
“He’s that bad?” she asked.
Bryson nodded as he stared at the man. “We were acquainted once.”
“In Scotland?”
“Aye. He’s one of the lads from my regiment, actually.”
“Ah.” So quite familiar, she surmised.
“Fell on hard times. I tried to help him out, but he’s no’ the sort to be grateful.”
Freya grimaced. So, the man had offended Bryson. Given what she knew of the Scottish lord, offending him wasn’t always hard. Perhaps it was merely a minor thing. It wasn’t her place to judge.
“Ashbury is going to ask your sister to marry him.” Bryson glanced down at her, something about his expression captivating her as he changed the subject. “Do ye think she’ll say aye?”
Freya laughed, then looked to where Riley and Ashbury were dancing as if they were the only two people in the room. “Do you think she won’t?”
He grinned. “I admit when I first encountered her, I would have guessed she wasna interested, but as I’ve watched them together, I’ve changed my mind. They are a perfect match.”
“I couldn’t agree more.”
“And ye, Miss Freya, are you engaged to your cousin yet?”
Freya nearly choked on her punch. Well, she did, in fact, choke on her punch and started a coughing fit that turned several heads. Bryson took her cup and slapped her hard on the back, and she wheezed for air as the droplets she’d inhaled were expelled.
“If I’d known my question was going to have that kind of reaction, I’d have asked ye after ye finished swallowing.” Bryson chuckled.
