Page 8 of The Lyon and the Unicorn
“It’s quite simple, Miss Peacock. Miss Martingale can remedy her lack of social graces, but other young ladies will never be able to remedy their lack of kindness. A young woman who’sspiteful to her core will always remain so. Therefore, it’sshewho commands our pity, for she deserves little else.”
She frowned, then the confusion in her eyes morphed into outrage.
“Well!” she said. “I have never been so—”
“It was mypleasure, Miss Peacock,” Murdo said, bowing over her hand. “But I fear I cannot meet yer exacting requirements and would beg to be excused from a second dance.”
Murdo withdrew and crossed the floor to join his cousin on the edge of the ballroom. He grimaced as a pair of young ladies he passed met his gaze and giggled.
Clearly young women hungry for a male partner hunted in pairs.
“I’m in agony,” Simon said. “Miss Goodchild trod on my toe.”
“Beasts, the lot of them, these women,” Murdo said. “I can’t think why Englishmen subject themselves to such savagery. They’d be pretty enough if they smiled—but they’re all spiteful teeth, envious eyes, and brittle bones.”
Simon laughed. “Miss Peacock wouldn’t do for you—she’d snap in two beneath you in the bedchamber. You need a woman as savage as yourself.” He drained his glass, then clapped Murdo on the back. “Back into the fray.”
“Not Miss Goodchild again?”
“I promised her two dances. What man would I be if I didn’t keep my promises?”
“A man with only one broken foot?” Murdo suggested.
Simon chuckled, then made his way across the floor to a red-faced Miss Goodchild.
Murdo plucked a glass from the tray of a passing footman, leaned against the wall, and cast his gaze across the ballroom.
Miss Peacock stood among a group of young ladies who glared in his direction. He raised his glass to them and chuckledto himself as they tilted their noses in the air and looked away. The Duke and Duchess of Pittchester were dancing, and Murdo caught sight of their sons—identical to the point where he couldn’t tell which was which—helping themselves to the contents of the punch bowl.
What a complete and utter waste of an evening.
Perhaps he could slip outside and spend the remainder of the evening with the night creatures—they’d be less predatory than the creatures inside.
The skin on the back of his neck tightened, as if light fingertips caressed his flesh, and he caught his breath.
Then he saw her—sitting alone in the corner.
She was unremarkable in every aspect save one—the unsettling expression in her dark eyes. And those eyes were fixed on him.
A jolt hit his body, as if he recognized her on a primal level. An uncomfortable heat threaded through his blood, and he curled his hands into fists to temper the shudder vibrating through his bones.
Her gaze exuded sharp insight, as if she looked right into his soul. A knot tightened in his heart, as if an invisible thread connected the two of them. She set her glass aside and straightened her stance.
Her eyes belied her age. They were the eyes of someone who’d lived a lifetime already. As they continued to stare at each other, her brow furrowed, and she lifted a hand to her left arm and rubbed it.
Aye, lass, I see yer pain.
As if she heard his thoughts, she stiffened and lowered her hand.
Her gaze still on him, she reached for her glass, but she knocked it over and the contents spilled onto her skirts. She broke the gaze, and Murdo felt a sharp tug at his soul, like a cordsnapping. He rubbed his eyes and glanced about the ballroom. But the dance was in full swing, the rest of the party oblivious to the two souls who’d shared a connection.
Fool, that’s what ye are, Murdo McTavish.
As he scolded himself, the gray-haired duchess approached the young woman whose dress now bore a dark stain. Rather than admonish the young woman, she touched her cheek in a gesture of affection. The young woman, who must be the unfortunate Miss Martingale, smiled at the duchess, and Murdo’s heart soared to see it—the glimpse of joy behind the sorrow. Then the duchess waved at a footman, who scurried over with a cloth. The duke approached, and the young woman stiffened again, but he patted her hand and gave her the indulgent smile of a doting parent.
The kind of smile Murdo had never received from his own father.
A knot of envy swelled in his gut at the obvious love they shared.
