Chapter Four

Bryson had no idea what to expect when he next saw Miss Ramsay. As a child, he’d heard the details of how the Newhall men lost their hearts upon first sight of their future brides, but as he’d grown older, he’d concluded the stories contained is much myth as truth. The Maxwell men did love deeply. That, he decided, was the biggest contribution to the romantic evolution of the stories. His male ancestors had, no doubt, been struck by the beauty of their future wives. The notion that a person could instantly know they’d found that one person meant for them wasn’t logical. He would have liked to discount altogether the idea that any one person was meant for another. The relationship between his parents made that difficult.

As a lad, he had never truly fancied himself in love. He’d been besotted, but hadn’t believed any of those ladies were forever. That didn’t stop him from making a fool of himself. Making a fool of oneself was another requirement of the Maxwell men. In truth, he hadn’t minded that so much. Until he reached his twenty-fifth year. Then, he learned that it wasn’t the beauties who were befuddling his brain, but lust, pure and simple.

Now, staring over the balcony at Miss Ramsay as she danced with Viscount Hensley, his brain muddled, not with lust, but with an emotion he hadn’t thought himself capable of: jealousy.

Not only did the man step too close during the quadrille, Bryson easily discerned the way his gaze slid down the front of her bodice. No gentleman ogled a woman. Bryson took a step toward the stairs, but was halted when a large hand clapped him on the back.

“I did not think to see you here tonight.” The hand fell away, and his father stepped up beside him

“I believe Mother requested my presence tonight,” Bryson replied.

His father snorted. “That is not always a guarantee of your compliance.”

At fifty-five, his father still cut a dashing figure with dark hair, only slightly peppered with gray, and broad shoulders that turned the heads of women half his age.

The earl lifted a brow. “Which wench has captured your attention?”

Bryson frowned. “What makes you think that anyone in particular has captured my interest?”

His father laughed. “One always does. I understand Mrs. Jones is on the prowl for a new paramour.”

“On the prowl for a new husband, you mean.”

“I thought she enjoyed her freedom,” his father said.

“She enjoys spending money.”

Interest lit the earl’s eyes. “You speak as a man with experience.”

“Let us just say that the lady learned I was not in the market for a wife.”

His father returned his attention to the dance floor. “I can depend upon you to show good sense.”

Bryson looked at him. “No talk of love and the joys of marriage?”

To Bryson’s surprise, he grinned. “There are some women who make far better paramours than wives. Besides, the Newhall men have yet to make a bad choice.”

That was true. The three generations of women that preceded Bryson had all been of good character. But they had also been gently bred. Miss Ramsay was well spoken, but she lacked the sophistication of ladies born into society. Bryson suspected her to be the daughter of a lower lord, perhaps even a second or third daughter. For all he knew, she could be a merchant’s daughter.

Stirling himself was a businessman. He cared not whether a man—woman—was nobility or not. It would be like him to introduce into society a woman of common birth. What would Bryson’s family think of him falling in love with a commoner?

“That young lady there.” His father nodded toward the right side of the ballroom. “The lass dancing with Hensley, she is a Flower of Scotland.”

Bryson looked sharply at his father. “A descendant of Robert the Bruce?”

His father nodded. “She is a beauty. Look at that red hair. Fire incarnate.” He chuckled. “Leave it to Stirling to find her.”

“Aye,” Bryson murmured. “Leave it to Stirling.”

The music ended. Bryson couldn’t prevent his gaze from following Miss Ramsay as Hensley led her from the dance floor. He caught sight of her fingers wrapped around Hensley’s forearm. He led her to a private alcove on the other side of the room. Of course, Sir Stirling had reserved the alcove for his party.

Bryson forced back a compulsion to follow. He couldn’t chance his father guessing his feelings this early on. He shuddered to think of the encouragement—and interference—his father would offer. Of late, even his mother had begun to hint that a man of thirty-two might want to consider settling down.

Bryson’s gut clenched when Miss Ramsay emerged from the alcove on the arm of the Marquess of Wilshire. The man was a bigger womanizer than Bryson. She looked up at him and smiled. She hadn’t smiled for Hensley. But then, Hensley was an ass. Wilshire, on the other hand, was the quintessential charming rogue. 

They reached the dance floor just as the orchestra struck up the Scottish reel. He stared, transfixed, as she grasped the hands of those in her group—Wilshire to her right—and danced in a circle. She’d worn the turquoise dress, just as he’d known she would. How had he known that? The skirt flared, and she smiled broadly as they separated. She clasped Wilshire’s hand and skipped down the middle of the dancers. Her slippered toes protruded from beneath her hem, in perfect rhythm with the music. He could almost feel her breathless joy. A strange sense of pride swelled.

The orchestra picked up the tempo and she didn’t miss a beat. To Bryson’s surprise, even Wilshire seemed to catch her delight and laughed along with her, pranced and turned with an exuberance Bryson had never observed in him. His blood chilled. The man was falling in love.

Ridiculous. William Masters, the Marquess of Wilshire, did not fall in love. But that didn’t stop women from falling in love with him. Few had resisted that smile, the dimple in his chin.

Had Stirling orchestrated this introduction, as well? Damn the man.

How many men were pursuing her? Bryson shifted his gaze to the alcove and caught sight of four more men inside. Bloody hell, she had a veritable harem. How was he going to get her away from that horde? The same way he got any other woman: with the Newhall charm. Again, Bryson searched for her on the dance floor and located her turning with two other women. The song was coming to an end. If he didn’t act quickly, he wouldn’t stand a chance of claiming a single dance. One dance was all he needed.

“I would say it is time for a dance.”

Bryson started from his thoughts and looked at his father. He was grinning.

He knows.

For the second time that day, Byson’s mind screamed run! But he nodded and left his father staring after him as he strode to the stairs, then descended to the ballroom. He took the last step as the song ended, but realized that he couldn’t reach her before Wilshire returned her to the alcove where the pack of wolves waited.

***

Kenna couldn’t remember having danced so much in a single night. She wasn’t so vain as to believe that men lined up to dance with her in greater numbers here than back home because she was such a beauty. Nae. Her connection to Sir Stirling was the key to her sudden popularity. Six years ago, when she turned sixteen and attended her first dance, she would have been thrilled for such attention. Now, at twenty-three, the attention was tiresome. Not to mention, the din of the two-hundred guests made her ears ring.

She smiled up at Mister Barnes as he led her from the dance floor.

“You are an excellent dancer,” he said.

“Thank you,” she said.

“Might I fetch you something to drink?” he asked.

Kenna glanced at the alcove on the opposite side of the room. Crowded as the ballroom was, it would take them at least ten minutes to reach that haven. A table with champagne and lemonade sat against a nearby wall.

“That would be very nice,” she said. “Champagne, please?”

He beamed and started them toward the table. Kenna caught sight of Lady Phoebe and prayed she didn’t encounter the woman. After this morning’s exchange, she wasn’t sure what to say to her. When they reached the refreshments, Mister Barnes handed her a glass of champagne. Kenna sipped the cool, bubbly liquid. She did like champagne very much.

Mister Barnes stared into his own champagne glass. “I wonder, Miss Ramsay, if it is not too forward, if you—that is, if you would be amenable—”

Oh no. Kenna groaned inwardly. He was going to ask if she would allow him to call on her. How could she refuse without hurting him?

He lifted his eyes to her face. “What I mean to say is, it would be an honor—”

“There you are, Miss Ramsay.”

Kenna jerked at the sound of the familiar voice. Lord Newhall stepped up beside them.

“Please, do not say you forgot that this is my dance?” he said.

She blinked in surprise.

“I beg your pardon, sir,” Mister Barnes said. “The lady and I are in the middle of a private conversation.”

Lord Newhall’s gaze remained on her. “I hope I am not interrupting anything of importance.” He winked.

He winked?

“I have waited quite some time for my dance.” He shifted his gaze to the young man. “I feel certain you understand how frustrating that can be.”

Mister Barnes’ mouth thinned.

Lord Newhall didn’t wait for an answer. He took the glass of champagne from her hand and set it on the table. “I believe the orchestra is about to play a minuet. Shall we, Miss Ramsay?” He cupped her elbow and began walking.

Minuet? Her heart fell. She was about to embarrass herself in front of this man for the second time in one day.

“I-I cannot—”

“One moment, Miss Ramsay,” he whispered.

She frowned. “What?”

He guided them around a group of women, then said, “You cannot what?”

“What?” Lord, she sounded like a goose. “I cannot dance the minuet.”

“Really? But you are an excellent dancer.”

“Reels and country dances are easy. I do not know the steps to the minuet.”

“A walk in the garden, then?” he said.

She blinked, then narrowed her eyes. “I do not take walks alone with men.”

“Forgive me.”

“You did not request a dance from me,” she said. “You lied.”

“Are you sorry that I saved you from that pup’s advances?”

She wanted to tell him that he was presumptuous but, in truth, she was relieved not to have to deal with Mister Barnes’ infatuation.

“Wait.” She stopped.

He halted.

She glanced around. No one seemed to pay them any attention. “You were eavesdropping on our conversation.”

“I couldn’t help overhear,” he said. “If I interrupted, I can take you back to him.”

“Nae,” she answered too quickly.

He flashed white teeth and her breath caught. He was uncommonly handsome.

“Perhaps just a turn around the ballroom?” he said. “We can step out onto the balcony.”

She would prefer to return to the alcove and drink more champagne. Would he do that?

“I am tired. Would you mind if we rested in Sir Stirling’s alcove?”

Something flickered in his eyes, but he smiled down at her. “Of course.”

They started walking again.

A gentleman nodded at him and the viscount nodded back.

“How are you liking Inverness?” he asked once they’d passed the man.

“It is very…big.”

He laughed. “That it is. I understand you are from Skye. Have you visited Linview?”

Her heart skipped a beat. “Aye—once. The ocean is beautiful there. You have been?”

“I grew up there.”

Her mouth fell open. “You grew up on Skye?”

“Well, until the age of twelve, when my father sent me to school.”

She stared. “You were sent away as a lad of twelve? That is terrible.”

He laughed. “Not so terrible.”

Kenna shook her head. “A lad should no’ leave home so young.”

He smiled gently. “My parents visited often, and I spent summers home. Until I was seventeen.”

“Then what happened?” she asked.

“I preferred to stay…with my friends.”

She regarded him. “You preferred to stay where there were fine ladies, you mean.”

“There was that,” he agreed.

They reached the alcove and he stood aside so she could enter first. She took two steps and halted. Neither Sir Stirling or Lady Chastity were in the alcove.

“Is something amiss?” Lord Newhall asked.

She turned.

“You are fatigued.” He cupped her elbow and walked two paces, then eased her down onto the divan. He sat beside her.

She shouldn’t be alone with him, but she had suggested coming here. Would it be rude to say she wanted to leave? She looked at the open door. With the curtain not pulled, that meant they weren’t really alone. Two ladies passed and glanced into the alcove.

“Am I boring you, Miss Ramsay?” Lord Newhall asked.

She looked at him. “Oh, no. I am sorry.” Kenna leaned against the divan back and tried to relax. “Did you like living on Skye?”

“Indeed. There were a great many places for a lad to investigate. Many treasures to be found.”

She thought of her cousin and smiled. “Aye. My cousin feels the same.”

“Feels? How old is he?”

“Ten.”

Lord Newhall laughed. The smile reached his eyes and warmth rippled through her. “He is a lucky lad. Tell me, does he fish?”

“Aye, he is a master fisherman. I taught him.”

“You?” Curiosity shone in his eyes. “I am something of a fisherman, myself.” He grinned, and she imagined a dark-haired boy, knee deep in a shallow pool as he pulled in a pike. 

“It is a shame I did not know you then,” he said.

Kenna frowned.

“You could have taught me how to fish.” His gaze darkened. “Perhaps you could still teach me.”

“I imagine you are a very skilled fisherman.” He was probably skilled at everything he put his mind to.

“I know a beautiful pool.”

“A faery pool?” she asked.

He gave a slow nod. “The water is turquoise, much like your dress, and there is a waterfall.” His gaze darkened. “We could fish, then drink champagne.”

Kenna couldn’t help a laugh. “I do no’ think most people drink champagne when they fish.”

“There is a first time for everything,” he said. “Would you like me to take you to that pool?”

Her heart lurched. See a faery pool on Skye? Aye, she would love nothing more. She would pull off her stockings and stick her feet in the cool water and turn her face up to the scant sun. Even on overcast days—which were most days—she drank in as much warmth as she could.

“It is quite beautiful. Like you,” he murmured.

The vision evaporated. Kenna narrowed her eyes. “You are wasting your time trying to woo me.”

Amusement lit his eyes. “Indeed? Why is that?”

“You might think we would have been friends on Skye, but you are wrong. You would have never known of my existence.”

“I know of your existence now,” he replied.

“Only because I am friends with Sir Stirling. Oh, why did he have to discover that I am a descendant of Robert the Bruce?”

“It is an honor to be descendant of the Bruce.”

She grunted. “A descendant born on the wrong side of the blanket.”

He gave a slow nod. “That explains much.”

Kenna stiffened. “Really? There is no need for you to waste any more time in my company, then.”

He frowned. “Miss Ramsay—”

She shot to her feet. “Leave.”

He stood. “Miss Ramsay, you mis—”

She spun and took a step toward the door. A hand closed around her arm and she whirled to face him, but mis-stepped and stumbled. He caught her. His arms tightened around her like iron bands. She found herself crushed against his chest and snapped her eyes up to meet his gaze. He stared down at her, brow furrowed, dark eyes filled with worry. His fingers flexed on her waist.

His gaze dropped to her mouth.

Her heart jumped. He is going to kiss me!

His head lowered.

Kenna froze, startled by the warmth of his chest against her breasts. Butterflies fluttered across the inside of her stomach.

His mouth touched hers.

“Lord Newhall.”

Kenna jumped back at the reprimand in Lady Chastity’s voice. Lady Chastity and Sir Stirling stood just inside the doorway. Lady Chastity’s eyes were narrowed. Sir Stirling entertained that same, strange smile she’d noticed that morning in the park

“Sir, I feel certain you are aware that to make advances to an unmarried woman can ruin her reputation,” Lady Chastity said.

“That was not my intention, Lady Chastity,” he replied. “In fact—”

His gaze jerked past Lady Chastity and Kenna started at sight of Lord Wilshire.

Lady Chastity and Sir Stirling stepped away from the door.

“Am I interrupting?” Lord Wilshire asked.

Kenna’s cheeks warmed. He knew exactly what he had interrupted.

“I believe this dance is mine,” he said. “Unless you prefer to stay here, Miss Ramsay.”

“Nae,” she blurted.

His eyes gleamed. He was enjoying himself.

“We had better go.” Without looking back at Lord Newhall, Kenna left.