Page 18 of Never Kiss a Scot
She didn’t miss the difference, and she had to agree, at least silently. She was indeed quite taken with the tall, brooding Scotsman. Joanna knew this topic was taking a dangerous turn. She didn’t want Charles to tell her brother that she was ready to run off to Gretna Green with Brock.
“Once upon a time, I was taken with you.”
Charles’s eyes lit up. “Were you now?” He lounged arrogantly against the bookshelf, and she retrieved the last of the books from the floor.
“I was, and then I grew out of that infatuation. I’m sure it will be the same with Lord Kincade.”
Charles laughed. “I’m not sure about that. That fellow seems to have had the good fortune of kissing you, where others have not.” He winked at her and then left her alone.
Joanna stared around the library, feeling listless. Her sense of refuge in this room had been destroyed, for now at least. When she finally left the library, she could see the tea was well underway, but she did not wish to join them. Ashton had thrown Brock out, and she didn’t want to sit in a room without him. She went upstairs to her bedchamber instead. After she closed the door, she threw herself rather indelicately onto the bed and buried her face in the mess of pillows. She was not a child. She would not cry, no matter how much she was hurting. She drifted off to sleep and was woken several hours later by a knock upon her door.
“Who is it?” She sat up and tried to compose the mess of her hair, which had partially come undone during her rest.
“Your brother.”
Joanna stiffened. Ashton wanted to talk. Of course he did. No doubt he’d spent all bloody afternoon preparing some lecture or speech on her behavior. Before she could refuse him, he opened the door and stepped inside. He closed the door behind himself and leaned back against it.
“Joanna, about what happened today…”
She held up a hand. “No. You do not get to lecture me. Not after how you behaved. You threw Lord Kincade out.”
Her brother bristled. She was one of the few people who could actually penetrate Ashton’s naturally calm demeanor.
“He waskissingyou! What if it had been our mother or one of the other guests? You would be ruined! You would have to marry him, and a cloud of shame would fall upon you, upon all of us, like”
“If you say like Father, I warn you” She was not like their father. He had gambled and lost their fortunes when she had been young. The shame and scandal had driven their father to an early grave. It’d taken years for their mother to piece their social lives back together, and Ashton had borne the duty of restoring their fortune by what means he could. It had made him somewhat ruthless in the world of business, and sometimes that ruthlessness followed him home.
“I know you aren’t like Father, but Joanna, you must see it from my perspective. You were kissing a stranger, and his hand was up your skirts and…” Ashton’s face turned red as he seemed to realize he was going into too much unnecessary detail about her encounter with Brock.
“I can do what I please.” Ice dripped from Joanna’s words, even though her whole body tensed with the thought of how ruined ladies had no real life. “It’s not as though I have any real prospects for marriage, is it?”
“Why on earth would you say that?”
“Because it’s the truth. You’ve been trying to bribe men from here to Paris with a hefty dowry, and it isn’t enough, is it? I’m unmatchable.” The words, despite calmly coming from her own lips, still stung. Ashton’s echoing look of dread and regret sealed the coffin of her own dreams.
“That isn’t true,” he hedged.
“Isn’t it? Three seasons, Ashton.Three.” She ticked them off on her fingers.
“So you’ll turn into a petulant child because you haven’t found a decent match?” he shot back, his control lost.
“Petulant child?” she hissed, and hopped off her bed so she could stand toe to toe with her brother.
“Yes. You’re throwing a fit because you don’t have a husband.” His gaze narrowed. “Fine, why don’t you marry him? Go home with him to his crumbling castle in the cold drafts and be used by that brute for your money.”
Brute? The man who held her so tenderly, who kissed her like she was a delicate snow flower blooming in an early spring? That man was far from brutal.
“Just because he is larger than you”
“He’s notrefined, Joanna. You deserve a gentle husband.”
Not refined? He’d danced with her more smoothly, more elegantly than any man she’d danced with before. His feet had seemed to float, and she had floated with him, spinning in dizzying circles and smiling as she truly enjoyed dancing for the first time in her life. He’d made her feel like herself, like she was worth something. That had meanteverythingto her. How Ashton could be so dismissive of him she couldn’t understand.
“Get out of my room,” she growled. “Out! Or I will not come to your wedding tomorrow.”
Ashton stared at her, stunned. Joanna had never hated herself more than at that moment. She was indeed being a petulant child. But it was so unfair. A man kissed a woman and was praised for his seductive skills, but a woman was chastised for her sin of wanting passion, of wanting to be loved.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean it.”
