Page 75 of Taming the Heiress
He ought to seethe in fury to see her as the baroness who had ruined him. He ought to reject her—he ought not to be here at all. Now, looking at her, within moments of greeting her himself, he knew why he had come, despite her betrayal.
He loved her. The simple strength of it, the warmth and certainty of it, flowed through him. He loved her and could never stop. He did not know why, after all that had passed, he still burned for her. Instead of feeling filled with joy and the discovery of love, he ached with the sadness of its loss.
Edging closer, he saw that her gown was the elusive shade of her eyes, the delicate blue-green of sunlight through water, the white veiling like the froth of a wave. She stopped his breath, stilled his heart, whirled him on the axis of his soul.
"Dr. and Mrs. Connor MacBain," the butler announced. "Mr. Dougal Robertson Stewart."
She looked up then, quickly, her eyes wide and startled, but that quickly melted into a smile as she greeted Connor and Mary Faire with murmurs and handclasps. Then Mary Faire glided past, and Dougal was a step away.
Meg tilted her head to smile at him tremulously, her eyes limpid and beseeching. If she meant to request his forgiveness, he had none to give her—not now, not yet, if ever.
She lifted her hand to his, and he took it, glove to glove, cool and cordial, and bowed; then he gazed at her. He knew the sweetness of those lips, the creaminess of her skin. He knew the silken feel of her hair. Now it was drawn back, scattered with pearls, revealing the perfect oval of her face, the slender line of her neck and shoulders. Her slender collarbones rose with the catching of her breath.
A single black cord encircled her throat. Suspended on it was the aquamarine and gold pendant he had given her, its gold a spark of warmth in the serene perfection of her ensemble. Seeing it there, he narrowed his eyes.
He wondered why she wore the pendant, for it had little value. Surely she owned prettier jewels, although the little stone matched her gown and her eyes. Only he would know, only she, its meaning.
Then he understood. She felt what he did, that he was part of her and she was part of him, that their island paradise had existed for a little space in time. None of that would change, even if they were never together again.
He gave her a cool, polite smile, and felt torn asunder.
"Mr. Stewart," she said, "how very nice to see you again."
He looked at her keenly. He had expected to enact a new introduction, as if they had never met before, yet she greeted him like a friend.
"Lady Strathlin," he murmured. "Enchanted, madam."
She turned to an elderly lady and gentleman standing beside her. "Lord Provost of Edinburgh and Lady Lawrie—this is Mr. Stewart."
"Aye, we've met. Good evening, madam," Dougal said, taking the woman's gloved hand, then the Lord Provost's sure grip. "Sir. How do you do?"
"Mr. Stewart has been working near the Isle of Caransay, where I sometimes holiday," Meg said. "He will be modest about this, to be sure, but he is an exemplary hero."
"Really?" Lord Lawrie peered at him. "How is that?"
"During my last holiday in the Isles, I saw Mr. Stewart save the life of a small child who was drowning in the sea, and in the process, Mr. Stewart took on a fearsome shark," Meg explained. "It was the most courageous thing I have ever seen."
"Oh, Mr. Stewart, how amazing!" Lady Lawrie said.
"Madam, it was not so grand as Lady Strathlin implies," he said. "I merely kicked the shark and grabbed the boy."
"Oh, dear!" Lady Lawrie said, raising her fan and flapping it.
"You see how modest he is," Meg said, smiling.
Dougal glared at her quickly to ask with a stern look just what she intended with this conversation. He would rather the deed not be discussed. "Madam," he said in subtle warning.
Her touch was light on his arm as she guided him forward. "Lord Provost, I'm sure you can coax Mr. Stewart to give his account of it. Please excuse me, I must greet some guests."
She smiled up at Dougal with such brilliance that he felt bedazzled, and he very nearly forgave her. Very nearly. "Mr. Stewart, so wonderfully good of you to come tonight."
"Lady Strathlin," he said, as she turned to greet the couple behind him. As soon as he looked around, he was surrounded by several people eager to be introduced to him, anxious to hear the details of his encounter with the shark.
Swept from that group to another, he told the story twice in total, smiling as he refused, after that, to repeat it. The tale spread and became embellished, whispered and rumored from one guest to another. Dougal floated through the evening on smiles and congratulations and expressions of admiration. He endured one introduction after another, and his hand was clasped, his shoulder slapped, his arm hugged so often that he ached.
He danced with one woman after another, so many that their names and faces and flower-bright gowns blurred as he swirled and dipped and escorted them. He listened to gushing praise, smiled at shy or amorous glances, and turned down three coy invitations to stroll through the conservatory into the garden.
Late in the evening, he was introduced to Miss Jenny Lind, a slight and sweet woman. As he danced with her, he conceded, one last time, to tell the story about the rescue of the little boy, only because she was the guest of honor and begged him gently and charmingly to tell her what everyone was buzzing so about, and because he liked her fine, honest, trusting blue eyes.
