Page 40 of A Scot's Pride
“Ye recall I mentioned my older sister?”
Freya nodded. “Yes.”
“Her name is—was Virginia.” He cleared his throat from the emotion tightening into a ball there. “She passed away from scarlet fever a few years ago.”
Freya pressed her hand to her heart. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”
“Around the same time—” Bryson abruptly cut himself off, not certain it was the right time to tell her the exact details of what had happened to Lucy. “Lucy was having a really hard time of it. I wasn’t equipped to help her, so I sent her here with Aunt Simone, where she’d be safest.”
Freya was staring at him so intently and with such care in her eyes that Bryson’s chest tightened along with his throat.
“Rumors started that I’d sent Lucy off to Canada, except with the news of Virginia’s death, people got confused and decided I had sent my sister to her death in same manner which my parents were killed. The truth hardly matters when people want to believe something horrible about ye. They won’t recall I had two sisters, not one.”
“That is very true,” she said quietly, and with such emotion, he was certain she understood him firsthand.
“I worried that in coming to London, I would be judged about my sisters. Seen as cruel as I’ve been painted. Fortunately, it appears I’ve mostly been judged for being Scottish.” This part he chuckled at.
Freya shrugged. “People can be idiots.”
Bryson was taken aback by her announcement, and it made him laugh. He liked how she came out and said how she was feeling. “Ye’re verra honest. And astute.”
She grinned with a saucy edge. “Some say it’s a bad quality.”
Bryson shook his head. “I rather like it. I know if I want to ask ye something, ye’ll tell me the truth.”
“I will.” She nodded.
For a beat, their eyes locked, and they stared at each other with the soft sounds of the wind and birds chirping in the background. What luck had brought the two of them together? Luck, or Aunt Bertie.
Bryson wanted to ask her something now. He had no idea what her reaction would be, but he was willing to take chances. “Can I kiss ye?”
Freya jerked back, her eyes widening in surprise. “Kiss me?”
Bryson smiled, his gaze falling to her mouth. “Aye. I want to kiss ye verra much.”
She wrinkled her freckled nose, her cheeks pinkening. “Why would you want to do that?”
Hmm. Perhaps he had read their connection all wrong. Maybe Freya saw them more as friends than anything else.
Still, he forged ahead, deciding to be as honest as she was with him. “Because I find ye beautiful. And honest. And clever. And—”
Before he could finish all the reasons he desired to kiss her, Freya threw her arms around his neck and leaned up to kiss him, albeit clumsily. Their noses bumped and their teeth crashed, but their lips connected, softened. He felt her melt against him as his hands rested at her waist, and he took control of the kiss.
Freya’s lips were plush and soft, her breath warm on his cheek. He resisted the urge to pull her closer, to feel their bodies touch. To slide his tongue over her lips and deepen the kiss. But taking it slow would be better, he instinctively knew. For even though she’d been the one to put her lips on his, it was obvious this was her first time.
The kiss was sweet and all too brief as she pulled away.
“Oh my.” Her cheeks flamed with a pretty blush, and her eyelids lowered with desire. “I don’t know what came over me.” She sat farther away from him, her hands pressed to her face. “I’ve never kissed someone before.”
Bryson wanted to pull her back but settled for taking one of her hands away from her face to hold in his. “I’m glad ye did.”
“If my mother knew…” She swallowed hard and shook her head.
“I’m no’ going to tell her. Are ye?”
Freya let out a short laugh that was more of a gasp as she pulled her hand from his. “Oh, goodness, no! She would drag us to the alter immediately.”
Bryson chuckled.
