Page 45 of A Scot's Pride
“As relieved as you are, my dear.” He studied her for several moments. “What happened between you and that Lord Lovat?”
This was not a question she wanted to answer. “We are not right for each other.”
Papa cocked his head to the side, listening intently. “And why is that?”
“We don’t see eye to eye.”
Her father smiled. “No one sees eye to eye all the time. That’s not a basis for denial of feeling.”
“Feeling?” Freya glanced toward the window. She’d been avoiding that word, especially if it had anything to do with Lord Lovat. For him, she wished to have a blank wall, nothing etched or written. Not even a little divot where time had carved out a spot. Just flatness, plain and unamusing.
In reality, she was hiding mountains and caves.
Papa raised a brow at her. “I’ve known you all your life, Freya. Don’t tell me you don’t have feelings where he’s concerned.”
“I have many feelings about Lord Lovat and not all of them are pleasant,” she conceded, which made her father laugh.
“Sounds like a perfect match.”
Freya rolled her eyes.
“Freya!” Leila’s shout reverberated through the door of her father’s study.
“It seems you are wanted elsewhere,” Papa said.
“If this is any indication of how the dance will go tonight, then we are all in for it.” Freya rose from her chair with a sigh and left her father in his study to see what Leila needed.
The country dance was much busier than Freya had guessed. The moderately decorated dance hall, lit by candles dripping from two massive chandeliers, was packed with people of all ages. In the country, they didn’t seem to care too much whether you’d been presented to society yet or not. It was merely for fun.
Leila had already danced with at least a dozen men and was in her element as beau after beau bought her punch. If she drank every drop, she’d be in the ladies’ retiring room the rest of the evening. It was rather comical, the collection of cups.
Surprisingly, Cousin Arthur also attended, dancing at a measured distance with Molly and quite stiff as he did it. His arms were practically straight out, and he shifted from foot to foot as if stepping on glass. But Molly didn’t notice she was dancing with a pseudo-corpse, and Freya wasn’t sure she’d ever seen her sister so happy.
Grace ran around the dance hall with other girls her age. Riley stood with Ashbury, sipping punch, the two of them sharing secrets from the looks of things. It was only a matter of days, maybe even hours, before they’d be engaged—if Ashbury could hold his nerve. What was taking the man so long?
Freya shifted her gaze to the sound of her mother’s loud voice. Mama gloated about Molly to anyone who would listen, while poor Papa had holed up in the corner with the other gentlemen who appeared as though they were trying not to fall asleep.
“Miss Freya.”
That voice was one she’d heard repeatedly in her dreams— one she’d never ever forget. She’d not even thought to see him tonight, so she was startled at the sound of his voice. What was he doing here? These sorts of events were beneath him, she was sure.
Freya turned slowly to see Bryson standing behind her. His clothes, as usual, were impeccable, and he stared at her in a way that made her heart flutter.
“Lord Lovat.” Oh, she hated the way her throat was tight and her voice sounded strained.
“May I have this dance?” Bryson presented his hand to her, his fingers unfurling, and in looking at them, she felt the heat of where he’d touched her at her waist when he’d kissed her.
This was going to be a disaster. Her face heated as she recalled the press of his warm lips on hers.
She glanced around as if she might find some excuse within the few feet surrounding her. There was nothing. Nowhere. And if she denied him, it would only get tongues wagging as people were already staring in their direction. With little choice, she nodded, taking his hand before her brain caught up to her body’s acceptance.
“You look lovely this evening.” The soft burr of his brogue tickled her spine as he walked her toward the dance floor.
“Thank you. The same to you.” My goodness, her palms were growing damp, and she was glad for the gloves so he couldn’t feel it.
Bryson grinned. “So formal,” he teased, and she hated that in that one glance, he’d brought out the wicked way she’d kissed him all over again, the laughs they’d shared, all the things she shouldn’t have with a man she intended to ignore. Was the fluttering in her belly, the heat pooling between her thighs, normal? Hardly not!
They stood in the dance line, following the steps, and each time they came together, he gazed into her eyes with a smoldering expression that made her think only of kissing. She’d not had a drop of alcohol, yet she was starting to feel dizzy and nearly drunk with her infatuation.
