Page 35 of A Scot's Pride
Because there was one thing that Bryson also understood—being in Freya’s presence made him feel whole, a sensation he’d not felt before and didn’t want to lose.
13
The Ladies’ Marriage Prospects Bulletin
It is bad form for a hostess to monopolize the time of one guest. As a supreme hostess, you must greet and mingle with all of your guests. To taste is better than to gorge.
The last line of today’s tip in The Ladies’ Marriage Prospects Bulletin had Freya pausing and rereading the words.
That one line could be put into play in so many different situations. How was one to sum up the meaning? It could also apply to her thoughts on Lord Lovat and their walk the day before.
And why, for the love of all things holy, was she even concerned about the meaning behind some vague words in a rag bulletin that she thought was ridiculous and utter nonsense? For the most part, she disagreed with everything they said. She only added reading it a part of her morning routine because it made her laugh.
But blast it all, today’s lesson snagged on the one part of her brain still trying to dissect what had happened the day before.
The way they’d stood in the center of the path. When he’d placed the mallow in her bonnet, his fingers grazing her temple, it had been her instinct to lean into him, and only sheer force of will kept her from doing so. They’d been close enough that she could have touched his chest. That she could pretend the gentle breeze was his breath fanning over her skin.
That her mind and body abducted her and made her feel things like desire for Bryson, Lord Lovat, was cruel. He was her enemy, wasn’t he? From the moment they’d met, there’d been fire. Apparently, fire that crossed the lines between disdain and desire.
Freya groaned at the breakfast table, glad she was the only one up so far, so she wouldn’t have to explain her reaction.
The books she’d read hadn’t given her sufficient education to decipher her situation. If she took them for face value, he’d be riding to her house right now to declare himself—utter rubbish.
One minute she was clear that Bryson was her enemy, and the next she was wondering why he was being so sweet, so helpful. If not for him, she wasn’t certain that Riley would have finally been courted by Ashbury. The two of them had danced around each other all last season, and this season had looked as if it would be a repeat of those frustrating months. And with their vacating London, she’d feared her sister would never have happiness. Riley had also declared she was either doomed to spinsterhood or to be wed to their boring cousin.
What was Bryson getting out of helping Lord Ashbury?
A happy friend. All right, she could buy that, but what else?
And why did he have to flirt with her, as if she were part and parcel of Riley and Ashbury’s courtship? That was what he was doing, wasn’t it? She’d read enough books, been to enough social events, and been flirted with enough to know the difference.
One minute she’d find herself in a gale storm of flirtation and enjoying every delicious moment of witty banter and saucy looks, and the next thing she knew, Bryson would pull back, which only served to confuse her more.
Because even though she knew he was no good for her, she still rather liked him. And blast it, she had looked forward to seeing him. There was no denying the flutter in her heart when she’d heard his voice below stairs. When she’d walked into the drawing room and seen him standing there, a smile curving his lips, it had been hard to hold up the pretense of hatred when she wanted to thank him for arranging her sister’s happiness.
“What are ye reading?”
Freya glanced up sharply to observe her father crossing the breakfast room threshold, and she was quick to fold up the pamphlet and tuck it into her sleeve before he could ask to see it.
“Oh, nothing. A silly little letter from one of my friends in London.”
He raised a bushy eyebrow at her and squinted his eyes as if he would say that he had seen it was not a letter. But thankfully, Riley came into the breakfast room then and kissed their father on the cheek, granting enough time to distract him so Freya could escape.
“I’m going to take a walk. You know how I love the morning air.” Freya rushed to the front door, tugged on her bonnet and a shawl, given it was a little chilly so early in the day, and scooted out of the house before anyone could pull her back.
The air was crisp, and the grass was still dewy with condensation. Overhead, the sky was blue and dotted with clouds. She drew in a deep breath of freedom, relishing the vast difference in country air to that of the city, secretly glad they’d fled early.
Freya loved to walk, to be outside. And while she kept it up in London, it wasn’t the same. She never felt as refreshed from a walk in the city as she did with the earth beneath her feet, the grass tickling at her ankles and calves.
Down the path, she sauntered, her eyes scanning over the mallow flowers and memories of yesterday circling back to her. She’d gone perhaps a mile or so when a blur of motion down the road indicated an incoming rider. For a moment, she snickered, recalling her morning thoughts of Bryson storming the castle and demanding her hand. What a ninny.
Freya stepped off the path, her back to the rider, as she continued on her way over the moors, thinking about which book she would read today. There was a new one by the author of Sense and Sensibility she’d been dying to read, and Papa had ordered it special for her – Pride and Prejudice. She’d been waiting for the perfect moment to sit outside and read it. Today looked as if it would be the finest weather for a good sunny read.
“Miss Freya.” Bryson’s familiar voice sounded behind her, stilling her in the tall grass.
Freya’s mouth went dry. Her spine stiffened, and chills swept up and down her skin.
Bryson? It couldn’t be. He was the last person she’d expected to be on the road toward her home. Despite her overactive imagination, there was no other reason for him to have come, except some disaster having tragically happened.
