Page 36 of The Devil Wears Kilts
For a man so caught up in his own rivalries and troubles, he’d done a fair job of assessing the last year of her life. Because shedidfeel that she’d become not Janie’s nanny, but her chaperone. And without plans for her own future to occupy her thoughts, shehadfelt… bored. Listless, finished. Dead, as he’d said. And she hadn’t felt that way over the past few days. Frustrated, annoyed, aroused, amused, flustered—but not bored.
“Whatever state I might have been in,” she returned, “I’ve not lost hold of my sanity.”
To her surprise, his lips curved upward, reminding her all over again of his very splendid kiss. Kisses. “I dunnae think we’ll settle this impasse here, lass. It requires more… private conversation.”
“I am not—”
“If ye tell me now, honestly and to my face, that ye wish not to exchange a single further word or touch or glance with me, I’ll honor that and make myself scarce from ye. If not, I’ll call on ye tomorrow at noon, and ye can attempt to improve my view of London. Or to dissuade me from wishing to spend time in yer company fer the purpose of getting beneath yer skirts. Whichever ye choose.”
Charlotte took a deep breath. She wasn’t certain that honesty played into it, but logically she should open her mouth to say that she wished him gone from her life. Of course if she did so then he would likely conjure up an excuse to go back on his word to Rowena and immediately remove the two of them back to Glengask. And that would be terribly unfair to Winnie, quite aside from the state of her own skirts.
“There now,” he murmured after a moment. “That’s the first time I’ve been pleased not to hear yer voice, Charlotte.”
“It doesn’t mean anything but that I don’t wish to see an injustice done to Winnie because I naysayed you.”
He nodded almost imperceptibly. “That’s what we’ll call it, then.”
It hardly seemed like him to concede just when he’d won, but Charlotte was relieved enough at having a moment to think that she decided not to question his motives. Or her own, for that matter.
When they’d first met—heavens, had it only been four days ago?—she’d thought him boorish and arrogant and abrupt. What she hadn’t realized then and that she saw now was his cleverness, or his humor and a surprising amount of charm. That deep brogue of his certainly didn’t hurt, either. None of that, though, explained why she hadn’t simply slapped him and stalked off the dance floor when he’d proposed ruining her because it would be pleasurable.
Except that she was fairly certain shedidknow why she still swayed in his arms. As she’d said, she was five-and-twenty. Even with James’s death, if she’d truly wanted to marry she could have—would have—done so before now. There were times, especially when Jane had begun planning her wardrobe and her Season and all her romantic conquests, that she’d felt passed by.
“If ye keep wearing that thoughtful look, I’m likely to kiss ye again,” Ranulf murmured.
“In front of everyone?” she countered, more amused than truly alarmed.
“Aye. That’s how we do it in Scotland,” he returned with a grin. “Sweep a fine lass off her feet and give her a kiss so everyone else knows ye’ve claimed her.”
“‘Claimed her’?” she repeated faintly, as three things happened at once: she remembered who’d claimed the next dance with her; the waltz ended; and she caught sight of Donald Gerdens walking toward her—them—from the other end of the dance floor.Damnation.“Ranulf, I need t—”
“I believe this dance is mine, Lady Charlotte,” the earl said smoothly, stopping in front of them.
Ranulf looked at him. Silently, steadily, like a great lion coolly sizing up a gazelle. “Ye gave him a dance, lass?” he asked, not shifting his gaze an inch.
“It’s just a quadrille,” she said, not certain why she felt the need to minimize the thing. A dance was a dance, and it was no more significant than the handful of minutes it last—
A fist shot out before she could finish her thought. Catching Berling squarely on the chin, it sent the earl reeling. Before he could regain his balance, and in a queer way that seemed so slow it couldn’t be real, Ranulf hit him again with the other fist on the other side of his face.
Charlotte shook herself out of her stupor. “Stop it!” she screamed, grabbing Ranulf’s forearm. It felt like solid, inflexible iron beneath her grip. “Stop punching him at once!”
Lord Evanstone and three of his footmen raced over. At the same moment several male guests stepped in, lifting the stumbling Berling to his feet and shoving at Glengask. A few feet away Miss Florence Breckett fainted into the arms of her dance partner, and they both fell to the highly polished floor.
Berling shrugged off his helpers, and with a red half smile unsteadily straightened his coat. “You are a devil, Glengask,” he drawled.
“Aye. And ye’re a bloody poacher.”
“Ha.” Abruptly the earl lunged forward. Striking out with his coiled fist, he caught Ranulf in the left eye.
“Och, now it’s a party!” Glengask threw off the men hanging on to his arms and stepped forward again.
“No!” So angry she could scarcely force the word out, Charlotte stepped between the two men. “I don’t care what your private quarrels may be,” she snapped. “This is not the time or the place to settle them. Nor is it the means by which gentlemen conduct their affairs.” It was all about their stupid, useless pride, and she refused to see men battle over who was more infatuated with themselves.
“Hear, hear,” Lord Evanstone grunted. “I’m asking both of you to leave my home. If I have to ask twice, I will see you thrown out.”
For a breathless moment Charlotte thought Ranulf would ignore the threat. Or worse, that he would consider it a challenge. His gaze ignored everything else in the room in favor of her. Finally and wordlessly, not bothering to wipe the trickle of blood from his face where Berling’s ring had cut his cheek, he inclined his head, turned on his heel, and left the room. The other guests parted before him like the Red Sea before Moses.
Looking less splendid and holding a palm to his bloody lip, Lord Berling followed a moment later, several of his friends exiting with him. That left her alone, standing in the middle of the room with everyone staring at her. The edges of her vision began to dim, and she drew in a ragged breath.
