Page 37 of The Devil Wears Kilts
“Charlotte,” her father’s welcome voice came, and his strong hand cupped her elbow. “Let’s find you a chair, my brave girl.”
She sagged against him. “I don’t feel brave. I feel ill.”
“You stepped into the middle of a feud and stopped two men from pummeling each other,” he countered in a louder voice than seemed necessary, considering that he was close enough to wrap an arm around her shoulder.
Then she realized what he was doing—making that brawl about something other than her. “They nearly came to blows this morning in Hyde Park,” she returned. “Over sheep or grazing land or some such thing.”
A moment later the music began again for the quadrille, and some people thankfully decided to take the floor rather than continue staring at her. Slowly she sat in one of the chairs by the wall, her father on one side of her, and her mother abruptly on the other.
“Are you well, Charlotte?” her mother asked, taking both her hands and squeezing them. “Do you wish to leave?”
“Heavens no,” she forced out. “Though I do think I’m finished with dancing for the evening.”
“Quite understandable. That man is a brute.”
Of course the countess meant Glengask; he’d struck the first blow. But she’d already had more than a sneaking suspicion that Berling had known it would happen—had wanted it to happen, and that was precisely why he’d asked her to dance that particular quadrille with him.
Yes, perhaps she’d thought the two men would have words. And she couldn’t quite bring herself to believe that Lord Berling had intended to be punched. It was more likely that he’d anticipated an argument, which he figured to win.
As for Ranulf, he’d almost seemed to enjoy the fisticuffs. He’d certainly failed to impress her, however, and he’d done even worse at keeping an eye on his sister. Belatedly she lifted her head to look for Winnie, only to find her out on the dance floor with her uncle. Rowena didn’t look happy, but shewasdancing. And that was good; if she continued to represent herself as the “civilized” MacLawry sibling, she might escape censure for her brother’s actions.
Some kind soul brought Charlotte a glass of wine, and she sipped it gratefully. Stupid man. Whatever despicable things had happened in the Highlands, this was London. And one did not brawl in the proper homes in London. If he hadn’t kissed her earlier, she was fairly certain she would be hating him at this moment. Instead, she mostly felt angry. And a little sad, for reasons she refused to consider. Not now.
After the quadrille Jane, along with Winnie and Lord Swansley, joined them at the side of the room. “You were a lioness, Char,” her sister said. “‘Stop that punching,’ and they did.”
Rowena seemed even more surprised. “He backed down,” she half whispered, her brogue stronger than it had been for better than a day. “Ye put a hand out, and he backed down. I’d never have dared.”
Myles Wilkie nodded. “He’s a crafty man, your brother,” he commented.
“Crafty?” Charlotte retorted. “How clever is it to begin a brawl? That’s precisely the opposite of crafty, I would think.”
“It’s very clever, if you’re outnumbered by your enemies and you want them to know you’re not at all troubled by that fact. When Berling left, he took his allies with him. How could he plot his revenge, otherwise? But when Ran left, he took all his rivals with him, leaving Rowena safe under our protection and with nary an enemy in sight.”
Charlotte looked at him. Had Ranulf seen Berling write his name on her dance card? Had he predicted the earl would try to force a confrontation? If so, why hadn’t he said anything? Why had he simply allowed her to be put in the middle as the apparent bone of contention?
Even as she wondered that, though, she knew the answer. He hadn’t said anything to her in advance because she wouldn’t have tolerated it. She would never have agreed to dance with either of them, and she certainly—well, more than likely—would never have gone out to the balcony with him and kissed him. Even if going out there had been her idea, and even if she hadn’t been looking for an excuse to kiss him on the chance that he wouldn’t kiss her first. Oh, but he had.
“I don’t care what he was doing,” his sister said, tears in her eyes. “It was terrible and loud and oh…” Winnie stomped her foot. “I shan’t forgive him. And I am not going back to Scotland. Ever. He might well have ruined everything, just because he has to control everything but the sun’s rise.”
“I’m mad at him too, Winnie,” Charlotte agreed, though “mad” wasn’t nearly a descriptive enough word. “And I have a few choice words to say to him, when next we meet.” If he still dared to call on her tomorrow, she intended to tell him precisely what she thought of him and his… method of solving problems at her expense.
And seeing him tomorrow would only be so she could yell at him. It had nothing to do with that look in his eyes when he’d ignored the rest of the world to gaze solely at her. And it had less still to do with the way her feet had literally and figuratively left the ground when he’d kissed her. Nothing to do with that, at all.
Chapter Seven
“Just leave it be, Ginger.”
“But my lord, I have—there are ways to conceal blemishes.”
Ranulf pulled the cravat from his valet’s hands and finished knotting it himself. “It’s nae a blemish; it’s a black eye.” He viewed the thin fellow in his dressing mirror. “Do ye think there’s one body in Mayfair who doesnae know I have this?”
The valet lowered his head, flushing. “Well, I—”
“Then there’s no point in hiding it, is there? Now fetch me that new coat and we’ll see how bloody English I look in it.”
The dark brown coat did fit quite well, and it gave his gray one a rest. In fact, with a dark green waistcoat and buckskin breeches and finished off with a pair of Hessian boots, he felt fairly well put together. And that was a good thing, because he needed every advantage he could get today. Charlotte was likely to rip his head off after last night, anyway, and she wouldn’t care about his reasons for any of it.
The fact that he looked forward to being chastised by a delicate English lass was in itself a surprise. With the exception of his brother Arran arguing over whether a new plan was likely to cause more trouble than it was worth, people didn’t chastise him.
