Page 69 of The Devil Wears Kilts
“Lady Charlotte,” the earl said, inclining his head. “Mrs. Martin, Lady Roger.”
“My lord,” she returned with a curtsy, as her friends swiftly made their excuses and backed away. No doubt they’d at least heard about the incident at the Evanstone soiree, and wanted no part of an encore performance.
“I never got the chance for our dance at the last soiree,” he drawled, “and I wondered if we might give it another try.”
Her mouth was getting tired from the number of forced smiles she’d already used this evening. It was much simpler to be pleasant when she didn’t know any better, she realized. “I’m afraid my dance card is full tonight, Lord Berling. Thank you so much for the kind thought, though.”
Moving as quickly as a snake, the earl snatched the dance card from her gloved fingers. “You’re mistaken, Lady Charlotte,” he said, looking down at the thing. “You have several dances available.”
Oh, dear.She’d made Ranulf a bargain: no dancing with Berling in exchange for him not brawling with the earl. If the cad wrote his name down—or if Ranulf saw the exchange now—she didn’t want to know what might happen. Taking a breath, she offered Berling a genuine frown. “Is this how a gentleman reacts when faced with a lady who doesn’t wish to dance with him? I was attempting to be polite.”
“You’ve danced with me before, my lady. We’ve even waltzed a time or two.”
“Yes, we have. And there are other parties where we didn’t dance at all. I believe you to be looking for trouble, and I want no part of it.”
The earl moved a step closer to her. “And yet I see here that Glengask has a waltz with you. And the other one has a dance, too, whoever he is.”
Charlotte held her ground, praying that Ranulf and his brother both were otherwise occupied. “His sister is our family’s guest. Do I owe you some additional explanation?”
“No. But a dance would still be nice, to demonstrate that we’re all friends here.”
“No, my lord. My card, if you please.” She didn’t hold out her hand; that would make it too obvious to everyone looking that she’d made a request and he hadn’t answered it.
“You haven’t developed a tendre for the Scottish devil, have you? He isn’t at all civilized.”
“I don’t think it’s my behavior being called into question, Berling,” Ranulf’s low brogue came, as he moved in from one side. “The lady asked fer her dance card back.”
Berling’s face went as pale as Charlotte felt. “And if I refuse?”
Ranulf pulled a blank dance card from his pocket. “Then ye can wander aboot carrying that wee bit of paper like a fool, and she’ll use this one,” he replied coolly.
“Bah. You dog; pick it up off the floor.” With that Berling dropped her dance card to the ground and walked away.
“Good thing I’m not as stiff-arsed as he is,” Ranulf mused, squatting down and retrieving the card. Pocketing the blank one, he dusted hers off and handed it back to her.
She looked up, studying his lean face for any sign of the anger she expected. What she saw was a perfectly level expression that should have reassured her, but didn’t. “You kept your word,” she murmured.
His gaze lowered briefly to her mouth. “As did ye.” Ranulf offered his arm. “Let me show ye to yer dance partner.”
Arran moved in from the other direction. “No need. I’m her partner.”
It actually shook her a little that both men had been so near and yet neither of them had struck. If Berling had moved a touch closer to her, or if she had been an ounce less firm… But nothing had happened, and all was well.
Before Arran took her arm, Ranulf leaned in and whispered something to his brother. Then with a nod at her, he went to collect his partner for the country dance. Arran offered his arm, and together they took their place on the dance floor. Once the music began he bowed and she curtsied, and they joined hands to step in a wide circle around their fellows.
“What did Ranulf say to you?” she muttered as they parted and then moved up opposite sides of the line.
“If he’d wanted ye to hear, he wouldnae have whispered it,” he said, stepping back up the center with her again.
Stubborn Scotsmen.“Lord Berling called you ‘that other fellow,’” she commented, deciding to try again. “Have you never met?”
They did another set of steps and turns, facing each other, before they joined hands again. “I met him today at luncheon, actually.”
“What?” She stifled her overloud comment with a cough. “Then why—”
“I might’ve given him a different name,” Arran returned with a cynical grin.
The MacLawry men didn’t seem to be timid about much of anything, Charlotte decided, looking for Ranulf and catching sight of him walking up the second line of dancers, a pretty redheaded lady holding his hand. Thank goodness he was making an effort to fit in, to become acquainted with his peers. And whether English or Scottish, or Welsh or Irish, the aristocrats here were his peers.
