James’s eyes ran over Timothy for a moment before he nodded. “Of course.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” Callum said, and her attention shot back to him.
“Why is that?”
His silver eyes glimmered as his voice dropped. “Because if ye were more to him, he might challenge me to a duel over yer honor.”
She reared back. “And what have you done to my sense of honor?”
He glanced at her bodice. “I tried to drown ye in champagne.”
“So you admit it was your fault?”
He shrugged, and something about the casual gesture goaded her. “I admit to playing a part. Especially if it means I can take ye on that walk now.”
Her jaw dropped. “I didn’t inviteyou, I invited—” She turned to gesture to James, but he and Timothy were deep inconversation, and their hostess had wandered off to chat with another guest. How long had Callum trapped her in conversation? Why did the man she wanted always walk away?
Callum’s dark brow bobbed. “A turn in the garden, then?”
Rejection stung in her throat. Perhaps her desperation was a palpable thing that clung to her skin, sending a warning signal to any gentlemen in a ten-meter radius.
A signal that Callum had ignored. “No, thank you,” she muttered. “I am feeling a bit out of sorts, and my chaperone appears to be tired.”
She gestured towards Margaret, who was showing off her jeweled slippers to the footmen and roaring with laughter.
He huffed. “She doesnae seem too imperiled.”
“Then perhaps I am.” She dipped her chin and pushed her empty glass into his hand. “Good night.”
She was halfway up the stairs when Timothy caught her. “Vi, what’s wrong?”
Her throat and eyes burned, and instantly she regretted letting her hopes rise for even a moment. “I can’t do this.”
“Do what?”
She gestured towards the bustling ballroom. “Anyof this.”
His brows knit together. “Did that Scot say something to you? Did he—”
“It’s me, not him, not anyone.” She pulled in a breath and shook her head. “I don’t think I’m the kind of girl who can have a brazen affair.”
His expression softened. “You don’t have to be. I can be brazen enough for both of us.”
She laughed, then leaned forward into his welcoming embrace. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet. I’ll get you into some mischief before the party is over, mark my words.”
Chapter 5
Callum’s chair protested ashe turned to rub at the ache in his neck. He grimaced as he glanced at his watch. The hour had changed from late to early, and yet James was not back. Callum would know, as every step in the old house revealed a creaky floorboard.
He’d left the party below with an aching head, his mind jumbling around a feasible solution to the mechanical issue he’d been having with the hydraulic trench digger. Sleep had eluded him for several nights; the profit from completing the build in the Northern Isles had been smaller than he’d expected due to unexpected costs at the site. Now he’d have to borrow from another investment to cover materials for his next project, or he would face a penalty from the loan his uncle had taken out shortly before his death, a last-ditch effort to cover the payroll of his employees.
Normally the act of setting his pencil to paper would be enough to clear the chaos, to find the answer and bring relief, but no matter how much he scratched and erased, the solution evaded him.
Not shocking, considering his mind kept returning to the woman with whisky eyes and a sharp tongue. Violet.
Despite his tension, the corner of his lip pulled up. Callum had little experience with society ladies, but suddenly he saw the appeal. The milky white of her skin framed by thick chestnut curls, the delicate curve of her collarbone, the pout of her lips…
