“We’re all civil here, lad,” the duke countered. “Nae need to begin a brawl. I see ye still wear the Maxwell tartan, whatever bellowing ye do about us.”
“I’ve nae a thing against clan Maxwell. Only its chief and his firstborn.”
Donnach grimaced. “Rebecca, for the sake of our mutual investments, I do hope ye can convince yer brother-in-law that dear Ian’s death was a horrible accident. I fear he cannae blame himself for being gone, so he chooses to blame those who witnessed his disgrace.”
If she hadn’t seen Ian’s note, that would have made sense. Now, it made her want to spit in Donnach’s face. That, though, would never do. Jealous. She needed to make him jealous, not suspicious that she believed Callum’s claims about what he and his father had done. “Whatever happened back then,” she said, tilting her head toward the man whose arm she still held, “Callum has changed. Margaret simply adores him.”
“Aye, he’s changed,” Donnach took up. “He’s gained a few inches and some muscle. So now he’s nae just a squawking boy; he’s a squawking man.”
The music for the country dance began. Thank goodness; she wasn’t good at either spite or coyness, however motivated she felt. “If you’ll excuse us, my lord, Your Grace, we must take our places for the dance.”
She turned, trying to pull Callum with her. He held back, though, pinning Dunncraigh with a grin that chilled her to the bone. “Levirate,” he said, and turned his back on the pair.
“I thought we were supposed to be subtle about this,” she hissed, releasing his hand and stopping opposite him.
“For me, thatwassubtle.”
“No it wasn’t.” She curtsied as he bowed, and then took his left hand in her right as they stepped down the line behind the other pairs of dancers. “However much you want to punish them, you agreed to go this route. I will not have you or anyone else drawing weapons in a ballroom.”
His mouth twitched as they circled around again, turned, and clapped once before joining hands again. “Look at ’em,” he returned. “Stapp looks like his head’s about to pop off.”
When she could do so without being too obvious, she snuck a look in the direction of the Maxwell and his son. They had moved away from the dance floor and were clearly in deep conversation about something. And yes, Donnach’s face was so red he might be mistaken for a summer tomato.
As she looked back at Callum, his calm, amused expression unsettled her even more. Then it occurred to her. “You did that on purpose.”
“Of course I did. My mouth moved, and words came out.”
“No. You meant to set them afteryou.You lied to me, Callum.”
“Nae, I didnae. But if ye think I’d set them afteryewhenI’ddo just as well, ye’re mad.”
“Callum, y—”
“Ye needed to show interest in me, or they’d nae believe whatever I said about anything. So I didnae lie, Becca. And if I choose to have them look to me as the threat rather than ye as the prize, well, I reckon that’s my right. It’s my duty, my privilege, and my honor to keep ye safe.”
Men.“That’s very chivalrous of you, then,” she sent back at him after they separated and joined up again at the end of the line, “but you might have told me. I’ve been kept ignorant of far too many things for far, far too long.”
He didn’t speak at all for their next turn about the room. That should have annoyed and troubled her, no doubt, but it didn’t. For nearly a decade long ago, she and Callum had been the best of friends. And as different as he was now, she recognized his thoughtful face, the one he donned when he’d been an idiot and she’d reminded him of that fact. He would consider, grumble, and then apologize.
As the dance ended he looped her hand over his arm again. Her next partner, Mr. Basingstoke, approached for the evening’s first waltz, and she glanced up at Callum. “Well?” she prompted.
“Well, what?”
“Aren’t you going to apologize for keeping your plan from me?”
“Nae. Ye were on yer own before, and now ye arenae. Ye play yer part, and I reckon I’ll play mine. Now go dance while I watch ye.”
“You’d best watch the men, or you’ll be learning the waltz backward.”
He shook his head, his two-colored eyes glinting. “I’ll be watching ye,” he repeated, lowering his voice still further, “imagining ye naked out there with naught but me in the room.”
Well, that wouldn’t make this any easier. Before she could point that out to him, Mr. Basingstoke held out his hand to her. “If you’d do me the honor, my lady,” he intoned. “I haven’t waltzed with you in over a year. I do not think I can wait any longer.”
Callum tilted his head, watching her make her way to the center of the ballroom. If he’d been her, he would have pointed out to Basingstoke that she hadn’t danced because she’d been mourning her husband, but Rebecca was far too composed and polite to say any such thing.
Despite what he’d said, he did know something of the waltz. The last time he’d been in Boston a few of the more daring lasses had demonstrated it at some soiree or other. He’d never attempted it, himself, but he’d be damned if he missed the chance to have Rebecca in his arms in front of everyone.
Aye, he could claim that was part of his plan, but that would be another lie. Dunncraigh and Stapp saw her as a means to an end—an end they wanted badly enough to kill for. When he’d seen them looking at her, he’d realized just how perilous her circumstances were. Whatever the cost, he needed the Maxwell looking elsewhere—looking at him—as the largest obstacle to his plans.
