“I’m fine,” she lied, reaching for a smile. “Just a bit warm.”
“Aye. Ye Sassenach think we Scots are mad, but I reckon I’d be enjoying a cool breeze if I’d worn my damned kilt, tonight.”
The ladies on either side of him gasped in almost theatrical unison, but Miranda only smiled. If that was their idea of scandal, which it was, they would fall dead after one glance at her thoughts. Of course, they would probably also find her present situation utterly romantic—a man so obsessed with her and her life that he was willing to stoop to ruining her brother to have her. As for herself, she was more taken with the other man, the one who claimed to find her bonny and desirable, and who had given his word to help her for no other discernible reason than the one he’d stated.
As the quadrille ended, she declined the viscount’s offer to escort her to her parents. She knew quite well the waltz was next, and whether her mother and father had decided to invite Captain Vale to dinner or not, the less time they spent in each other’s company, the better.
“I cannae leave ye standing here alone,” Coll MacTaggert protested, scowling. “I’m nae a gentleman, but I am a man. And a man doesnae abandon a lass in distress.”
Her smile flattened before she could catch it. “What in the world makes you think I’m in distress?” she twittered, too brightly. If he’d realized something was amiss, what hope did she have of fooling her friends? Staying away from them had been a wise decision, then, even if it did help Vale by leaving her more isolated. Or rather, making him think she had no allies at a—
“It’s time for our waltz, Miranda.”
Her back stiffened, her fingers clenching all on their own around Lord Glendarril’s substantial forearm. Miranda took a deliberate breath, putting a smile back on her face before she turned to face the captain. “Is it? I lost count of the dances.”
She couldn’t thumb her nose at him, but that felt nearly as satisfying. Whether he believed or not that she’d been otherwise occupied and hadn’t spared him a second thought, she’d made it sound that way. If he wanted to pretend this was a love match, he could damned well pretend to work to earn her pretend affection.
A large hand closed over hers before she could move away. “I reckon now would be a grand time for ye to tell me all about yer brother, before I hand my sister over to him,” Lord Glendarril drawled, abruptly more lion than giant lamb.
A second MacTaggert willing to protect her. And from what she’d heard, Coll preferred fists to words. If only she hadn’t already convinced herself that seeing Vale bloodied wouldn’t solve any of her problems. She took a quick breath. “At our next family dinner, I will regale you with all—or most—of my tales about Matthew.” She put her free hand over his large one. “You are waltzing with your sister anyway, I believe.”
His green eyes narrowed, but he released her. “That’ll do, then. I’ll be close about in the event ye change yer mind, lass, and want to regale me now.”
Her fellows called the MacTaggerts barbarians, and even Aden had decided he desperately required lessons in proper behavior. But Coll was the only person to realize something was amiss without her having first been told about it. Unless “barbarian” meant attentive to more than just his own appearance and standing, perhaps Society needed to find another adjective for these Highlanders. “Thank you, my lord.”
“Miranda?” Vale prompted, holding one hand toward her.
She gave him her fingers. And Aden thought she couldn’t hide her feelings.Ha.“Of course.”
“Be very careful,” the captain murmured as they found an open space on the dance floor. “I will not be slighted.”
“Only very nearly,” she returned, putting on her brightest smile as the orchestra struck up the first note of the waltz.
“If he was anyone of significance, my next act would be to call on your father and explain to him precisely why you and I will be married. It doesn’t matter if he knows, because he wouldn’t dare tell anyone else.”
She snapped her jaw shut over the response she wanted to make. “Eventually I may find you so intolerable that the poorhouse would be preferable to you. Do keep that in mind, Captain V—”
“I’ll take the rest of this dance, if ye dunnae mind,” Aden said, planting himself squarely in front of them.
Vale actually blinked. “You were supposed to be rid of him.”
“I tried,” she offered, under her breath.
“Idomind, MacTaggert. You’re interfering.”
“Miranda’s dance card is full, and ye’re the only manthick enough to claim two dances. Two waltzes, ye muttonhead. I’ve nae had one. Stand aside.”
“I will not.” The captain’s hand tightened on hers, and he actually started pulling her around the formidably statured Highlander.
“Ye will, unless ye want me to introduce yer arse to this polished floor.” His expression still mild, Aden sidestepped to continue blocking their path. All around the floor other couples had to maneuver to avoid them, and Miranda could hear the muttering even over the music.
His narrow jaw clenched, Vale lowered his hands from her and took a step backward. “I won’t cause a scene,” he said tightly. “Miranda, I will see you Thursday at Harris House for dinner.”
“She knows where she’s eating,” Aden said amiably, stepping up in front of her. “If ye need a reminder for yerself, ye should write it down, Admiral.”
Before Miranda could complete the thought that Matthew had succeeded in delivering the invitation for dinner, Aden clasped her hand, placed his other palm on her waist, and drew her into the dance. She dug her fingers into his shoulder until she found her literal and figurative balance again.
“So this is how you put yourself into the middle of this mess,” she finally said, torn between delight that she didn’t have to dance with Vale any longer tonight, and dismay that Aden had made the captain more angry than she’d previously seen him, and by a good measure.
