He shouldnae leave me with this mute man.
He moved behind her and nudged her forward, clearing his throat.
That seemed to jerk Mr. Ross out of his daze. He approached her with a new light in his eyes. Talia was hesitant, almost fearful, when he took her hands in his own.
“Miss Collins, ye are far more beautiful than I have heard,” he said with a proud look, puffing out his chest further, nose upturned like a schoolboy awaiting praise after reciting a difficult essay.
She spotted Darragh retreating to the far corner, the same proud look on his face.
The two men shared a look, and that was when realization dawned on her. Darragh had found her first suitor.
6
In the heat of the moment, Talia forgot all her decorum and glared at Darragh. He gave a smile. Worse, he moved to sit on an armchair by the window, implying he intended to chaperone.
Could she feel any more humiliated?
She had had her suspicions when the maids tending to her had insisted that she wear one of the dresses Darragh had provided for her. The neck was cut too low. If she suffered a spell of hyperventilation, her breasts would spill out. The delicate fabric clung to her body like a second skin. The shade, a rich emerald green, complemented her skin like diamonds complemented the Queen’s neck.
How Gaudy!
Her dresses were usually modest, muted colors and high-necked. Perfect for a healer, perfect for a woman who had taken herself off the marriage mart.
The monstrosity she was wearing now was made for the titillation of the opposite sex, if Mr. Ross’s appraising looks were anything to go by. All her objections notwithstanding, she had stared at her reflection and blushed at her beauty.
Mr. Ross did not notice her glare, as he had turned to sit. He moved with the awkwardness of a man strange to courtship and even the basic notions of chivalry.
He had not waited for her to sit first. He poured a cup of tea for himself only and gulped the whole thing down. She had half a mind to storm out of the hall.
He tugged on his collar and poured himself another cup. Talia could not fault him; he was clearly nervous. There was not much space between their seats.
She managed to squeeze between the table and sofa, careful not to lose her balance. She sat on the edge, at an angle that faced the light, and stretched out her slender legs beside the table, conveying her desire to flee.
It seemed to bother Darragh more than it bothered Mr. Ross, who was too busy ogling her décolletage.
“Ye have a way with words. Ye must be quite practiced.” Talia smiled primly.
Mr. Ross tore his eyes away from her chest. “Yer beauty is enough to turn even the most barbaric men into Shakespeare.”
Caught off guard, Talia let out an unladylike snort.
Mr. Ross shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
Darragh shot her a derisive look, and she felt insulted. It was not as though she was not already embarrassed. Now she was well aware he was listening in on their conversation.
He should be grateful for the cordiality she had extended so far before considering chiding her for an intended mistake. He had thrust her toward a man with no attractiveness, no height, and no charm.
Compared to Darragh, who was the object of every maiden’s desire—including her own, removing his personality—Mr. Ross was a tiny Chihuahua. She turned away from him, turning up her nose, not caring how rude she must have appeared.
Blast him!
She looked up from her lap and gave a sheepish smile. “I am flattered, but me laughter isnae so pretty.”
“Nonsense!” If Mr. Ross had been holding his cup, the saucer would have been stained brown. He vibrated like an offended bunny. “I am so inflamed by yer falseness. Yer laugher is like a choir of angels.”
“Ah…” She found herself at a loss for words.
Courtship really was an embarrassing ritual.
