Brynne and Lachlan hadn’t waltzed together for four years; not since Grotonborough House. But despite all of that time gone by–or perhaps because of it–they moved together in perfect unison, anticipating each other’s movements as if they were of the same mind.
When the pointed heel of her shoe caught on the hem of her dress, he was there to steady her before she ever had the chance to stumble. When he would have inadvertently backed into the Earl of Chadwick, she guided him out of the way with the slightest pressure of her fingertips on his bicep.
Either by accident or design–she wasn’t sure which–they gradually moved to the center of the room, and beneath a grand chandelier sparkling with the light of a hundred crystals, they spun and twirled through the complicated steps of the Viennese waltz as if they’d wings beneath their feet.
After the dance was over, the entire room, from the main floor to the marble steps to the outdoor terrace, broke into spontaneous applause, and it took Brynne a moment to realize what the object of their praise was.
“They’re clapping for you,” she said softly.
“No, little bird,” he replied as he bowed in front of her and then took her hand to kiss the back of it. “They’re clapping forus.”
So they were, and that knowledge brought a pleased bloom of pink to her already flushed cheeks. “Would you care for something to drink?” she asked. At his nod, she nabbed two flutes of champagne off the tray of a servant and then led Lachlan to a quiet corner filled with empty chairs where they would be able to speak in relative privacy while remaining in full view of the other guests.
As she stared into the frothy gold bubbles rising up from the bottom of her glass, it was impossible not to recall the last time they’d shared champagne…and what had followed its consumption.
Her one and only kiss.
Sweet, magical, momentous.
Everything that a girl could ever hope for.
With a man that a woman could only dream about.
“Ten years,” said Lachlan.
Lifting her gaze to his, she blinked in confusion. “What?”
“Ten years ago ye made me a promise, Lady Brynne Weston.” His eyes glittered, two comets racing across a sky cloaked in ebony. “We Scots take our oaths very seriously, and I’ve come tae collect me prize.”
She didn’t have to ask to what promise he was referring to; she still remembered as if it had happened yesterday.
“In ten years, if ye havena married some wealthy bounder, we’ll meet back here, at this very spot. And we’ll marry each other.”
She raised the flute to her lips and took a lingering sip as she attempted to gauge the level of his sobriety over the rim. He certainlylookedserious. But surely he was jesting. Having a bit of fun to lighten the mood. “Very amusing, Lord Campbell. Have you any strawberry drops handy?”
While the edges of his mouth softened, his gaze remained solemn. “I thought lime fruit was yer favorite.”
“So it is.” She waited for a crack to appear in all that somberness. When none did, she finished off her champagne and, although she rarely drank more than a glass at a time, and then strictly on special occasions, desperately wished she had an entire bottle handy. Maybe then she’d be prepared for the discussion it appeared they were about to have.
A discussion that she feared was only going to end in one way.
With hurt feelings…and bruised hearts.
“Lachlan, I…I know what I agreed to. But I was a girl. Hardly more than a child.” She gave a laugh that he did not return. “Surely you cannot mean to hold me to an agreement I made when I was fourteen. Besides, it hasn’t been a full ten years. Not yet.”
“Have ye plans tae marry in the next few months?” he asked.
“No, but–”
“Then it’s close enough.”
Arrogant Scotshe thought with no small amount of affection.
“Whyhavenaye married?” He arched a russet brow. “I’ve not spent much time in London, it’s true. But I’ve been there enough tae know that ye’re as prized a diamond as ever there was. Yet ye have turned down countless proposals. Tae dukes, and earls, and viscounts. Even tae a prince, if the rumors are tae be believed.”
“They are,” she said reluctantly. “But he wasn’treallya prince. Just in line for the throne.”
“Just in line for the throne.” Lachlan’s second brow rose to join the first as an incredulous smile played across his lips. “Do ye even hear yerself, little bird? Ye could have had a bluidyprince. But ye turned him down. Why?”
