Unlike her first Season, when her eyes sought him out and he never responded, she was pleased to find him searching for her as well.
Her partner for the fourth dance led her to the floor. “Lady Mary, you are the most beautiful woman here.”
“Thank you, my lord.” She wanted to roll her eyes. In addition to being forward, all the gentlemen said the same thing. It was nothing but flummery. She almost wished to be complimented on hergarden . . . by anyone but Kit, that was. When he told her she looked well, he was sincere. Mary turned her attention back to the young peer whose name she’d already half forgotten.
Sometime later, Mary stole a surreptitious glance at her dance card. Thank God. Only one more set until the supper dance.
Soon a middle-aged gentleman bowed before her. “My lady, I believe this is my dance. However, if you’d rather stroll the room, I’m perfectly happy to oblige.”
She fanned herself. Despite the doors and windows being open, the room was stuffy and hot. Now if only she could remember his name without having to peek at her dance card. “I’d like that extremely.”
“Mr. Grant,” Lady Theo said, “as you are not joining this set, would you be so kind as to arrange glasses of lemonade for Lady Mary and me?”
“My pleasure, my lady.” He walked away, hailing a footman.
“You do not want to consider him, my dear,” Lady Theo whispered in her ear. “He is a widower with five thousand a year and four children. All girls. The first one comes out next year.”
Mary bit her lip to keep from laughing. “Thank you for your advice. I shall keep it in mind.”
Mr. Grant returned her to Lady Theo just before Kit came to fetch her for the waltz. Once he took her hand, she felt as if she were in a different world. Did he feel the same? She desperately wanted him to. Yet how to know? He was as polite as always, but she wanted more.
Simon had waited in a shadow by the stairs to the ballroom until he saw Morna, his son, and his daughter enter. His stomach clenched as if he’d been struck. Cormac was tall and strong, just as Simon thought he’d be. Finella reminded him of Morna when she was younger. Sixteen, to be exact. He made the mental calculations. Finella was barely the same age. What the hell was Morna doing bringing their daughter out now? The girl was too young. He took a closer look, and Finella appeared ill at ease. This might not be her first adult entertainment, but it would certainly be her last for at least two years. No daughter of his would be allowed to marry at sixteen.
Wanting to see the shock on Morna’s face when she saw him, wanting her to suffer as he had over the years, he’d thought toapproach her boldly when she arrived. Yet he hadn’t considered how the rest of Edinburgh’s Polite Society would respond, or the embarrassment he could cause his sister and her guests. Therefore, he skirted the edge of the room as his family made their way through the crowd, and waited.
His son approached Lady Mary and was introduced, only to be turned away as she gave him a polite smile. Apparently, Cormac had not arrived in time to obtain a dance. Other gentlemen, the vultures, began to gather around Finella as Morna smiled and performed introductions. It was all Simon could do to stop himself from dragging his daughter away.
He crossed the ballroom, moving behind the pillars which separated the center on each side from small alcoves, potted palms, and enough cover to take Morna unawares.
While his wife stood off to the side, his children had partners and were forming the set for a country dance. When he was close enough to almost touch her, he placed his lips close to her ear. “Morna, I’ve come for you and our children.”
Her head whipped around, and her eyes grew wide. She opened her mouth, and promptly swooned. Simon caught her before she slid to the wooden floor.
Theo was there in an instant. “Why in the name of heaven,” she said in a disgusted tone, “could you not have approached her from the front? At least it would have given her a little time to accustom herself to your being here.” He lifted Morna into his arms. “For the love of God, Simon, I don’t think you’ve changed a bit.” Theo glanced around. “Come through this door. There is a parlor, and I pray it’s empty. Carrying her through the ballroom will cause talk.”
“I don’t care,” he growled. Claiming his family was the only thing that mattered, and that included his wife. Damn him for an idiot. He loved her as much now as he ever had.
“You may not,” his sister snapped, “but I do. Follow me. What were you thinking? Or were you?”
“I didn’t want to give her a chance to deny me.”
Ignoring him, Theo strolled toward a door painted with the same mural that covered the walls of the entire room. He held Morna tightly as if she’d awaken and jump out of his arms.
Theo opened the door, shoved him in, and glanced around. “Put her on the chaise. I’ll procure some water.”
The door closed, leaving him and his wife in the dimly lit parlor. He chafed her hands. “Morna, come back to me, my love.”
Her lashes fluttered. A moment later, her lovely green eyes, the color of new leaves, opened. “It is you, Simon? I thought I was seeing a ghost.”
“Mayhap a ghoulie?” He stroked her jaw and leaned down to kiss her. She smelled of heather and rosemary, as she had before. All thoughts of revenge on her were forgotten as he pressed his lips to hers.
“Ye do not understand, Simon.” Tears filled her eyes. “I thought ye were dead.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
“Dead!”Simon raked his fingers through his pitch-black curls.
“Where did you get a daft idea like that?”
