“Do you now?” He raised an arrogant brow.
She almost laughed in his face. He might be a Scottish marquis’s son, but she was an English duke’s daughter and had learned to negotiate with the best. “I do.”
“You’ve got yourself a wager, my lady. I’ll make sure to tell Cook to order more spices.”
As far as Kit was concerned, the evening was a complete and total failure. He’d got to dance twice with Mary, but neither was a waltz. Lady MacDonald, whose entertainment it was, still considered the dance to be scandalous. He watched Mary as Mr. Munro led her to the set forming for a Scottish reel. There was something about the man Kit didn’t like. Probably because Munro kept looking at her as if he’d like to have her in his bed. As soon as it was over, Kit would ask her to take the air on the terrace with him. It was time to propose.
He just prayed she’d accept him.
“Mr. Featherton.”
He glanced at his hostess. Accompanying her was a young lady who could not be more than seventeen. The girl wore thick glasses and looked as if she’d like to flee.Damnation!All he wanted to do was stay here and keep an eye on Mary and the Scottish rogue she was standing up with. Instead he pasted the expected smile on his face and inclined his head. “Yes, my lady.”
Lady MacDonald smiled a bit nervously, almost as if she were afraid to approach him. “Miss MacGregor, I’d like to introduce you to Mr. Featherton. Sir, Miss MacGregor.”
Stifling the sigh he wanted to heave and the urge to walk away, he bowed. “Miss MacGregor, it would be my pleasure if you would allow me to partner you for this dance.”
A tentative smile trembled on her lips, and he knew he’d made the right decision. Why did parents allow their daughters to come out before they were ready? He’d make sure none of his did. If Mary accepted him and they had children.
“I’d be pleased to accept.”
Unfortunately, by the time they took their places, he was at the other end of the dance floor from Mary.
A half hour later, Kit had never been so glad for a set to end. He escorted the young lady back to his hostess, who was fortunately not too distant from Lady Theo. Snagging a passing footman, he took one glass of wine and another of lemonade, then strode forward to collect Mary. Except she wasn’t with Lady Theo. Where the devil was she? He scanned the room and saw that scoundrel Munro leading her to the other end of the ballroom.
Bloody hell!The blackguard was taking her outside, probably for no good purpose. Kit dumped the glasses in the potted palm next to him. Quickening his pace, he kept to the edge of the room so as not to be waylaid by his hostess or anyone else. Munro and Mary were already on the balcony when he arrived.
Although the light was dim, Mary seemed to be backed up against the stone balustrades, and the cur was standing far too close to her. Munro bent his head down as if he would kiss her. In the moonlight Mary’s complexion was a waxy green, and her eyes wide with fear as she tried to retreat even further. The problem was there was no place for her to go.
Resisting the urge to grab the blackguard and pitch him over the side, Kit calmed himself. As angry as he was, he would not create a scene.
Clipping the end of each word, he growled, “Get. Away. From. Her.”
Mary’s gaze switched to him, and he thought he saw relief in her face as their eyes locked.
The other man glanced up and raised his brows in a look of distain. “And what is she to ye, Sassenach?”
He clenched his jaw. If the rogue wanted a fight, he’d get one. He hadn’t spent all those hours at Jackson’s Salon for nothing. “She is mine.”
Mary sucked in a breath, her eyes shifting from him to the Scot and back to Kit.
The other man rose to his full height, which was about the same as Kit’s, and crossed his arms. “Is she now?” Munro’s Scottish burr became more pronounced as he glanced for a moment at Mary. “Then what’s she doing out here with me?”
She opened her mouth but didn’t seem able to speak. Kit reached his hand out to her. Just as their fingers touched, the Scot stepped between them. “No so fast there, Bobadil.”
Kit smiled to himself. The cur thought he was a braggart, did he? He quickly assessed their positions. They were close in height and weight, and therefore probably evenly matched. Unless Kit wanted a prolonged fight on his hands, which he refused to subject Mary to, he’d have to hit Munro hard enough to put him over the low railing, which only came to the Scot’s upper thighs.
Kit kept his hands from forming fists and giving his plan away. “You have one last chance to leave this terrace alone and by the door.”
“Or ye’ll do what, Englishman?” The Scott sneered. “You’re likely too afraid ye’ll ruin your fine cloths to do naught to me. I—”
Grabbing Munro’s shoulder, Kit swung the man around, and plowed his fist into the Scot’s jaw. Munro’s jaw swung up as he stumbled back and toppled off the terrace into the bushes below.
Without thinking, Kit crushed Mary to him and her lips to his. What would have happened to her if he’d not been there to save her? What the hell was he doing now? His behavior was no better than Munro’s, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. He softened his mouth, lightly nibbling her full bottom lip, cupping her face in his hands, before slanting his head and demanding she respond.
God, he’d never tasted anything as good as Mary, sweet and tart, just like the lady herself. He needed her with him for the rest of his life.
Thank the heavens, Kit had come when he had. Ignoring the low groan from the garden below, Mary threw her arms around his neck. His lips were warm, but firm and masterful. Nothing like what she had experienced when Gawain or the other rakes had tried to kiss her. He smelled clean, and very male. To think she had thought he had no passion. How so very wrong she’d been.
