What is she doing? Testing me?
The man’s hand rested at her waist, his touch too familiar, too comfortable for James’s liking. Eloise laughed at something said, her head tilting slightly, and the sight struck deeper than it should have.
“Who is that fool?” James muttered, his gaze narrowing as he watched the pair turn.
Callum, standing nearby, followed his line of sight and let out a quiet chuckle.
“Aye, I was wonderin’ how long it would take,” he said lightly.
James shot him a look. “Take for what?”
Callum only smirked and said, “For ye to notice ye daenae like another man’s hands on yer betrothed.”
“I daenae care who dances with her,” James replied sharply, though the edge in his voice betrayed him.
Callum raised a brow, unimpressed. “That man is Silas. He is a new landowner in these parts. He has come to the castle to be introduced to ye during yer audience tomorrow.”
James exhaled sharply and turned his attention back to the dance, though his hands had curled into fists at his sides. The man’s hand shifted slightly against Eloise’s waist, and that was enough.
“I’ve seen enough of this,” James muttered, already stepping forward. Callum’s quiet laughter followed him, though he paid it no mind.
The music swelled as James crossed the floor, his steps steady and purposeful as he approached the pair. Without hesitation, he reached out, placing a firm hand upon the man’s shoulder.
“That’ll be enough, Silas,” he said coolly, his tone leaving little room for protest.
The man blinked in surprise but stepped back at once, bowing slightly. “Me apologies, me Laird,” he said, retreating without question.
Eloise turned to face James, her expression shifting from surprise to curiosity. “And what do ye think ye’re doin’?” she asked, though she did not pull away as he took her hand.
“Dancin' with me betrothed,” James replied, drawing her into the movement.
She let out a soft huff, though she followed his lead, her steps falling easily into rhythm. His hand settled at her waist, and the contact sent a quiet tension through him, sharper than he had expected.
She was warm beneath his touch, steady and unyielding, her gaze lifting to meet his with that same defiance he had come to recognize.
“Ye’ve a strange way of askin' me to dance,” she said, her voice low, edged with challenge.
He held her gaze, his expression controlled, though something darker flickered beneath. “I didnae ask,” he said evenly, guiding her through the turn.
She arched a brow at that, her lips curving faintly. “Aye, I suppose that is true,” she replied dryly, her tone laced with quiet amusement.
They moved together in silence for a moment, the music carrying them as the hall faded slightly around them. James became acutely aware of every detail, the way her hand rested in his, the light brush of her skirts against his legs, the steady rise and fall of her breath.
He tightened his grip ever so slightly, as though to remind himself of the control he must maintain.
“If I didnae ken better,” she said suddenly, her voice softer now but no less pointed, “I’d think ye were jealous.” The words landed cleanly, and for a brief moment, he said nothing.
He let out a short, dismissive breath, his gaze sharpening as he looked down at her.
“Jealous?” he repeated, as if the notion were absurd. “Daenae flatter yerself, lass, it’s nae jealousy.”
She tilted her head slightly, studying him with clear skepticism. “Then what would ye call it?” she pressed.
His hand at her waist tightened just enough to be felt, though not enough to draw notice from others. “I’d call it necessity,” he said coolly. “It’s important they all ken ye’re mine, for the sake of this farce.”
Eloise’s eyes narrowed slightly, though her lips curved with faint amusement. “Is that so?” she said. “And ye couldnae let that man finish a single dance without remindin’ them?”
“I’ve nae patience for half measures,” he replied. “If we’re to convince them, then it must be done properly.”
