Connor stood across the hall with Alex and three older men whose faces carried the watchful satisfaction of guests who hadfound plenty to study. He was speaking to them, or perhaps listening. It was difficult to tell from this distance because he had a way of making either one look like he was being firm.
His dark hair was tied back neatly, and his formal coat sat on his shoulders as if the tailor had understood the importance of giving such a man room to move.
He looked confident, alluring, and far too composed for someone who had whispered what he had to her five minutes ago.
Violet tried to convince herself that she was watching because he was her husband and the room expected her to know where he stood. The lie, however, did not hold.
If he had looked smug, something told her she would have been angry about that. Instead, he looked patient.
“The musicians are on the other side of the hall,” Hannah reminded her.
Violet blinked and forced her gaze toward the dancers. “I ken.”
“Then why are ye watching yer husband?”
“To make sure he behaves.”
“A full-time occupation, I assume.”
Violet set her cup down. “Ye are enjoying yerself too much, Sister.”
“I am watching me sister pretend nae to watch her husband at her wedding celebration. What can I say? I am only human.”
Violet did not answer because Connor had looked over. Their eyes met over the moving bodies, lifted cups, and shifting candlelight. The memory of his hand on her back after the ceremony returned with irritating clarity, and she hated how easily she let it in.
She could still feel the way he had guided without pressing and the way he had spared her from the kiss and then ruined the mercy by handing her a confession that had followed her across the hall more closely than his touch.
But then, that was Connor, wasn’t it? Doing something gracious now and ruining it minutes later with something terrible.
She shook her head and decided to look away first. If anyone was going to be sensible about this, it would be her.
Her eyes flicked to the musicians. That was when she noticed the women.
A girl near the musicians whispered behind her cup to her companion while watching Connor, and a dark-haired woman by the far table let her gaze travel over him.
What in the?—
Her hand curled into a fist before she remembered to stop thinking like a woman ready to march into battle. Moira had described that section of the hall the previous day as the widows’ corner.
“Every social event is an opportunity for them to find another match. The Laird tends to make it easy,” Moira had said.
Violet remembered thinking that it was actually quite considerate of him to do that. But now, she felt completely different.
The girls near the musicians continued to speak with their heads bent together, their smiles small and knowing.
Violet had assumed people feared Connor, and she hadn’t been wrong. They did fear him. It just had not stopped some of them from wanting him.
The thought struck with rude force as one of the widows stepped away from the others.
She was perhaps a little older than Violet, beautiful in a confident, polished way, with auburn hair coiled beneath a fine veil and a gown cut well enough beneath her cleavage. Violet watched as she moved toward Connor with a smile that wasnotshy, carrying herself like a woman who understood everything happening around her.
The sight made Violet’s stomach tighten.
It wasnotjealousy. It was just… demand for respect.
A wife deserved respect on her wedding day, and her husband having the first dance with a widow who smiled like temptation would be improper.Publiclyimproper and socially clumsy. It could also be damaging to the image of peace and stability that Connor was trying so hard to put up.
Violet watched as the widow reached Connor. She could not hear every word over the music, but she saw enough. She saw the way the woman smiled and the graceful tilt of her head. She saw Connor turning toward her with cool attention and Alex lowering his cup as if suddenly entertained by the entire world.
