Page 91 of His Duchess to Remember

“Shall we head down?” Evelyn asked, coming to the rescue.

Putting on a tight smile, Octavia nodded. “Yes, I think we shall.”

Despite her obvious displeasure, she held tightly to Malcolm’s arm as he led her down the stairs to where the ball was already in full swing. Guests were streaming in through the front doors, while more were mingling in the hallway, gradually making their way to the grand ballroom, where lively music drifted out.

Octavia remained close to Malcolm’s side, as he instinctively curved his body to block anyone who might bump into her or stare at her. Although, regarding the latter, he wondered how anyone could possibly not stare when she looked as remarkable as she did.

“Reminds me of our first dance,” Malcolm said softly, close to her ear, as they weaved their way to the ballroom. “And our second.”

Octavia peered up at him, her frown returning. “I do not wish to dance tonight, if that is what you are asking.”

“Is that nae what a ball is for?” He smiled. “To dance?”

“Not in this gown,” she replied. “I did not have time to take it to the seamstress for adjustments, and it is a little bit too long. So, alas, I cannot dance, not unless I wish to fall on my face.”

He shrugged, laughing quietly. “I can just lift ye up and whirl ye around. Yer feet don’t even need to touch the floor.”

“I fear that would cause the same effect as me falling on my face,” she muttered, as she gently pulled him toward the spot that Evelyn and Hugo had found, right beside the terrace doors that opened out onto the sea view.

The cool breeze was a welcome thing, fighting against the sweltering heat of the ballroom. Yet, looking out across the dance floor, he was surprised by his disappointment that he was not dancing there with his wife.

She’s nae going to forgive me, is she?

He shook off the thought. It was still early in their reunion, and he was not the sort of man who gave up easily.

Besides, the night was still young. Perhaps, after a glass of punch or two, she might agree to be whirled about the dance floor with him after all.

“I believe the waltz is next, lass, if ye feel so inclined,” Malcolm said, surprising Octavia for the hundredth time that night.

Indeed, it was getting harder to feign indifference with every earnest remark he made.

After an hour of sitting there by the terrace, hearing his attempts to joke with her and to strike up a conversation that might interest her, she was beginning to feel rather guilty, in truth.

“I told you, I cannot dance tonight,” she replied, toying with the handle of her punch glass. “I am sorry for it, but it truly would not be worth the catastrophe.”

He nodded, his eyes alight with amusement. “Are ye sure ye’re nae just sparing my feelings because ye don’t ken if I remember how to dance or nae?”

“No, I am certain it is because of my dress,” she replied, bemused.

What is the matter with him?

His lovely smile had not left his face all evening, despite her rebuffing his attempts to amuse her. Indeed, his trying to amuse her was a bewildering thing, for it was almost as if he was the Malcolm who had suffered amnesia.

Now that she thought about it, he had been that way ever since riding back from Scotland to move into the Dower House. His entire demeanor had been more relaxed, and though she had not experienced it directly, she had seen how silly and playful he had been with Simon.

“It’s probably for the best,” he said, chuckling. “I never could dance very well, even after Anthony spent weeks trying to teach me how. I still don’t ken how I made it through our first dance without tripping ye or tripping myself.”

Weirdly vexed, Octavia turned to him and puffed out a breath. “Did you hit your head again?”

“What?”

“I am just trying to figure out why you are so… different, all of a sudden,” she said, frowning. “Have you gone mad, perhaps?”

“Lass,” he replied, his voice low and enticing, “I have never been more sane in my life. And it wasn’t a knock to the head that did it; it was a conversation with the boy whose life I saved when I did knock my head.”

She blinked, thrown by his admission. “What do you mean?”

“The lad I saved from the river came to Highcastle,” Malcolm explained. “He came to ask for work so he could help himself and his brothers. A lad who had nothing but his pride but set it aside so he could better his life. And he said something to me that changed everything: “Whatever I do with my life, I mean to be a better man than my father. If I can do that, I’ll be happy.” In that moment, I realized that he and I wanted the same thing, and were already achieving it.”