Regency Proposal. Ann Lethbridge
raised a brow.
‘No need to be churlish, Gilvry,’ Dunstan muttered.
The orchestra struck up a reel. Ian inclined his head. ‘I see I should make amends. May I request this next dance, Lady Selina?’
The air left her lungs in a rush. That she had not expected. For a moment, she almost said yes. It might be her only opportunity to speak with him alone, to proffer her thanks for the service he’d rendered her friend. A dance was about as private as she’d ever dared be with Ian Gilvry. But dancing was out of the question. Did he know that? Was he taunting her, knowing full well she could not dance? It would be the sort of thing a Gilvry would take pleasure in. ‘I do not dance tonight, Mr Gilvry.’
His eyes remained wintry, giving no hint of his thoughts. ‘You will excuse me, then,’ he said softly. ‘I promised Miss Campbell I would lead her out at the first opportunity.’ He executed the slightest of bows, an arrogant inflection of his neck that said he bowed to no man or woman, and strode off, his kilt swinging with each long stride, his wide shoulders square.
The feel of her arms clinging to those shoulders for dear life teased at her memory. Although on that long-ago afternoon, they’d not been quite so breathtakingly broad.
She dragged her thoughts back to the present and watched Chrissie and her father take to the floor in another set. Despite the differences in their ages, they made a handsome couple. And she couldn’t help but feel glad for his happiness, even if it did mean she must depart his home.
Her gaze wandered to Ian and Miss Campbell. His whole attention was focused on his partner’s face. The girl blushed in response to a murmured word and a flash of a smile.
Something tightened in her chest. Jealousy? Certainly not. A pang of envy? Perhaps. It wasn’t surprising. Not because the girl was dancing with Ian Gilvry—about that she surely didn’t give a hoot. No. It was the dancing she missed.
A wry smile tugged at her lips. She was lucky it was only dancing she’d lost as a result of her recklessness. She could have lost her life.
She gave Dunstan her most brilliant smile. ‘I gather your colonel gave strict instructions with respect to entertaining the single ladies tonight and since I do not dance, I shall not keep you from your duty.’
His expression held relief. ‘You are gracious to be so understanding, my lady.’
‘A soldier’s duty must come first.’ And she really needed to be rid of him for a while. Her heart still raced uncomfortably fast after sparring with Ian.
‘I will escort you to supper, of course.’
‘I look forward to it. In the meantime, do not worry about me. I am well entertained.’
He bowed and departed and was soon leading out a handsome young matron. Strangely enough, Selina didn’t feel a smidgeon of envy as she watched him. Nor would she, she was sure, when he continued to dance with other ladies after they were married. It was the way of their world.
As the music finished, Lord Carrick took up a position on the dais in front of the orchestra.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, I have a special treat for you before supper. If you will please follow me out onto the terrace.’ A buzz of excitement circled the room and people moved towards the French doors at the far end of the hall.
Ian Gilvry, she noticed, left by way of the arch through which he had entered.
With no choice but to follow the rest of the company, she pushed to her feet.
Chrissie and her father joined her. ‘What is going on?’
‘I have no idea,’ Selina said.
A woman standing nearby turned to them. ‘It is a contest. The local lads will compete for a prize for our entertainment.’
‘Not boxing,’ Chrissie said with a shudder.
‘Och, no. Something better. Wait and see.’ She disappeared into the crowd.
The Albright party joined Lord Carrick, who indicated they should sit in the front row and guided Selina to a chair beside Chrissie.
Chrissie gave her a sweet smile. ‘How are you feeling?’
‘Excited about the coming spectacle,’ she said, deliberately misunderstanding Chrissie’s true meaning.
Chrissie leaned closer and whispered something in her husband’s ear. Her father smiled down fondly, murmuring something that made Chrissie giggle.
Feeling like an intruder, Selina averted her gaze and pretended not to notice.
Lit by torches and a full moon, the flagged courtyard looked positively medieval. Lord Carrick seated himself on a thronelike canopied chair carved with symbols of his clan. Clearly he was to be judge and jury of the coming contest.
To the skirling sound of bagpipes five kilted men marched into the open area from beneath a shadowing arch, holding swords across their chests. Among them, taller than all of them, was Ian. Two of his three brothers accompanied him.
The men bent and laid their swords on the flagstones crossed at right angles. The music ceased.
Lord Carrick rose to his feet and the five men bowed. Their chief signalled for them to begin and the piper played the opening bars. The men were going to dance for a purse.
It was a magnificent sight. Strong young men in their plaids and white lace leaping lightly over their swords, jumping higher and faster in ever more complex patterns. Ian’s heavy kilt swung high, revealing strongly muscled thighs and … nothing more. Too bad.
That thought brought heat to Selina’s cheeks. How could she be so wicked?
But the sight of Ian dancing, the controlled wildness in his movement, the demonstration of his male strength and grace, called to something primal inside her. The iron control in the lightness of his feet caused her to hold her breath in awe and fear. A man touched his sword, knocking it askew with a clatter. He ceased dancing immediately, bowed and walked away defeated. She could scarcely bear to watch in case Ian also failed, yet could not look away.
The music’s tempo increased. Another man dropped out. And another, until only two of the older Gilvry brothers remained.
Ian and Niall. Of Andrew there was no sign. Ian leapt without effort, his feet so close to the blades he barely moved from the centre of the cross. What held her transfixed was his intensity, the hot blood of battle expressed in the position of his arms, the proud angle of his head and the fire in his defiant eyes.
Impossible as it seemed, she felt their eyes lock and in that moment, it was as if he danced only for her.
Nay, not for her, she realised. At her, rejecting all she stood for. War declared. The final leaps caused an indrawn breath from the assembled company. Yet they landed lightly, clear of the swords, each man holding position until the last note died away.
The connection snapped.
In unison the two men bowed and stood stiffly, waiting for their chief’s judgement while their audience applauded and cheered.
Even Chrissie and Father leaped to their feet, clapping.
Selina had no doubt Ian would win. Yet she still felt anxious until his chieftain beckoned him forwards. He ran lightly up the terrace steps, shook the Carrick’s hand and took the purse presented with an incline of his head. He did not once glance her way.
There had been no connection between them. He probably couldn’t see her on the terrace in the dark. It had all been her imagination. It wasn’t the first time she’d been mistaken in his interest. The only connection they had was one of mutual dislike.
Deep inside she felt a twinge of sadness. Perhaps because whoever he had danced for, he had expressed himself through movement—a freedom and grace she could never accomplish.
The two men spoke a few words, then Ian ran back