That smirk of his, the way it curved with just enough arrogance to irritate her and yet… there was something about it. Something that made her forget, just for a moment, the crowded ballroom, the sharp-tongued whispers, and the suffocating presence of her stepmother.
She pushed the feeling away quickly, locking it up before it could take root. It was foolish to be drawn to a man she didn’t know, a man who stood too close and smiled too easily.
And admitting the truth would mean revealing too much: that she’d fled the ballroom because she couldn’t bear another empty compliment, another calculating stare, another pointed nudge from Lady Grisham.
But here, in this hidden gallery, she could be someone else. A different Elizabeth. One no one had already dismissed or defined. And he wouldn’t know the difference.
“I wanted to see the art they were talking about,” she said, lifting her chin in a show of false composure. “It was, er… illuminating.”
It was a partial truth. One she clung to.
The Scot took another step towards her. Now, if he moved again, it would be an embrace, an undeniable scandal. Her heart betrayed her entirely, hammering in her chest so loudly she feared he might hear it.
“Ye ken,” he murmured, lowering his voice like a shared secret, “folk say I’m beyond redemption. Call me a brute. Yet somehow, they still parade their daughters before me.”
“How terribly inconvenient,” she replied, a bit more dryly than she intended.
At leasthehad choices.
His gaze flicked over her face. Steady, assessing.
“Do ye find me fearsome, then?” he asked.
Elizabeth hesitated. His scent enveloped her senses: the earthiness of it was clean, something untamed and far from the perfumed gentry that had pressed too close to her all evening.
“Perhaps not,” she admitted. “But I find youimproper, my lord.”
“I can live with that.” His eyes glinted. “Mayhap ye’ll teach me to be a gentleman.”
She scoffed, but he didn’t back down.
“Ye might, lass. If ye’re bold enough to seek ‘illumination,’ surely ye’ve got lessons to share.”
“And you think you’re capable of learning from me? Aren’t you too old for instruction?” she quipped, though her voice trembled with more than just nerves.
His laugh burst from him, rich and unabashed. It echoed softly against the painted walls.
“I learn fast,” he said, eyes glinting. “Especially when the tutor’s worth watchin’… and listenin’ to.”
A flicker of heat raced through her. His gaze had dipped—not lewdly, not like the others—but it swept her with openappreciation. It was terrifying. And worse, she didn’t feel disgusted. She felt… seen.
She swallowed. “Will you heed instruction, my lord?” she asked, meaning to sound mocking, but the words came out far too sincere.
He stepped even closer. “If it’s your voice teachin’? Aye, lass.”
Elizabeth stared at him, stunned into stillness.
How had she becomethisversion of herself?
The one who lingered in scandalous galleries and parried with strange men who made her feel something deeper than dread. Who made her feelalive.
She had recoiled from every man introduced to her formally. And yet here she was, rooted to the spot while this one—this Highland brute with a title—spoke to her as if she mattered.
But what if he was just another Linpool, cloaked in charm and ruin?
She didn’t have time to decide.
He reached up slowly, fingers brushing the air near one of the loose curls at her temple. He hadn’t touched her, not truly, but shefelthim anyway, as if his hand had already mapped her skin.