Chapter Twenty-Four
Connall glared acrossthe dance floor and cursed himself for a fool. Of all the stupid mistakes he’d made in courting Mairi, today’s had to take the bloody cake. He knew that Mairi and her father had a special bond. It had been just the two of them since her mother had died in childbed along with her little brother. Through the years, Mairi and her father had struggled together, finding their place with the MacCleal clan and building the glass factory for which her father was so famous.
He should not have told her so baldly that her father had at last filled the emptiness in his life with a new love. Even though Mairi would want to see her father happy, such news could not be anything more than a blow. She was no longer the only woman in her father’s life, and now she likely felt cut adrift.
That had been his purpose, after all, and his motives had been dark. He’d waited these last nights for her to come to him. He wanted her to choose him. Instead, all the talk in the carriage had been about getting Mr. Weissman to propose.
And who the bloody hell was Mr. Weissman?
Mairi’s intended husband, apparently. And Connall was nothing but a discounted Scot who had laid his heart bare to her four nights before.
So he’d lashed out at her in his discontent. And now she was dancing with every damned man here as if her very life depended upon it. Her smile was rigid, and her laughter forced. She danced stiffly, and he could see that she was fighting her upset. Why didn’t she turn to him when her father found a new woman to love? Why wouldn’t she let him show her that she had another in her life who would adore her above all others?
Instead, he had wounded her, and now she danced with the Sassenach as if one of them were the key to her happiness. Worse, she’d declared her intention to wed the unknown Mr. Weissman, and Mairi never went back on her word.
What a fool he was.
But if he was a fool, then he might as well be a complete one. He had tried patience with the woman, attempted logic, and even seduction. None of it had worked, and so now he was going to do what he was best at: action.
He had said they would talk between the second and third sets. He’d thought that would give her enough time to see the lack of opportunities around her and turn to him. He was done with that nonsense. She was the only woman for him, and he would not leave her to another man. Not without staking his claim in the most Scottish way he knew how.
He would declare it boldly, leaving no room for doubt in anyone’s mind. And let the damned Mr. Weissman decide how to compete with that.
He didn’t even wait for the set to end. He knew the patterns of the dance and chose his moment well. Mairi and her partner were at the top of the formation. They spun around once, separated, then headed on opposite sides of the line all the way down to the bottom. Easy enough for him to wait near the top of the line, then grab her just as she spun away from the gentleman and straight into his arms.
“What—?” she gasped as he swept her around in another spin before setting her on her feet.
“You’re miserable,” he said to her startled face. “And you’re always rash when you hurt. I’ve come to keep you from doing something stupid.”
Her eyes widened and she abruptly set her hands on her hips. “And who are you to decide such a thing for me?”
“I’m the man who loves you, you damned fool. And woe be to any other soul who dares challenge me for your hand.” He swept a glare across the room and was pleased to see several gentlemen shrink away from him. He hoped Mr. Weissman was among them. Then he focused back on her. “Don’t fight me on this, woman. You need a strong man right now, and I’m the one to be it.”
And with that, he gestured with his free hand out of the pavilion. His other arm was wrapped around her waist, but a simple spin would have her away from him and back to the dancers. And if she did such a thing, he would let her go. A man could knock his brains against a stone wall for only so long.
But to his shock and pleasure, she nodded meekly and took a step in the direction he bid. He was quick to keep her beside him, pressed to his hip as they crossed onto the grass and then deeper into the pleasure garden.
He walked quickly, moving them away from the various expressions of theton. He had no interest in what they thought and had no wish to clutter Mairi’s mind with them either. Which meant it was the Dark Path for them.
He was still pondering what he would say to her when she broke the silence between them.
“You are right. I’ve no cause to be angry at my father for finding a wife. He’s been alone for so long. I’m pleased that he found someone to warm his bed.”
She sounded anything but pleased, and so he tucked her tighter still against his side.
“He hasn’t been alone,” Connall reminded her. “You’ve been with him, and no father could love a daughter more. Whatever he feels for Miss Allen will not change what is between the two of you.”
She jolted in his arms, twisting slightly to look at him. “And is that why you think I’m hurting? Because I want my father’s love for myself alone?”
He slowed his steps, staying beneath the glow of a lantern long enough to study her face in detail. She seemed both outraged and amused. “It’s only natural,” he said slowly. “You’ve been the sole woman—”
“I’m not that selfish to deny my father such a thing. I just thought…” She grimaced. “He and my mother were a love for all time. That’s what he told me every night as I went to bed. That I was born of their love and that nothing could be so perfect or so pure.”
“That’s not changed.”
“Hasn’t it? He’s grieved my mother for my whole life. He’s told me of the day they first met, the color of her hair and the sound of her laugh. When deep in his cups, he talked about how she fit in his arms and that there could never be another. And he’s lived mired in that grief for my whole life. I thought him a broken man.”
“I know it,” Connall said. He’d spent some of those drunken nights with her father listening to the tale of that great love. He’d even fancied that he and Mairi could have such a thing as well.