Page 38 of I’ve Grown Accustomed to My Scot

“Ready?” he asked her.

Was she? She straightened her back and lifted her chin. “I am.”

The dance helped to calm her. Rory was a good dancer and Grace had been taught by a dancing instructor while her mother was still alive, so she did not fear making a mistake. They were enjoying themselves, and Rory grinned at her as they circled the room.

“That’s shown them,” he declared, giving her a twirl.

She laughed at his enthusiasm. She loved that about Rory, the way he threw himself into each new challenge, the way he found joy in most things. Grace was more inclined to worry about what lay before her, building it up in her mind until it felt almost insurmountable. But Rory was teaching her that there was nothing that could not be overcome.

He was teaching her other things too. He was such a sensual man, but she was sensual too. They complemented each other in that regard. Beyond the bedroom, they enjoyed each other’s company and seemed to have no trouble finding topics of conversation. Sometimes when they were together, like this, everything just felt . . . right. As if the happily married couple they were pretending to be wasn’t a pretense after all.

The music was about to start up again when Rory stopped with a frown. “I think you have an admirer coming to ask you for a dance,” he said, although he didn’t sound very happy about it.

Grace turned and saw that there was a gentleman bowing. “May I have the pleasure of this dance?” he said.

She knew immediately who it was. She felt light-headed with shock. How could he have the audacity to approach her like this? It was only when he straightened and she looked into that face she knew so well—intimately well—that she remembered that Bolton Buckingham was capable of anything.

Chapter Nineteen

Rory was glad to see Grace enjoying herself. He tried to make her smile at every opportunity. It warmed his heart to see her smile after all she had been through, and she was smiling a great deal tonight. This was nothing like the theatre when she seemed conscious of everyone’s eyes upon her. This time she was ignoring them, laughing as they danced, and paying more attention to Rory and her own pleasure than those about her. He thought that in time she would learn to show these London nobs that she was not to be intimidated.

And the necklace he had bought suited her well. Until Kilsyth had casually mentioned how much his wife had loved jewelry, Rory had not thought to get something personal. Well, he had thought about it, but he hadn’t been brave enough to actually make the purchase.

When the gentleman requested a dance with Grace, Rory was at first pleased. Yes, he would have preferred to keep her to himself, but this seemed like a good sign. And then he realized how her body had stiffened beside him and her face turned deathly pale.

“Grace?” He glared at the gentleman who, for some reason, seemed to be enjoying the effect he was having upon her. “What is it, my love?” The endearment slipped from his lips so naturally, he wasn’t even aware of it.

“Bolton!” another voice cried, and there was Lady Fotheringham, her eyes avid upon the three of them. “You are a naughty nephew. Do come away. You will upset Lady Grace.”

Bolton. It was so staged, so rehearsed, and there was such glee in the woman’s face, that Rory understood then that this had all been planned. And he was furious.

“Grace,” he said quietly. “We are leaving. Now.”

At the same time Bolton spoke, with a look that was admiring and yet salacious at the same time, “You look well, Grace. I wondered if you would let the scandal bring you down, but it seems you have risen above it.”

“What are you doing here?” Grace said, and Rory saw the moment her frozen demeanor turned to anger, and despite the awfulness of the moment, he was proud of her. “How dare you show your face to me after what you did!”

Bolton’s smirk grew. “I returned to London last week. My sister told me all about your marriage. A duke’s son, even if he is a Scot! I just had to see you and give you my congratulations in person.”

“I think you should leave,” Rory said in a soft dangerous voice. “I dinna want to skewer you, but I will if you don’t turn around and vanish. Remember, I am a Scots barbarian.”

Bolton gave an uncertain laugh. “I believe you mean that,” he said. “Perhaps you are in love.” The words held a sneer as he backed away from what he saw in Rory’s face. “Very well. I will live to dance another day.” And then he turned and vanished into the crowd.

Rory felt rage like a hot wave inside him, and his fists clenched at his sides. Bolton Buckingham, the man who had abandoned Grace after he ruined her, who had treated her with cruel contempt and left when she needed him most. Rory wanted to punch him and keep on punching him. He might even have done so if Grace weren’t by his side, her hand clutching onto his arm as if to hold him back.

Punching Bolton would not solve anything. It might make Rory feel better but it would not help the situation, and it would only make the scandal worse.

“We will leave,” he said more mildly.

Her dark eyes flickered over his face, as if trying to read his thoughts, and then she shook her head. She was still pale, but now there was a determined set to her mouth. “I think we should have one more dance,” she said, “otherwise it will look as if we are running away.”

Rory forced a smile of his own. “Good idea. We will show them all we don’t care. That the Buckingham beastie has done you a favor by running away so that I could marry you.”

Her smile trembled and his heart ached. He still wanted to do Buckingham physical harm, but he would restrain himself for Grace’s sake. For the sake of their plan to restore her good name to the society that had turned their backs on her.

They began to dance again, and gradually Grace’s stiff body softened, her strained look eased, and she even gave a giggle when he spun her around too fast.

“I am better looking than him,” he said, pretending to consider the matter. “Do you no’ agree?”