by Dare, Lydia
"I find myself drawn to them."
"Ta my hair combs?" She couldn't help but giggle. "That has ta be the strangest thing a gentleman has ever said ta me."
He wasn't even fazed by her words. "Where did you get them?"
"They were a gift."
A muscle twitched in his jaw and Elspeth swallowed nervously. Why should he be so concerned with her hair combs? It didn't make one bit of sense.
"From whom?" he asked with a darkening frown.
She tilted her head back to see him better. "My mother."
Five
Ben was so taken aback that he couldn't avoid a misstep. "Ouch!" Miss Campbell softly cried as he stepped on her toe. She stopped dancing long enough to wiggle her toes within her slipper. Her eyes met his. Was that a twinkle within the depths? "I think they're all still attached, thank goodness," she continued.
"My apologies, Miss Campbell. I don't usually clod upon the toes of my dance partners."
"Does that mean I should consider myself ta be special?" she asked as he led her back into the dance.
"Quite special," he admitted. Special enough to have wolf hair combs that had been passed to her from her mother.
"Where did your mother get the combs?" he asked, trying to keep his tone casual, yet aware that he probably was failing miserably.
Her brows knit together. "Why are my combs so important ta ye, Lord Benjamin?"
"My brothers tell me I'm a curious sort." He attempted a smile. He really wanted to pull the combs from her hair so that he could inspect them for a maker's mark. He might find their origin that way.
"My mother had a liking for dogs." She shrugged.
The hair on the back of his neck stood up. He had never been insulted so rudely. "I did you a good turn, yet you look me in the eye and insult me?"
"Pardon?"
"You don't pretend ignorance very well, Miss Campbell."
Ben fought the rage that suddenly built within him. Normally he only felt such tendencies at the moonful, in the days before the change happened. But tonight he was feeling it in full force. The intensity of it scared even him.
It was terribly bad form to leave a woman on the dance floor. But Ben felt a sudden and intense need to escape. He led Miss Campbell away and then dropped her hand and bowed respectfully to her. "Thank you for the dance. Regrettably, I must take my leave."
He didn't wait for a response, but turned and skirted quickly around the room. Fresh air. He needed fresh air. Quickly.
Ben's senses were in overload. He smelled the perfume of every woman he passed, the shaving lather of the men. He heard the whispers around him, most of which were normal fodder for the scandal pages. But they sounded like screaming to his ears. He burst through the terrace doors. Ben leaned as far as he could over the terrace wall as he looked down, gauging the distance between the terrace and the ground. Not too far to jump. He raised one leg over the wall.
"Did I say somethin' that offended ye?" Miss Campbell asked from behind him.
Ben stopped his climb and closed his eyes tightly, wishing she would disappear. Because if she didn't, she would be the most obvious source of release, the only outlet for his anger. For his beast. For himself.
He swung his leg back to the right side of the terrace wall. He was before her in seconds.
"You insult me and then seek me out?" he growled.
"I doona ken how I insulted ye," she breathed.
"Those aren't dogs," he growled.
This time it was Miss Campbell who faltered. She reached a hand to her hair to touch the rough surface of the comb. "Certainly they are."
"My dear Miss Campbell, there is no one who knows better than I. Those are
not
dogs."
"And what makes ye an expert on women's jewelry?"
"Not on jewelry," he said quietly. Her eyes rose slowly to meet his when she tipped her head back. "On beasts."
"Beasts?"
"Yes. Beasts," he snapped.
"Ye're certainly doin' a fine imitation of one now, are ye no'? So I assume ye're quite an expert."
A twinge of guilt nearly made him wince. How much more did he have to reveal before she admitted the true origin of the combs? He searched her face, looking for even a hint of subterfuge. He found none. "You truly thought they were dogs?"
"I've never been told differently," she said quietly.
"I'm telling you differently now."
"I doona ken what difference it makes. Beasts?
Dogs?" She tugged the combs from her hair and held them out to him. "Just what about them offends ye?"
Her hands shook noticeably and she worked to steady them. His eyes narrowed when he noticed, but he took the combs from her and held them up to the lantern that lit the terrace.
"You speak of them like they're average creatures," he mumbled. "Like they're inconsequential."
"No' inconsequential," she denied. "They're beautiful." She raised her index finger and ran it over the snout of the beast. "Look at the way he raises his head. He calls ta the moon, as though it is part of his very soul."
"It is." He sighed. "Or it usually is." Was that sadness that entered his voice?
She took the combs from him and attempted to put her hair back to rights. Finally she gave up, allowing her shoulders to drop in defeat. She settled onto a bench in the shadows.
"I'm sorry I overreacted," he said softly.
"It's all right," she allowed. "I'm used ta it."
"Used to men who act like children?" he asked as he sat down beside her.
"No. Used ta bein' miserable at events like this." She leaned back and looked up at the stars. "I doona ken how I do it. I offend ye and I doona even know ye."
Lord Benjamin's finger surprised her when he touched her chin, gently forcing her to look up at him. Still, she avoided his gaze.
"I'm very sorry," he said quietly. "I mistook what you said. It's completely my fault. Not yours."
"I almost got one dance in this time, so it's better than usual," she admitted, the heat creeping up her cheeks when she realized what she'd said. "Thank ye for the opportunity."
"You said you normally don't dance. Why not?"
"I'm sure ye've heard the rumors." She looked up and caught his gaze. Of course, he'd heard. He was an English lord. People who walked in his world didn't accept people from hers.
"I heard rumors that there was a girl named Miss Elspeth Campbell who had flaming red hair and eyes that danced with laughter." His gaze lingered on her mouth. "And I am quite happy to find out the rumors are all true." He bumped her with his shoulder. "Now, tell me why you don't dance."
She sighed and admitted, "The only reason I'm invited ta these things is because I have a few friends. They feel like they have ta bring me in, despite the fact that I'm no' quite respectable."
"And just what about you is not respectable?" he asked, his eyebrows drawing together. "If you'll point out the people who said it, I'll go and have a discussion with them."
No one had ever attempted to stand up for her before, aside from her grandfather and her coven sisters. She found that it warmed her heart, more than a little.
"It's no' important," she whispered. "Do ye still want ta flee as fast as ye can over the wall?" she asked, pointing a thumb behind her.
"Only if I can take you with me," he said softly. He reached to cup her face, the pad of his thumb caressing the apple of her cheek. "Care to go and be really unrespectable with me?"
She couldn't help but laugh at him. "Ye would jump over the wall? How would I get over?"
"In my arms. How else?"
How else, indeed? It sounded like quite a feat. Before she could say it, he replied, "I'm not an average man."
"That much is obvious, Lord Benjamin. That much is quite obvious."
He stood and held a hand out to her. "Then if you won't go over the wall with me, I'll have to take you back to the party. It's either flee or dance. What'll it be?"
Oh, how she truly wante
d to flee. She would be much more comfortable running away with him than returning to face the judgment of the party-goers.
But then all four of her coven sisters stepped out onto the terrace. Lord Benjamin's head swiveled around as they descended upon them.
Caitrin spoke first. "Are ye all right, Elspeth?" Her gaze shot to Westfield, the look scorching.
"Aye, I'm fine. Just takin' a little break from the party."
"Why did ye need a break?" Caitrin asked, her eyes never leaving Lord Benjamin. "And what happened ta yer hair?"
Westfield chuckled and said very quietly so that only she could hear. "I'll leave you to your friends so they can put you to rights. Then may I claim a dance when you return to the ballroom?"
Elspeth could only nod. She admired the swagger in his walk as he went back to the party through the terrace doors.
They all descended upon her at once. "What happened? Why is yer hair all a mess? Did he take it down?" All their words ran together as one.
Elspeth just laughed and shook her head. She held up the pewter combs. "He was just admirin' my hair combs. I took them out so he could see. He dinna do a thing that was improper. I promise."
The group sighed with collective relief. But Elspeth couldn't help but wonder what it would be like if he did.
Six
"So," Alec began as he draped his arm around Ben's shoulder. "You like the lass after all?"
He did. He liked her a lot, surprisingly. If nothing else, Elspeth Campbell kept his mind off his own problems. "She doesn't fit in here. I'm afraid she'll be eaten alive amongst the others in your ranks."
Alec sighed. "You do have the right of it. Half the people here wouldn't speak to her under normal circumstances if it weren't for a few powerful families she's attached to. But if they get a case of gout or a fever, you should see how fast they run to her. Hypocritical bastards, the lot of them."
Gout or a fever? Ben frowned at his friend. "What do you mean by that?"
Alec chuckled. "Superstitious Scots. When they've a need of her, they think she can cure the pox." His attention shot to the terrace doors, where five young women reentered the ballroom, Elspeth in the center of them all. "No matter how badly they treat her on the street, she never turns anyone away who needs her help. She's a saint, if you ask me."
Cure the pox? Ben's eyes lingered on the pretty lass. "They think she's a healer of sorts?"
Alec threw back his head and laughed. "A healer? She's good with herbs, is all. She learned it at her mother's knee. Honestly, Westfield, you sound as ridiculous as the unlearned masses that go to her for help."
Ben shook his head. It was ridiculous. He was looking for a healer, so he had jumped at the idea it could be Elspeth Campbell. It would certainly make his search easier. She might not be the woman he sought, but he wouldn't mind spending his spare time with the lass. She was more genuine than most people whose acquaintances he kept. Like a breath of fresh Scottish air.
He tried not to laugh at his foolish thoughts, but failed. The pretty girl across the room was
not a Scottis
h witch. How many times had he seen
Macbeth? Scottis
h witches looked like hags with hooked noses and spent their time around open cauldrons, stirring up trouble for nobles. No doubt Rosewyth Campbell, wherever she was, couldn't hold a candle to the beguiling Elspeth.
"What's so humorous?" Alec asked.
"I think I'm tired from my journey," Ben admitted. "My mind's playing tricks on me."
"Well, don't go around laughing to yourself. People will think you're daft."
"Thank you for your concern," Ben remarked drolly. "Excuse me, will you?" The lovely redhead still owed him a dance. He started toward the five women, but was stopped by Alec's hand on his arm.
"The lass doesn't receive much attention, Westfield. You've already danced with her once. Any more and ye'll have tongues a waggin'."
"Let them wag," Ben said, shaking out of Alec's hold.
The only brightness he'd experienced in weeks was in Elspeth Campbell's presence. Besides, the lass deserved attention. Perhaps he could make all the blind Scots realize what they had been missing on a regular basis.
He crossed the room, his eyes focused on Elspeth the entire way. The four girls who flanked her all seemed to take the same collective breath as he reached them, but his red-haired beauty's eyes dropped demurely. Ben couldn't hold back a smile.
He reached his hand out to her. "Miss Campbell," he said as a waltz began.
"I doona ken how things are in London, my lord," Miss Macleod said with a frown, "but two waltzes in a night isna proper here."
"Ah, but my first one was interrupted," he replied, his hand still outstretched.
"El," one of the brunettes hissed, the single syllable an unmistakable warning.
Elspeth turned her head. "'Tis all right, Rhiannon." Then she focused her startlingly green eyes on him. "Could we take a turn about the room instead, my lord?"
Ben nodded. "If that's what you'd like."
Elspeth would
like
to be wrapped in his arms again. But her sister witches were right. It wouldn't look proper, and she still had to face all these people after Lord Benjamin returned to his life in London. She didn't need to make things more difficult on herself.
She placed her hand in his and immediately felt a warmth envelop her entire being. He towed her to his side and placed her hand on his forearm. "Smile, Miss Campbell, or your countrymen will think I'm forcing you to spend time in my company."
A giggle escaped her and she looked up into his twinkling hazel eyes. "No one would ever believe that."
He bent his head toward her and whispered, "You know it's still not too late for us to make our escape."
She couldn't hide the smile that tugged at her lips. "I think ye're a bad influence on me, Lord Benjamin."
"Ah, I do tend to have that affect on women."
"I have no doubt."
He squeezed her hand and winked at her. "Most women don't complain."
"Ahem!" someone cleared his throat beside them. Elspeth pulled her gaze from Lord Benjamin's handsome face to find Wallace Ferguson, arms crossed in front of his massive chest, glaring at the Englishman.
"Friend of yours?" Lord Benjamin asked with a cheeky grin.
Elspeth sighed and she tipped her head back haughtily. "Wallace Ferguson, what is the matter with ye?"
The overgrown Scot shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "I, uh, wanted ta ask ye ta stand up with me, El." Something he'd never done in the past.
She looked over her shoulder to find Sorcha gesturing to her brother. Obviously Wallace had been put up to this by his sister.
Havers!
She was simply walking about the room with Lord Benjamin. Did her coven think she couldn't take care of herself? It wasn't terribly complimentary. "Ye can thank Sorcha for her concern, Wallace. I'm perfectly fine with his lordship."