Julia London - [Scandalous 02] (15 page)

W
hen one cannot possibly win, one must concede, and Lizzie conceded. Charlotte looked horrified when she appeared in her room before supper the following evening, dressed in the teal blue silk that had hung in her wardrobe for so long.

“Lizzie…you look beautiful,” Charlotte said.

Lizzie blushed self-consciously. “You think so because I’ve worn only common mourning clothes these long months.” She walked to Charlotte’s wardrobe, throwing it open.

“What are you about?” Charlotte asked. “I’ll no’ throw off the mourning before decorum and propriety allow, merely because Carson decrees it.”

“Decorum and propriety finished mourning Papa two months ago,” Lizzie said irreverently, ignoring Charlotte’s gasp. “If you want to be angry, be angry that Carson has forced this interminable supper on us, as if we are a pair of debutantes! We’ve no’ had anyone to dine at Thorntree in over a year!”

“It canna be avoided, Lizzie,” Charlotte said morosely.

“Apparently, it can no’,” Lizzie agreed, and withdrew a gold brocade gown from the wardrobe. Charlotte had worn it the night of the MacBriar party celebrating fifty
years of connubial bliss. She’d adored this gown and had twirled round and round before the looking glass, admiring herself in it.

Not a fortnight later, she’d been thrown from the horse and broken her back.

When Lizzie turned around and held it up, Charlotte blanched. “You’re being cruel. No, I donna intend to end my mourning.”

Lizzie tossed the gown onto the bed. “You’ve worn black or gray for more than a year now. It is time that life carried on, Charlotte. You will wear it tonight and preside over a supper party as a good hostess ought.”

Charlotte refused to look at it. “It’s too fine to be sat upon in a chair.
You
should wear it.”

“I happen to fancy my gown!” Lizzie cried. “And
this
gown,” she said, indicating the gold, “is fine whether one is sitting or standing or climbing a tree.”

“Lizzie, please! It’s humiliating!” Charlotte protested as Lizzie turned her chair around to the vanity Papa had put up on legs so that Charlotte’s chair could roll up to it. “I’ll look a fool in such a lovely gown.”

“Why? Because you canna’ stand?”

Charlotte’s face melted into anger, and then suddenly into despair. “Because I am hardly a woman at all.”

“Charlotte! That’s absurd!” Lizzie exclaimed.

“Absurd? I am a burden to everyone! I canna take care of myself, I can no’ even preside over a dining table. Newton says that I am unkind, but he scarcely understands me at all.”

“He’s free with his opinions, is he no’?” Lizzie asked angrily.

“Quite.
He told me I should smile, that I have a lovely smile, but when I said there is precious little over which to smile, he said, ‘
you’re alive, are you no’, lass?
’” she said,
mimicking his gruff voice. “Aye, Lizzie, I am alive, but I am bound to a
chair,
and Newton said that I’m bound to it because I
want
to be bound to it, that I feel safer in this chair, and were I only to ask for help, the world would open to me,” she said tearfully.

Shocked, Lizzie blinked. “
That
man said all that?”

“Oh aye, he talks and talks and
talks,
” Charlotte said and, covering her face in her hands, began to cry.

“Charlotte, darling! What’s wrong?” Lizzie asked, sinking down next to her.

“It’s
him,
Lizzie!” she said tearfully. “He’s so stubborn and unyielding, but somehow, he makes me less angry. Can you imagine it? I am always so angry,” she said, balling one fist, “but when I am with him, I donna feel the anger. I feel as if there truly is a world out there that could open for me.”

“But Charlotte! That’s wonderful!” Lizzie said, taking her hand and forcing her to uncurl her fingers. “Why should that make you so unhappy?”

“No, no, Lizzie, it’s awful. He’s a crofter, aye? He lives in a cottage south of Castle Beal and he has a bit of land he farms and a few cattle. He could no’ be less compatible with me! And even if we were completely suited, how could he possibly bear
this
?” she asked, gesturing to her legs.

“That’s ridiculous! A man once told me that love comes from the most unexpected places.”

“
Diah,
Lizzie!” Charlotte said, wiping the tears from beneath her eyes. “I donna
love
him. Come, come, we are expected in the drawing room,” she said, and began to fidget with the jewelry in a velvet box on her vanity.

Lizzie stood up. “Aye. But I think you should wear the gold,” she said, watching her sister in the mirror.

Charlotte did not object, but continued to fidget with
the things in her jewelry box. “What will we feed our guests?” she asked, slyly changing the subject.

“Carson sent round some venison,” Lizzie said, and told her all that she and the Kincades had done to prepare for the evening as she helped Charlotte into the gold gown. The gown transformed Charlotte. She was beautiful. “Look at us,” Lizzie said as she began to dress Charlotte’s hair. “On my word, the earl has succeeded in turning our house topsy-turvy, has he no’? Were it no’ for his arrival in Glenalmond, we’d no’ be forced to endure this evening.” She rolled her eyes.

“Oh dear,” Charlotte said, watching Lizzie’s reflection in the mirror. “There you are speaking to
me
of love, and all the while, you’ve come to esteem him, Liz.”

“Donna be ridiculous,” Lizzie said. “I donna esteem him. It was no’ my invitation that put him at our table, was it?”

“Look at you, you’re as angry as a bee. And I’ve no’ seen you look so lovely as this in an age! Little wonder you were so eager to throw off your mourning clothes, aye?”

“I dressed as I should for supper guests,” Lizzie said briskly.

“Mmm…of course you did,” Charlotte said, her eyes narrowing on her sister. “Yet you must admit he’s rather interesting,” she prodded.

“Aye, rogues are always captivating in their own way.”

Charlotte giggled.

“Laugh if you will, but he is a rogue and more,” Lizzie said sternly. “He has a bottomless well of fantastic stories that he uses to gain favor wherever he might need it. He is charming to the point of melting the boots off the women he meets—including
you,
Charlotte. Oh, and he is
wanted for treason. Fancy that! Wanted for treason! He is a
rogue,
Charlotte, a rogue with criminal leanings.”

Charlotte laughed outright. “Very well, he is a rogue! But he is a handsome rogue—
ouch!
” she cried, putting a hand to her hair where Lizzie pulled too tightly. “There, you see? You do esteem him!”

“The only gentleman I esteem is Mr. Gordon, and the sooner he arrives at Thorntree the better it shall be for all of us!” Lizzie insisted as she threaded a ribbon through Charlotte’s thick blond tresses.

But Charlotte continued to watch Lizzie closely, her expression dubious. “Admit it, Lizzie. There is something about him that is rather appealing. He is quite handsome, and the most charming man to have ever been in Glenalmond. And he is
rich.
”

“Really, Charlotte, Mr. Gordon is all of those things. He’s no’ rich, I’ll grant you, but he will be.”

“Has Lambourne touched you?”

“Charlotte!” Lizzie cried.

“Honestly, how can one spend as much time in your suite of rooms alone with that man and no’ have a wee bit of passion, then?”

“You are incorrigible! I’ll have you know that our paths rarely cross, and really, you must stop saying such things, Charlotte! Mr. Gordon must believe that nothing has gone on between us.”

Charlotte snorted. “Then you’d best hope he comes as soon as possible.”

Lizzie ignored her and focused on the task at hand. She didn’t really care to be examined by her sister….

All right, perhaps she did esteem Jack in some small way. Charlotte was right, he was interesting. Frankly, he was the most interesting thing to have happened at Thorntree in years. But what in blazes did it matter? He’d
be gone just as soon as he was able, and even if he
had
told her the truth about his feelings, she would never be anything more than a dalliance to him. It wasn’t as if he was going to sweep her and Charlotte from Thorntree to live in London or Lambourne Castle. And to think of him at Thorntree was laughable.

Whether or not she esteemed him at all seemed beside any rational point. Best put out of her head. Best ignored. And when Lizzie paused to review her appearance and tucked a curl behind her ear that had fallen from the pearls she’d wrapped through her hair, she reminded herself she’d donned her favorite gown only because she wanted to be a presentable hostess.

Nothing more.

Newton poured Jack a tot of whisky as if he were lord of the manor. “
Uisge-beatha,
” Newton said proudly, reciting the Gaelic word for whisky. “I distilled it.” He clinked his glass against Jack’s.

Jack tossed it back, managed to keep from choking at the bitter burn of it, and smiled through a watery-eyed gaze at Newton. “There you are, a very fine whisky,” he lied.

Newton beamed with pleasure and lifted the flask, offering it to Jack.

Jack quickly threw up a hand. “Ah, no, but thank you kindly,” he said, and gingerly put the tot down. He’d already donned the kilt Newton had told him he must wear. The whisky was a wee bit more than he wanted from the man.

Newton shrugged, poured himself another tot of the liquid fire.

“Well, then, Newton,” Jack said. “You’re still here, are you? I would think Carson would be satisfied that the damage is done, and would allow you to return to your
flock. You do have a flock, aye?” Jack asked. “Lots of sheep on a craggy hill somewhere? Perhaps a dog to keep you company on long winter nights?”

“Ye know very well I canna leave Thorntree. Who would keep ye, then?”

“Very noble of you,” Jack said. “Yet surely if this is a true handfasting as your laird would have us all believe, then why should I need anyone to tend me at all? What am I keeping you from?”

Newton’s gaze flicked over him. “I have a small croft,” he said, a bit hesitantly. “My flock, as ye call it, is well cared for in my absence by my cousin.”

“Have you a wife?” Jack pressed.

“Widowed,” Newton said, refusing to offer more.

“Then do you live all alone, Mr. Newton?”

He shrugged. “My cousin’s land abuts mine. My sister comes round on Sundays.”

He seemed quite at ease with that life. Frankly, he looked like a man who lived alone, Jack thought.

He wondered idly if he himself looked like a man who lived alone.

The thought bothered him, however, and he looked away from Newton and strolled to the hearth. “Were I in
your
shoes, I would no’ abandon my livelihood to serve a dubious master.”

Newton gave him a rare and wry smile. “But ye’d abandon it for London, aye?”

“If I had the freedom, I’d be in London now,” Jack said.

“Ye might be in London in a fortnight, if the prince’s men find ye, aye?”

Touché.
“Tell me,” Jack said, “what is to keep anyone—supper guests and all—from pointing a finger in my direction? Does Beal honestly command such fealty?”

“Among the clan, aye. We’d no’ hand one of our own over to anyone, much less the English. And if one was tempted by the bounty, the laird would match it.”

“That seems rather extreme, does it no’?” Jack said.

“He has his reasons.”

Jack wanted to ask what those reasons were, but his thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of Lizzie and Charlotte.

Jack—and Newton, as well, for that matter—was not the least prepared for their appearance. Jack had grown accustomed to Lizzie’s drab gray gowns and the miles of wool she wore. The gown she wore this evening was the farthest thing from drab or gray. It was the color of a Scottish sky in summer, the underskirt the ruby shade of dusk. The fit of the gown was so remarkable that Jack had to force himself to look away lest he be accused of ogling.

Yet that was precisely what he was doing, and he could scarcely keep from it. She moved like a cloud in that gown, gliding into the room even when pushing Charlotte in her chair. She wore the annular brooch—a wreath of thistles—and her auburn curls had been corralled prettily by a string of pearls.

Jack had seen some beauties in his time, women dressed in rich fabrics and dazzling jewels who moved gracefully, spoke eloquently, and made love elegantly. Lizzie made them all look common to him now. There was something about her that struck at the very core of him. She was a Scottish princess, a woman who exuded health as well as beauty, who had a sparkle in her eye that reflected a lust for life. Jack was utterly enchanted. So enchanted that Lizzie had to say once more, “Good
evening.
”

“I beg your pardon,” he said, instantly extending his hand to hers, “I was so taken I quite forgot myself.”

“Save your flattery, milord; I am immune,” she said playfully, and delicately put her hand in his palm, allowing him to lift it up to his mouth. He watched her as he kissed her knuckles; she smiled a little, but her eyes were full of challenge.

“Miss Charlotte, how lovely you are this evening,” Newton rumbled from somewhere nearby.

“Hmm…thank you, Mr. Newton,” Charlotte said coolly, looking at him and Jack. “The gentlemen are looking rather regal, are they no’, Lizzie? Lambourne, I am surprised to see you in a kilt.”

“It was Mr. Newton’s suggestion,” Jack said. Charlotte said something to that, but Jack failed to hear her—he was watching Lizzie as she crossed to the sideboard, letting his gaze drift down her curves…delightful, delectable curves.

But Mr. Kincade, who entered the drawing room and announced that the guests had arrived, interrupted his leisurely perusal.

“M
ay I introduce my uncle Beal, once removed,” Lizzie said when the four adults had been shown into the drawing room and Jack was introduced to them. “Mr. Sorley Beal is my father’s cousin.”

“Nephew,” Mr. Beal corrected her, and bowed smartly before Jack.

“And Mrs. Beal,” Lizzie said.

Mrs. Beal, who was almost as wide as the door frame, beamed at Jack and offered him her round hand. “I’ve so longed to make your acquaintance, milord!” she said, and startled Jack by bouncing up from her surprisingly deep curtsy to kiss his cheek.

“Mr. and Mrs. McLennan,” Lizzie said, ushering the other couple to him. “They are related on my mother’s side, but I could hardly tell you how.”

“It’s all so very complicated,” Mrs. McLennan said as she dipped a curtsy. “I’d wager it’s just as complicated at Lambourne, aye?”

“It is indeed,” Jack assured her.

Mr. McLennan quickly shook Jack’s hand as he passed him on the way to the sideboard, where Mr. Kincade had put out whisky and wine.

“We’re so sorry to be tardy!” Mrs. McLennan said. “We were briefly detained by bounty hunters.”

Lizzie, Charlotte, Jack, and Newton all turned to the woman.

“Where did you see them, then?” Newton asked.

“Where did we see them, Mr. McLennan?” Mrs. McLennan asked. At her husband’s grunt, she said, “I could hardly say—I am wretched at directions, am I no’, Mr. McLennan? But the bounty hunters are everywhere of late, it seems.”

Jack and Lizzie exchanged a look.

“You must be quite delighted with our Lizzie, milord!” Mrs. Beal exclaimed.

“Supremely,” Jack said, suddenly appreciating Carson’s advice to keep friends and neighbors close, and put his arm around Lizzie’s shoulders. He could feel her resist, but he held her tightly, patting her arm. “She’s made me indescribably happy. She is a delight, the sun in my dreary world.”

“Oh,” Mrs. Beal said with a sigh. “How
lovely
. She and Charlotte have long been favorites of ours.”

Lizzie laughed, folded her arms, and pinched Jack’s side.

“What of Mr. Gordon, Lizzie?” Mr. Beal asked. “I rather thought you had an understanding with him, aye?”

“It was a very tentative understanding,” Charlotte said. “
Very
tentative.”

“I reckon they’ve a different understanding now, aye?” Mr. Beal said, and the four guests laughed heartily.

“A handfasting, too!” Mrs. McLennan said. “Is it no’ so very quaint? I’ve no’ heard of one in my lifetime.”

“Mr. Beattie, dear. Mr. Beattie and his wife were handfasted,” Mrs. Beal reminded her.

“Aye, that they were. How could I forget it? And as Mr. McLennan so rightly pointed out, given your age,
Lizzie, it was probably one of the more expedient ways to do things, aye?”

Lizzie coughed; Jack squeezed her shoulders. She stepped away, but he caught her hand and held it firmly.

“Oh, look at the two of them, will you, Jane,” Mrs. McLennan said. “Just like a pair of doves, are they no’?”

“I am so happy for you, Lizzie,” Mrs. Beal said, and grasped Lizzie’s shoulders, gave her a warm shake. “Do you remember when you were but a wee lass, how you would dress in your mother’s gowns and have your pretend weddings? On my word, they’d go on for days!”

“She made Robert Duncan stand in,” Charlotte said with a snicker, and everyone laughed.

Lizzie stole a glimpse at Jack. “I was eight years old,” she muttered.

“You were such a dreamer, Lizzie! Always dreaming about this romantic adventure and that. I had despaired that your dreams would ever come true, but now look at you, all beautiful and handfasted. And to an
earl,
no less!”

“I am a very fortunate man.” Jack smiled at Lizzie. “I’ve always fancied a dreamer,” he said.

She smiled, too, but there were sparks in her eyes.

“Aye, she was a dreamer, and she was a wee bit of a hellion,” Mr. Beal said. “She’s quite good in archery. Were you aware of it, milord?”

“They’ve hardly talked about archery, Uncle,” Charlotte said.

“My wee darling is an archer?” Jack asked, and grinned with delight at Lizzie. “Bows and arrows in her graceful hands?”

“Bested the whole lot of us one summer during a wedding celebration. Do you recall that, Lizzie?” Mr. Beal asked.

“I do,” Charlotte said. “Mamma was nearly apoplectic, thinking she’d ruin any chance of ever making a match if she continued to best all the young men.”

“
Diah,
” Lizzie said. “I was hardly in danger of gaining an offer, much less chasing them away.”

“You’re too harsh!” Mrs. Beal cried jovially. “Granted, you are no’ as comely as Charlotte, aye, but you are a handsome lass all the same. Is she no’ handsome, milord?”

Handsome? That hardly began to describe Lizzie. She was so much more than handsome, so beautiful in her own way. “A fairer lass has no’ graced mine eyes,” Jack said.

That was met with a round of
bravo
s and laughter. But Lizzie…Lizzie looked up at him with those crystal blue eyes and for once, Jack wondered if there were words that could adequately describe what he saw in her.

Fortunately, he was not pressed to do so, for Mr. Kincade appeared to announce that supper was served.

Given that they had few vegetables to add to the stock, the soup was actually very good. In addition to the soup and venison, there was freshly made bannock bread with raisins, and an extravagant, very delectable plum pudding. There was not a crumb left when they’d finished dining.

The conversation at the supper table was lively and included lots of advice about marriage. “Share your bed stones,” Mr. McLennan advised.

“Share them!” Mrs. McLennan cried. “You’ve no’ shared one warm stone with me in all the years we’ve been married!”

“I am happy to announce,” Jack said, with a wink at Lizzie, “that Lizzie has been remarkably charitable with
her bed stones. She frets whether I am warm enough.” He smiled.

Lizzie blushed furiously. He was
enjoying
this!

“Ach, lass…there are better ways to keep warm,” Mr. Beal said with a laugh.

“Aye. She’s shown me that, as well,” Jack said, to the delight of everyone at the table. Even Charlotte, seated at the head of the table, seemed to be enjoying Lizzie’s discomfiture.

“Did you know,” Lizzie said, returning Jack’s smile, “that the earl is a close acquaintance of the Prince of Wales?”

“I rather gathered as much, given that they are looking high and low for him,” Mrs. Beal said, to which the guests laughed roundly.

“Have you visited the museums in London, milord?” Charlotte asked.

“I have,” Jack said, and answered her questions with elegant ease. He said he particularly liked the work of the Masters and believed they compared favorably with the works he’d had opportunity to view in Paris and Rome. Aye, he was a patron of the opera and had a box near the Prince of Wales, who likewise was an avid fan of opera. Jack believed the operas written by Mozart to be most to his liking. No, he’d not dined at Windsor with the king, but he had hunted with him for a fortnight in Balmoral and had dined with him there.

“Balmoral!” Charlotte said dreamily. “Lizzie, remember the picture book?”

How could she forget it? Lizzie’s eyes misted a little as she watched her sister. They had a picture book of grand estates, Balmoral among them, and when they were young girls, Charlotte and Lizzie would pore over the pictures together. Lizzie could still remember Char
lotte, dressed in the gowns of their late mother, dipping and holding her hand aloft as she supposed all ladies of grand estates did. She was determined to visit each and every one of the estates when she was of age.

Lizzie lowered her gaze and stared at her plate. She’d been long accustomed to Charlotte’s tragedy, but there were times when she was caught completely unawares and forced to rethink it all over again.

“Balmoral is a lovely old castle,” Jack said. “Cozier than Lambourne but quite a lot more comfortable. Lambourne is hard angles and harsh stone, whereas Balmoral is gentle and refined. And the hunting there is superb.”

“Tell us more,” Charlotte urged him, and once again, Lizzie was touched by the way Jack indulged her sister, refusing to omit even the smallest detail. And Charlotte glowed with the sort of pleasure Lizzie had not seen for years.

Newton, on the other hand, seemed to be fighting the urge to sleep.

When supper was finished, and Mr. Kincade had methodically removed the dishes, the party retired to the drawing room. In a rare act of beneficence, Charlotte happily invited the Kincades and even “the other man” to join them.

The Kincades were so delighted by the invitation that they brought along Mr. Kincade’s bagpipes and Mrs. Kincade’s specially made whisky. Lizzie was mortified that the elderly couple should appear with a jug, but her guests seemed to think nothing of it—even less so when tots were passed all around and they were warmed by what did seem to be an excellent blend.

So excellent, in fact, that when Mr. Kincade took up his pipes and began to play “Highland Laddie,” a song
known to all Highlanders, Dougal did not need to ask twice for Lizzie to dance, particularly when she was soundly encouraged by her guests. She held up her skirts and kicked up her heels as if she were dancing at her own wedding, laughing when Newton encouraged her to dance faster by shouting,
“Suithad, suithad!”

Lizzie could not recall the last time she’d danced. But the whisky, the music, the evening all made her feel light and free for a few short hours.

Dougal was a passable dancer, but too enthusiastic given the small confines of the room. He put his hand on Lizzie’s waist and twirled her around and around as they mirrored each other’s steps. When Dougal accidentally danced himself into a chair, he stumbled and let go of Lizzie. She was more sure footed than he, and with a laugh, she twirled around—right into Jack’s chest.

He caught her with an arm around her waist. His eyes locked on hers, and for a fleeting moment she saw something there that sent an alarmingly sensual shiver through her as the ladies gleefully applauded. “Well done, milord!” Mrs. Beal cried.

He smoothly let her go. “Mind your step,” he said. “And my foot,” he added with a hint of a smile.

With a laugh, Lizzie ceased her dance and tried to catch her breath.

Mr. Kincade stopped blowing his pipes.

“The room is too small, really, for such lively dancing, aye?” Lizzie said breathlessly, her eyes still on Jack.

“Aye!” Dougal agreed as he collapsed into a chair to catch his breath.

Jack said idly, “’Tis a pity there is no’ a ball we might attend. It would be an honor to lead the ladies round the dance floor so that they might be admired by many.”

Dougal laughed, as if Jack had intended that as a jest.

“You do enjoy a ball now and again, aye?” Jack asked, looking around at the lot of them.

“A
ball,
” Charlotte said, as if that amused her.

“We have our country dances once or twice a year,” Mrs. McLennan said, to which they all nodded enthusiastically.

“No’ a ball?” Jack said, and looked at Lizzie. “Then I suppose you have no’ had the pleasure of dancing a waltz.”

All eyes turned eagerly toward Jack. “A waltz!” Charlotte cried. “Tell us, milord!”

“It is more sedate than a highland dance, but perhaps better suited for this room,” Jack said. “It is relatively new. It has no’ been danced publicly to my knowledge, but it has become quite the thing in private salons.”

“Oh, you must show us, milord!” Charlotte cried.

“Are you certain?” Jack asked, looking at Lizzie. “Some consider it to be a dance of subtle seduction.”

Everyone seemed to draw the same startled breath. Lizzie’s heart leapt in her chest, and she looked anxiously about the room.

“It is a dance done face-to-face,” Jack calmly continued.

“You must demonstrate!” Charlotte cried.

“You
must
!” Mrs. Beal exclaimed.

Lizzie saw the glimmer in Jack’s eyes, the hint of lust, the challenge of seduction.

“I should happily demonstrate if Miss Lizzie is a willing partner,” he said, openly challenging her now.

“I—”

Jack’s gaze was so penetrating, so daring, so inviting, that Lizzie was powerless to stop herself. In a moment of true abandon, she stepped forward and curtsied. Jack quickly put out his hand for hers, as if he feared she
might change her mind, and helped her up. He turned his hand slightly under hers so that their palms touched, and closed his fingers over hers. “Put your hand on my shoulder,” he instructed her.

Lizzie looked at his shoulder, broad as the length of her hand, covered in black superfine wool. A ghost of a smile graced his lips; he put his hand on her rib cage, eliciting a soft gasp of surprise from her, then moved it around to her back and pressed against her, pulling her in closer. “Your hand,” he reminded her.

Lizzie took a tiny step closer, but dared not go further than that, and put her hand on his shoulder.

“It is very simple, really,” he said, and moved smoothly to his left, guiding Lizzie along with him, counting the steps. “
One
two three,
one
two three,” he repeated as he slowly moved her back and forth, until she had learned the step.

Lizzie glanced anxiously around at the others, who were watching her intently. “Is that all there is to it, then?” she scoffed. “It’s hardly a dance at all!”

The ghost of his smile spread into a confident one. Without taking his gaze from hers, Jack said, “Any song played in three-quarter time will suffice, Mr. Kincade.”

The old man picked up his pipes, played around with them a moment, then began to play a song Lizzie had never heard before. The tune startled her—she’d heard Mr. Kincade play many times in her life, but this was a hauntingly lyrical song that reminded her of the winds that often swept through Glenalmond.

Jack began to move, his steps fluid. With his hand on her back, he pressed Lizzie forward, and, whether by desire or the force of the music, she could not resist him. She was suddenly only inches from him as he guided her with pressure on her back to the left, then to the right.
They were so close that she could feel the power in his body, the grace of his lead. He held her hand out from their bodies, kept his other hand high on her back, and moved her effortlessly about the room.