Read Online His Emergency Fiancée by Kate Hardy - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Kate Hardy
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very often. Kirst, everyone there will know exactly who you are. They know you’re English and they’ll assume you haven’t done country dancing since infant school, except at the odd wedding. They’ll help you with the steps. Just tell someone if you get stuck. They won’t laugh at you or anything like that.’ He tipped his head on one side. ‘Don’t make me say it.’
‘What?’
‘T.M.I.A.D.,’ he said in a stage whisper. Trust me, I’m a doctor. Their private joke. Except right now it wasn’t funny. She trusted Ben. But how could she go to this dance as his fiancée when she knew she was going to embarrass him—big time—in front of everyone from his home village?
* * *
Kirsty’s nerves returned in full force when they walked into the village hall and changed their shoes. The ceilidh had already started and everyone was dancing reels, all without a single step out of place. The men were mostly dressed in kilts, except half a dozen whom she guessed to be English, probably newcomers to the village who had too much respect for the natives to wear a tartan they weren’t entitled to. Likewise, most of the women were wearing the same sort of soft-soled lace-up dancing shoes she’d borrowed from Morag, teamed with long skirts and plaids. Even the women not wearing tartan—presumably the partners of the non-kilted dancers—were in long skirts.
Kirsty’s trousers—despite being black, extremely well cut and smart—stood out a mile, and she wished herself a million miles away, to some place where she wasn’t expected to dance and make a fool of herself!
Ben clearly sensed her nerves because he gave her a sideways glance and immediately put his arm round her shoulders. ‘You look lovely. And stop worrying about the dancing, will you? You’ll be an expert by the end of the evening. It’s a great way to meet people,’ he informed her.
People who’d be inspecting her and wondering why Ben Robertson had got engaged to a woman who was the complete opposite to his usual type.
She didn’t get the chance to argue any more because one of the dancers stepped up to the microphone. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, take your positions for the Gay Gordons.’
‘Come on, Kirst,’ Ben said, not giving her time to make an excuse, then talked her through the position for the dance. He slid his right arm over her shoulder, taking her fingers in his, and squeezed them encouragingly. But when he joined their left hands together, the butterflies in her stomach went mad.
Stop it, she told them silently. It’s the way everyone’s dancing. It doesn’t mean a thing.
The butterflies had other ideas.
‘Now four steps forwards. Count,’ Ben whispered into her ear. ‘The music has four beats to the bar so it’s easy. Just count.’
His breath fanned against her skin, sending a shiver down her spine. She hoped he hadn’t noticed it—or, at least, interpreted it as nerves about the dance. She was not, definitely not , going to start lusting after Ben Robertson. If she tried to have a relationship with Ben, she’d lose his friendship and have to find somewhere else to live.
Then she realised they were actually dancing. She didn’t have time to be nervous, she was too busy counting steps and trying to remember what he’d said and letting his hands spin her round at the appropriate point. By the time the song was halfway through, she was starting to enjoy herself. And by the end she was won over. She could do this. With Ben beside her, she could do this.
She was prepared for a second dance—but not for what the woman at the microphone said.
‘In case some of you hadn’t noticed, our guests of honour have arrived.’
Guests of honour?
‘We’d all like to welcome Dr Ben Robertson home,’ she said. ‘And his bride-to-be, Dr Kirsty Brown.’
Kirsty stared at Ben in horror.
He stared back, equally wide-eyed.
‘You’ve kept it very quiet, the pair of you, but congratulations,’ the woman continued, and the
‘What?’
‘T.M.I.A.D.,’ he said in a stage whisper. Trust me, I’m a doctor. Their private joke. Except right now it wasn’t funny. She trusted Ben. But how could she go to this dance as his fiancée when she knew she was going to embarrass him—big time—in front of everyone from his home village?
* * *
Kirsty’s nerves returned in full force when they walked into the village hall and changed their shoes. The ceilidh had already started and everyone was dancing reels, all without a single step out of place. The men were mostly dressed in kilts, except half a dozen whom she guessed to be English, probably newcomers to the village who had too much respect for the natives to wear a tartan they weren’t entitled to. Likewise, most of the women were wearing the same sort of soft-soled lace-up dancing shoes she’d borrowed from Morag, teamed with long skirts and plaids. Even the women not wearing tartan—presumably the partners of the non-kilted dancers—were in long skirts.
Kirsty’s trousers—despite being black, extremely well cut and smart—stood out a mile, and she wished herself a million miles away, to some place where she wasn’t expected to dance and make a fool of herself!
Ben clearly sensed her nerves because he gave her a sideways glance and immediately put his arm round her shoulders. ‘You look lovely. And stop worrying about the dancing, will you? You’ll be an expert by the end of the evening. It’s a great way to meet people,’ he informed her.
People who’d be inspecting her and wondering why Ben Robertson had got engaged to a woman who was the complete opposite to his usual type.
She didn’t get the chance to argue any more because one of the dancers stepped up to the microphone. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, take your positions for the Gay Gordons.’
‘Come on, Kirst,’ Ben said, not giving her time to make an excuse, then talked her through the position for the dance. He slid his right arm over her shoulder, taking her fingers in his, and squeezed them encouragingly. But when he joined their left hands together, the butterflies in her stomach went mad.
Stop it, she told them silently. It’s the way everyone’s dancing. It doesn’t mean a thing.
The butterflies had other ideas.
‘Now four steps forwards. Count,’ Ben whispered into her ear. ‘The music has four beats to the bar so it’s easy. Just count.’
His breath fanned against her skin, sending a shiver down her spine. She hoped he hadn’t noticed it—or, at least, interpreted it as nerves about the dance. She was not, definitely not , going to start lusting after Ben Robertson. If she tried to have a relationship with Ben, she’d lose his friendship and have to find somewhere else to live.
Then she realised they were actually dancing. She didn’t have time to be nervous, she was too busy counting steps and trying to remember what he’d said and letting his hands spin her round at the appropriate point. By the time the song was halfway through, she was starting to enjoy herself. And by the end she was won over. She could do this. With Ben beside her, she could do this.
She was prepared for a second dance—but not for what the woman at the microphone said.
‘In case some of you hadn’t noticed, our guests of honour have arrived.’
Guests of honour?
‘We’d all like to welcome Dr Ben Robertson home,’ she said. ‘And his bride-to-be, Dr Kirsty Brown.’
Kirsty stared at Ben in horror.
He stared back, equally wide-eyed.
‘You’ve kept it very quiet, the pair of you, but congratulations,’ the woman continued, and the
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