He rested his hand on her right shoulder. “You need to sit down.”
“I’m fine,” she said, but she didn’t sound that way at all to him. Her voice was shaky and thin, and a sheen of perspiration glazed her forehead.
“Lean on me. I’ll find you someplace to sit.”
“I don’t want to sit.” She swayed gently and he gripped her other shoulder, as well. “They’re going to cut the cake. I have to—”
She stopped abruptly, a puzzled expression on her face, then fainted dead away.
Chapter 5
“Samantha.” His voice floated in her left ear and drifted out through her right. “Can you hear me?”
Of course she could hear him. But that didn’t mean she intended to let him know that.
Maybe he’d go away if she refused to open her eyes.
She squeezed her eyes tightly shut and lay still, trying to picture her surroundings. He must have carried her into the ladies’ room near the bank of elevators and placed her on the pale blue couch with the brocade pillows that she’d noticed on one of her earlier visits. She could smell the tiny bowls of lavender potpourri they kept on the dressing tables.
“Too much champagne,” she heard him say. “It’s felled more Highlanders than single malt.”
Fat lot he knew. She hadn’t taken so much as a sip of the bubbly.
“Open your eyes,” he urged.
She ignored him. Sooner or later he’d realize he was in the women’s bathroom and go find an actual woman to help her.
He stood up and took a few steps away from her. She resisted the urge to peek, even when she heard the sound of rushing water, followed by returning footsteps.
“I do not want to scare you, lassie, but—”
She shrieked and sat straight up, heart thundering, as water sluiced down her cheeks.
“Are you crazy?” Her voice climbed into the dogs-only zone. “You threw water on me.”
“I didn’t throw it,” he said. “I sprinkled.”
“Have you lost your mind? You could have given me a heart attack.”
“I was worried, lass. The next step was to find medical help.”
“I don’t need medical help.” She motioned for him to hand her one of the powder blue guest towels stacked in the wicker basket. “All I did was faint.”
“That’s not a normal state.”
“I haven’t had a chance to eat since this morning. I’m hungry, that’s all.”
He looked skeptical, but she didn’t particularly care.
“They don’t serve food at American wedding parties?”
“I couldn’t find anything I liked.” She blotted her face and hair with the towel then folded it neatly and rested it on her lap. “You can go now,” she said to him.
“That’s not a good idea.”
“It’s a very good idea.”
“You haven’t accepted my apology.”
Her stomach lurched alarmingly and she prayed she wouldn’t have to make a run for one of the stalls. “What difference does it make?” she countered. “The damage is already done.”
“Damage?” He knelt in front of her so his eyes were on a level with hers. Those beautiful deep blue eyes.
Unfair, she thought, looking away. That was how this whole thing had started.
“What damage?” he asked.
“A figure of speech,” she said. “Now will you please go? In case you’ve forgotten, this is a ladies’ room.”
He glanced around the room, making a production of peering under the doors to the stalls. “We’re alone. I’m not bothering anyone.”
“You’re bothering me.”
“I mean you no harm.”
“I don’t want to get into a debate with you, Mr. Stewart. It’s not my fault if you have a guilty conscience.”
“I should have told you who I was that afternoon, Samantha. I was wrong and I am sorry if my mistake in judgment hurt you in any way.”
“Fine,” she said. Tears burned behind her eyes. Mistake in judgment? That’s how he thought of their lovemaking, as a mistake in judgment? She rose to her feet. “There’s no point to any of this.” Don’t talk to me. Don’t look at me like that. Don’t make me think any more than I have to. “Ten thousand dollars is a small price to pay to get you out of my life.”
“I am not a sentimental man,” he said, “but what happened between us—”
“What happened between you?”
Both Sam and Duncan turned toward the door to see Martie standing there like an avenging angel in white lace.
Sam struggled to even out her jangled nerves before speaking.
“Don’t tell me I missed the cake-cutting ceremony,” she said, gliding toward her sister. She felt wobbly and vulnerable, and she prayed she wouldn’t faint a second time.
“Everyone’s waiting,” Martie said, glancing pointedly from Sam to Duncan then back again. “Estelle said you were probably in the ladies’ room.” She looked again at Duncan. Question marks practically danced in her eyes.
“Then let’s go!” Sam linked arms with Martie, ignoring Duncan as if he wasn’t even there.
“Sammy,” said Martie, “your hair’s wet.”
“It’s a long story,” Sam said, not looking at Duncan.
Martie disentangled herself from Sam and extended a hand toward the Scotsman. “Pardon my sister’s bad manners,” she said. “I’m Martie Wilde—” She grinned. “I mean, Martie Benedict. And you’re—”
“Duncan Stewart.”
There wasn’t so much as a glimmer of recognition on Martie’s face, a fact for which Sam was painfully grateful. The Scotsman’s reputation had yet to cross the Atlantic, but it was only a matter of time.
“So,” said Martie as they clasped hands, “how do you know my sister?”
“Martie,” Sam interrupted before Duncan could speak. “Your new husband must be wondering where you are.”
“We met in Scotland,” Duncan said, ignoring Sam’s agitation.
“Scotland?” Martie spun toward Sam. “When were you in Scotland?”
“You didn’t know Samantha made a trip to Scotland?” Duncan asked, obviously surprised.
“Wait a minute,” Martie said. “Was that the trip you made in April, just before my bridal shower?”
“Yes,” Sam said. She wasn’t about to offer any unnecessary information.
“You went to Scotland?” Martie asked again, as if she couldn’t quite believe her own ears.
Sam nodded.
“Why?”
Sam swallowed hard. “Business.”
“What business?”
“She was looking for me,” Duncan offered helpfully.
Sam shot him a murderous look. “Why don’t you
