No, he was not going to wait for Will to put an end to her flirtation with the likes of Mackenzie.
He was going to end it himself.
Aurelia exhaled in relief when the waltz came to an end. Of all the gentlemen who had danced with her tonight—and there had been a record high number, thanks to her new gown—Mr. Mackenzie was the only one whose stare made her decidedly uncomfortable.
His green eyes were as sharp and cutting as glass, peering into her as though he were trying to evaluate her and decide her worth. Those all-seeing eyes made her feel naked. She almost thought he knew the changes that she had wrought within herself over the last week.
She had taken control of her wardrobe. A long overdue duty perhaps. Gone were the pastels and flounces and ribbons that did nothing for her shape. A necessary change to avoid a fate of spinsterhood. She needed gentlemen to forget everything they had ever heard of her and want to court her.
As the waltz came to an end, Mr. Mackenzie stepped back very properly and performed a quick bow. “Thank you for the dance, my lady.” His Scottish burr rolled over her, and she had to admit that it was rather attractive. Truthfully, the man himself was attractive . . . if not a little overwhelming. He was nearly as tall as Max, but burly, not lean. Unlike Max, he looked as though he had spent half his life plowing a field.
Her thoughts came to a screeching halt. Must she compare every man to Max?
“You’re welcome, Mr. Mackenzie.”
“Perhaps I might call on you?”
Aurelia considered him for a moment. Here was a man who could probably rescue her from her fate—the move to Thurso, the loss of her drawings. Marriage to him could solve everything. And yet she hesitated at the notion. She recalled the feel of his hand at her back. So big it had felt like a giant’s paw.
“I should like that very much,” she said, telling herself she simply had to grow accustomed to the idea. She had to be open to it . . . to him.
He inclined his head, the barest of smiles touching his lips. “Very good, then. Until we meet again.”
She watched as he departed, slipping seamlessly through the crowd. He was handsome. Wealthy. He spoke with an enticing accent. She should be thrilled.
“You do realize Mackenzie is highly unsuitable.”
She stiffened at the sound of Max’s voice. She looked over her shoulder at him and sucked in a small breath. He looked startlingly handsome in his dark evening attire. His too long hair was brushed back from his forehead, but she knew it would not take much to ruin the effect. The first moment she exasperated him, he would drag a hand through the rich brown locks and send it feathering back down over his brow in an artful mess.
Blast, why must she notice things like that? She had known him all her life. His good looks were merely a shell.
Without bothering with a greeting—he had not, after all—she answered, “He cannot be that unsuitable. He was invited here this evening. Lady Chatham would never allow someone unsuitable through the doors.”
“The man has deep pockets. Deep enough to gain him entry to any ballroom.”
“So that makes him unsuitable? He’s rich?” She flicked him a glance of disdain before looking back out at the dance floor as if vastly interested in the view. If he was rich, then all the better. He might be able to help save her family from its impending ruin. So what if he was as big as an ox? She would not let that intimidate her.
Fortunately, at that moment she recognized a familiar face. Young Buckston was heading her way, the gangly youth’s Adam’s apple bobbing almost in rhythm with the music. He was one of the rare few to always beg a dance of her over the years. Even without encouragement, she knew she could rely on him. She smiled, confidant she was about to be rescued from Max’s company.