by Nina Mason
She winced at his use of the curse, but still refused to be put off. She was made of stiffer stuff than to be frightened away by ungentlemanly expletives, which she would prove by giving as good as she got. Not by swearing—she was too refined for that—but by giving him a few spoonfuls of his own rudeness.
“Just how incapacitating is the injury to your leg?”
He shifted his sea-colored eyes from her to the dancers and back again. “I have no leg, Miss Bennet. Not a real one, leastwise.”
His bluntness astonished her as much as his confession. Hiding her shock, she said, “That must be…challenging for you.”
“Let us just say dancing is not the only pleasure of which I have been robbed as a result.”
A flush of embarrassment warmed her cheeks and chest. Even with her Dutch courage, she could not summon the nerve to inquire after what pleasures he meant. It did, however, seem entirely feasible that a blow powerful enough to sever a leg could also deprive a man of his virility.
Did it matter to her if he was impotent? Strangely, it did—owing to her desire to have children, rather than her expectations of physical passion in marriage.
He watched her closely, no doubt to gauge her level of offense. When she gave him no satisfaction, he asked with a teasing cadence, “Whatever is the matter, Miss Bennet? Did the cat get your tongue?”
Lord, what a dazzling smile he had. She was positively weak in the knees—not that she had the least intention of letting him see his effect on her. “Not the cat,” she said, her gaze coolly hooded, “but rather the Captain, who I strongly suspect is striving to shock me to the best of his ability. Though I do wonder after his motives; for, if he desires to be left to himself, he need only say as much.”
“While Sir Stephen mentioned you were a beauty,” said the Captain, grinning like a fox, “he failed to convey how spirited you are.”
The mention of Sir Steven brought her back to earth long enough to realize the Baron had left them alone. Good. Now, she could take the gloves off—figuratively speaking, of course. “He also mentioned how good-looking you are, sir. Though he failed to disclose how irascible you are.”
Leaning on his cane, the Captain brought his face closer to hers. “Tell me something, Miss Bennet. Why are you standing here conversing with a cripple when you could be out there dancing with an able-bodied marriage prospect?”
There was brandy on his breath and another scent wafting from his person. A heady mixture of soap and masculinity that seduced her senses and threw propriety to the wind.
“Are you not able-bodied in the ways that count?”
Though he sputtered, he quickly collected himself and countered with a provocative, “Are you asking me for proof?”
“Tempted as I am to demand evidence”—she held his gaze with a smoldering stare—“I will settle for your word as a gentleman. If indeed you are such a one.”
He laughed again, which pleased her beyond what she cared to admit. She enjoyed challenging him and the life her statements brought to his eyes.
“Tell me something else, if you will. Are all the husband-hunting ladies of Much Wenlock avoiding me because they have heard I am not in the market for a wife? Or do they shun me because they consider a former naval officer beneath their notice?”
“I can speak for none but myself.” She batted her lashes at him. “And, as you can see, I have no qualm about speaking to you.”
His mouth hitched into a crooked smile. “Then you confess to being on the hunt for a husband?”
“Single women are always looking for husbands,” she said with an offhanded air, “whether they admit it or not. For what other choice do we have but to marry?”
“Quite so, Miss Bennet,” he replied with a gleam in his eye. “What other options could there be for a well-bred young lady of limited education?—except, of course, to end her days as a spinster and nursemaid to her aging parents.”
Maidenly modesty made her blush. Only a rake would say such things to a lady he hardly knew. Why, then, did she find his brashness so thrilling? For some inexplicable reason, he brought out in her a boldness of character she found exhilarating.
“Better to die a spinster and nursemaid than to marry a man she despises.”
This seemed to catch him off-guard. “Do you speak from general observation or from your own experience? On second thought, don’t tell me. For whichever the case might be, it can have no bearing on me.”
Rather than discourage her, his statement only emboldened her the more. “Are you sure about that?”
He leaned in and, for a moment, she thought he might kiss her—the rogue!—and was not entirely sure she would object if he did. Never mind that allowing such an intimacy would destroy her plans and any hope she might have for happiness in marriage. The heart wanted what it wanted, and hers longed more than anything at this moment to taste those seductive lips of his.
But alas, he only whispered in her ear: “I am growing less certain with every moment passed in your company.”
She struggled to maintain the façade of composure, in spite of her damp palms and pounding heart “That being the case, I will answer your earlier question in all honestly. I am standing here talking to you instead of dancing because…well, because there is no other man in the room with whom I care to stand up. Hence, my offer to give you instruction.”
His eyes narrowed—in a seductive rather than contemptuous manner. “You tempt me, Miss Bennet. For partnering you on the dance floor would be not only my honor, but also my inestimable pleasure. Regrettably, however, my dancing days were ended by a surgeon’s saw in the Cape of Trafalgar ten years ago.”
She was sure she saw him flinch at the mention of his amputation. Her imagination conjured an image of him laid out with a knife between his teeth, bravely bearing the agony as the ship’s surgeon sawed off his leg. Surely, enduring such a thing was enough to drive a man to madness!
Shivering, she blinked the harrowing picture away. “If you truly believe that, why not accept my offer?” She quickly added, “To prove me wrong, if for no better reason.”
“Perhaps I shall, Miss Bennet.” His eyes twinkled in the ambient candlelight of the ballroom. “Perhaps I shall at that.”
She was more than pleased with what seemed to her genuine interest on his part. Now, all she needed to do was slip the halter on before he knew he’d been caught. Better yet, she would adopt the methods of the great tamers of horses. After being gentle with the animal, they walked away and, more often than not, the wild horse followed.
And for her plan to succeed, the Captain must follow her. For she knew very well that suitors liked to do the chasing, not to be pursued. Besides, if she lingered any longer, she might lose her mystique—or say something to scare him away. And there was too much to lose to take such a foolish chance.
“When you are ready to begin, send a note to that effect to me at Craven Castle,” she said with a flighty smile. “And now, if you will excuse me, I must rejoin my mother, who will be despairing by now over what has become of me.”
As she took her leave, she lifted her skirt just enough to give him a peek of one ankle. Yes, it was a scandalous thing to do, but in a situation as dire as hers, a lady had to avail herself of every weapon in her arsenal.
Four
“Who was that handsome young woman I saw you conversing with so long last evening?” Winnie inquired of Theo the following morning across the breakfast table.
He flinched as Miss Bennet returned to his mind—not that she’d wandered far from his thoughts in the hours since their meeting. What a vision of loveliness she was in her low-cut empire evening gown. Copper silk, he thought, though the ambient lighting of the assembly rooms made it impossible to be certain. Neither could he tell the color of her hair. He only knew it was dark—brunette or auburn—and that her eyes were either hazel or green.
There was one thing, though, of which he was sure: he liked Miss Louisa Bennet more than was prudent under the circumsta
nces. He just hoped he’d not given her reason to expect his suit.
“If you must know, the lady was Miss Louisa Bennet.” He took a sip of tea from a bone china teacup to wash down a bite of pickled herring. “Why do you ask?”
“You seemed to be enjoying yourself.” Winnie gave him an innocent smile that fooled him not for a moment. “I actually saw you smiling—more than once—and wondered who or what had put you in such good humor.”
As a blush warmed his face, he hoped his sister would take no notice. “Her conversation was rather diverting.”
“And her face very beautiful, as I observed.”
“Yes, that too,” he reluctantly agreed.
Winnie got that look she always did whenever he was pleased by some young lady or other. As if a pretty face and a few smiles were enough to turn his head—or mend his ruined heart. “Did you make plans to see her again?”
“Why would I?”
Winnie frowned at him across the table. “Perhaps because, from where I stood, it looked as if you were exceedingly pleased with her.”
“As I said, she was witty.” He cleared his throat and took another sip of tea before tacking on, “But also quite mad.”
Winnie’s brow puckered. “Mad? In what way?”
He lowered his chin and raised his eyebrows. “She offered me dancing lessons, if you can believe it.”
Winnie looked more perturbed than amused. “I can believe it and, furthermore, I think it very charitable of her.”
“That is exactly what it was.” He took a triangle of buttered toast from the silver rack in the middle of the table. “And I by no means want charity from anyone.”
“I doubt charity, in the sense you mean, was her motive.”
“Whatever the reason,” he said, biting the toast, “stumbling about in an attempt to master the complicated steps required to dance even passably well shall serve no better purpose than to make her more aware of my shortcomings.”
“Well, I think it was very kind of her,” his sister said. “I also think she offered to give you lessons because she is interested in you, not because she feels sorry for you.”
“Which is equally dangerous.”
Winnie wrinkled her nose. “How so?”
“It matters not.” Taking another bite of his toast, he studied his sibling. She had always been a pretty creature, but now her heart-shaped face was more angular than round and her cherubic pink lips, when pursed, took on a womanly sensuality he did not care to see in the sister he’d looked out for since childhood. Moreover, her blossoming maturity served as a painful reminder she would fly the nest before he was ready to let her go.
Winnie heaved a frustrated sigh. “Theo, one bad apple in a bushel does not mean all the rest are no better.”
“I know that,” he said crossly. “But I shall not scruple to assert that any woman—especially one as charming as Miss Louisa Bennet—would want a cripple for a husband. Unless she is only after his money. And that is far from the kind of woman I would choose if I had the least inclination to take a wife. Which, as I keep telling you, I most certainly do not.”
Winnie heaved an exasperated sigh. “Well, I disagree and, moreover, think you ought to give Miss Bennet the benefit of the doubt—and a fair chance to prove herself better than you presume—before writing her off as either mad or mercenary. For I believe she favored you and that you favored her in return, which seems an excellent beginning for two single people of marriageable age.”
Theo, having none of it, restrained the urge to roll his eyes. “Perhaps it would be if I were in the market for a wife, but I am not, as I’ve explained many times.”
“Yes, yes. So you keep saying. And yet I hear you making no denials about fancying Miss Bennet.”
“I will confess feeling drawn to the lady,” he said tightly, “and nothing more.”
All the more reason to steer clear of her, I daresay.
Weary of discussing Miss Bennet, Theo threw his napkin on his plate and grabbed his cane. As he hoisted himself off the chair, he gave his sister a reproving look. “Now, if you will excuse me, I am going for a ride to explore the countryside. I have a mind to see Major’s Leap, which, as I understand it, is not far from here.”
She looked up at him, her youthful brow crumpled. “Pray, what is Major’s Leap?”
“It is what the locals call Wenlock Edge, the steep limestone escarpment over which Major Thomas Smallman rode his horse during the Civil War.”
The dent between Winnie’s eyebrows deepened. “Upon my soul, why would he do such a thing?”
“Because he was a Royalist, and Cromwell’s troops were closing in on him. The Major had important dispatches on his person, and was cornered on the ridge. Rather than surrender, he galloped his horse over the edge, falling some two hundred feet. Though his horse was killed, he was saved by an apple tree. Afterwards, he walked the thirteen miles to Shrewsbury, where he delivered the letters just before the Roundheads arrived.”
She gave him a hard look. “Well, I do hope you are not going there to re-enact the Major’s daring feat.”
He glared at her, annoyed. “Winnie, for heaven’s sake, why would I do any such thing?”
She lowered her gaze to her plate. “Perhaps because you will not allow yourself to be happy.”
Before he could formulate an answer, someone rang the doorbell. His pulse quickened. Might it be Miss Bennet calling? Half of him hoped it was indeed her, while the other half dreaded meeting her again. With his feelings still pulling in opposite directions, he turned back to his sister. “Are you expecting anyone?”
“Not a soul,” she said, looking quite as put out as he was.
The next moment, Murphy came in and announced in his lilting brogue that a Mrs. and Miss Cuthbertson were calling upon them both.
Theo pulled on his chin while endeavoring to put faces to the names. Had he met them last night at the ball? But for Miss Bennet, his memories of the assembly were clouded by all the brandy he’d imbibed.
He squinted across the table at his sister. “Do you have any notion who the Cuthbertsons are?—or why they might be calling?”
“I do indeed know who they are, though only because they were pointed out to me last evening.” Winnie squinted as she added, “And it is not difficult to deduce what they want—not with us, but with you. The mother is the widow of a Baronet who now lives on a pittance, owing to her late husband’s gambling debts. And, as I understand it, her daughter making an advantageous marriage is her only avenue of escape from her diminished circumstances.”
“My thanks for the useful briefing, sister dear. I do believe at times I would be lost without you—while at others you try my patience exceedingly.”
Snatching his brown velvet riding coat off the back of the chair, Theo pulled it on. Then, with Winnie on his heels, he made his way to the parlor, where he found their callers seated on the sofa facing the fire.
The mother, dressed in widow’s weeds, wore an expression as somber as her clothing. The daughter, madam’s polar opposite, wore a pleasant smile and a white-lawn visiting gown partially concealed by a plum-colored spencer jacket.
As Theo and Winnie came into the room, both ladies gained their feet and dipped into curtsies.
“Forgive us for intruding upon you uninvited,” Mrs. Cuthbertson offered. “But, as we were denied the pleasure of making your acquaintances last evening, calling upon you this morning seemed the best way to correct the oversight.” A smile spread across her lipless mouth as she added, “And now that you have extended to us the graciousness of your company, I hope you will allow me to introduce myself and my daughter, Miss Augusta Cuthbertson, who, as you can no doubt imagine, is admired far and wide for her fairness of face.”
He could well imagine, for the girl was undeniably handsome. Her beauty, however, was nothing to Miss Bennet’s. Not in his eyes, leastwise.
“I am delighted to make your acquaintances.” He bowed slightly to mother and daughter before gesturin
g toward Winnie, who was still by his side. “Now, if you will allow me to return the favor, I should like to present to you both Miss Winnifred Raynalds, my sister and ward.”
Once the introductions and pleasantries were accomplished, mother and daughter reclaimed their seats on the sofa while brother and sister parked themselves in the facing chairs on either side. When Mrs. Cuthbertson struck up a conversation with Winnie, Miss Cuthbertson slid toward the arm nearest Theo.
The lady proceeded to converse with him upon trivial topics in a subdued voice, as if trying to sooth a sick child. Whenever he tried to steer the topic to something more consequential—in the hopes of penetrating her vapid shell—she only agreed with everything he said. Never mind that some of his statements were too ludicrous to be believed.
At length, she leaned closer. The floral scent of her perfume assaulted his senses as she said, in the low, breathy voice of seduction, “I would have made your acquaintance last night were my dance card not already full.” Her cheeks colored and she pressed her unengaged hand to her throat. “Forgive me, sir, for I had quite forgotten your…handicap. Unless, of course, I am mistaken in my belief that your…er, injury makes dancing…well, challenging, to say the least.”
Stomach in knots, he said tersely, “You are not mistaken.”
“I thought not,” she said, oblivious to his discomfort. “I understand your deficiencies, you see, and can safely promise you, I will not mind them the least little bit after we…”
Curse the presumptuous chit! They had only just met and she was already planning their wedding. Such audacity was not to be borne. Fuming inside, he bit his tongue to avoid saying something he would later regret.
It was always the same with the gold-digging vultures who came around—with one notable exception. Edwina, his ex-fiancée, had been honest with him. Brutally so, to his misfortune.
“You will think me forward.” Miss Cuthbertson reached over the gap between sofa and chair to squeeze his forearm. “I just wanted you to know I by no means mind your debility, in case you fear I do.”
