Dorothy Clark - An Unlikely Love

It sounded like a dismissal. He nodded, leaned down and picked up his coat. He’d never had to beg to court a woman and he wouldn’t start now. But right was right. “A gentleman doesn’t leave a lady to find her own way home, Marissa. So, unless you have made plans for another escort, I’ll see you to your tent on my way down the hill.”

“Plans for another escort ? You think—” She stiffened and tugged at the waist of her gown. “Good evening, and goodbye , Mr. Winston.”

He stared at her rigid posture, hastened to apologize. “I didn’t mean to offend, Marissa. I only thought—”

She lifted her hand. “It’s not your fault, Mr. Winston. I gave you the wrong impression when I broke the rules of propriety. But...so you will know .” Her chin lifted. “I do not live down the hill. If I did, I would have been pleased to have you see me home.”

The past tense was not lost on him. Nor was the fact that she would have accepted his escort. “Marissa—”

“I live up the hill—at the very top. And I do have another escort, of a sort. My tent mate. You remember Miss Gordon. She is there—”

He winced as she waved a hand toward the bench in front of the platform.

“—taking notes for her article in the Sunday School Journal . I will walk home with her when the class is over and her work is done. Now, I suggest you hurry, lest you miss your steamer. Thank you for a pleasant evening.”

He grinned. He couldn’t help it. She was the cutest thing he’d ever seen standing there with her chin jutted, her eyes flashing blue sparks and her cheeks so flushed they matched the color of that gown she was wearing.

“You find me amusing, Mr. Winston?”

Whoo! An ice-cold voice and a red-hot anger. Quite a combination. He shook his head, held her gaze with his. “No. I find you intriguing, Miss Bradley. And I, also, find you a lovely, very proper young lady I look forward to seeing again. You mistook—”

“I mistook nothing, Mr. Winston. Your meaning was quite clear!” Her chin raised another notch. “As for you seeing me again—I’m afraid that will not be possible. I shall be too busy. I begin lecturing tomorrow and—”

“You’re a speaker?” That information drove his explanation from his thoughts. “Then I shall attend your lecture. What subject—” A long single blast of the steamer’s whistle sounded a final warning of imminent departure. His time was gone. “No matter. I shall find you. Until tomorrow afternoon, Marissa!” He spun on his heel and sprinted for the path that led to the lake.

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