Annie Burrows - The Captain Claims His Lady

Just as he was sweating with his own nerves. Which gave him an uncanny sense of kinship with her. He knew what it felt like to be robbed of the kind of pleasure most people took for granted, right enough. It had happened first in his childhood, when his family had fallen apart. And then when he’d been taken out of school just as he’d begun to find his feet. And again when the French had taken him prisoner. Each time he’d hated that feeling of being weak and helpless in the face of cruel fate and no longer able to partake in the activities others enjoyed almost by right.

She darted him a glance that was half-trepidation, half-despair as they took their places in the set. He heard the murmurs going through the assembled crowd of onlookers. Saw people nudging each other and looking in their direction. And probably speculating on the likely outcome of having two giants attempting to weave in and out of the band of pygmies who formed the rest of their set.

He wanted to tell her she wasn’t going to have to face it alone. That he would protect her from the stares, the gossip, the sniggers. But how could he? It was his fault she was going to have to endure it all.

But one thing he could do. He could show her that though they were not cut from the same cloth as most people, that didn’t mean they had no right to enjoy themselves. For the next half-hour he would do his level best to provide Miss Hutton with the fun that seemed so sadly lacking in her life, from what he’d both learned and observed of her so far.

‘You know,’ he remarked casually, ‘when at sea, it is a general principle that the smaller, nippier craft treat the larger, ocean-going vessels with respect.’

‘Respect?’ She cast a doubtful look round the others who’d come on to the dance floor before them and who could now not retreat without looking craven.

‘Yes. If they don’t want to get broadsided, then they take jolly good care to keep out of the way.’

‘That is a nautical principle, is it?’

‘Yes. An eminently sensible one. And one which ought to hold true on the dance floor.’

‘Are you trying to say that if you step on my toes, it will be my own fault?’

Before he could deny he’d meant anything so unchivalrous, the musicians were striking up the opening chords and everyone was curtsying or bowing to the other members of the set.

‘No,’ he just had time to say, ‘I was referring to the others.’

And then they were off.

And he soon discovered that Miss Hutton was nowhere near as bad at dancing as she’d led him to believe. She did appear a bit reserved at first, a little awkward about the way she moved her limbs, but to make up for it, she had a very good ear for music. She stepped out firmly on the beat, never missing a step. Which meant he didn’t have to worry that she might not be in the place he expected her to be at any given moment. True, her steps were a bit longer than those of the other ladies in the set, and most of the men, too, but they matched his . What was more, when he took her hand in the turns, she returned his grip with such strength that he soon lost his usual dread that he might accidentally snap one of her fingers. He could also swing her round without worrying about the risk of whirling her right off her feet and out through one of the windows.

After a while, he noticed that she was starting to look much less nervous. And by the time it was their turn to gallop down the inside of the set, hand in hand, she was actually smiling.

‘You were right,’ she said as they waited for the next couple in the set to gallop down the centre. ‘About the smaller craft giving the larger ones a wide berth.’

‘And they have ample space to do so tonight, since this is the only set in a room designed to hold several, by the looks of it.’

‘Yes, not many people come to Bath for anything other than to play cards and drink the waters, these days. Oh, and gossip. And reminisce about how much more fun it used to be when they were younger.’

They stepped smartly sideways as the next couple in line reached the head of the set and began their skip down the middle of the room.

‘It must be very dull for you,’ he observed.

She shrugged. Darted him a shy glance. ‘Not tonight.’

And then she bit her lower lip, her face turning red.

His stomach contracted. Though he ought to be pleased at having made such an impression on her in such short order, the truth was he’d forgotten all about Rawcliffe’s scheme, for a while there. He might have asked her to dance in order to further that scheme, but he’d wanted her to enjoy herself because... Well, he’d just wanted her to enjoy herself, that was all.

Now, her blushing response to him reminded him how very vulnerable she was, all over again. The perfect mark for Rawcliffe’s scheme.

He ground his teeth. If there was any other way...

But, according to both Rawcliffe and Becconsall, when they’d filled him in on the mission, there wasn’t. The village where the man lived, who they suspected of being responsible for Archie’s murder, was impregnable from a full-frontal attack, tucked into an inlet that was backed by sheer cliffs and approachable from the sea only by means of a narrow, rock-strewn channel. They’d never be able to get in openly, and search for the evidence they needed to bring him to justice. Visitors to the surrounding area were watched, too. From what Rawcliffe had been able to discover in the short time he’d stayed at Peacombe, a nearby seaside resort, that had been Archie’s mistake. He’d been too open about what had led him to go to that area. Had spoken to someone who had reported back to someone else, who’d promptly had him killed.

Stealth was the answer. Going in under cover of a lot of smoke. And Miss Hutton was the means of providing it.

‘You may think that these men I was interviewing,’ Rawcliffe had told him, when the others had left the supposedly secret meeting that night, ‘were a set of rogues, but one thing you cannot deny is their appeal to the gentler sex.’ Harry had only had to reflect for a moment or two before agreeing. Especially since he knew a little about each man’s exploits in that area. ‘Moreover,’ Rawcliffe had continued dispassionately, ‘from what Clare has told me, Miss Hutton will jump at the chance for a match that will provide the means to escape her grandfather’s tyranny. Giving her fiancé the perfect opportunity to haunt the place for as long as it takes to find the proof we need to bring Clement Cottam to justice.’

‘Right-hand star,’ shouted the dance caller, jerking him out of his reverie.

Miss Hutton grasped his hand firmly. But the other lady in their foursome kept her own hand timidly under her own partner’s so that the star never fully meshed. Which meant that when they began to circle, he and Miss Hutton, whose steps matched perfectly, were in danger of overtaking the other two. When Miss Hutton made as if she was going to slow down, he gripped her hand tighter and shook his head, reminding her that it was for the others to keep up. And, after one brief moment when he saw panic in the other lady’s eyes, she did indeed speed up, obliging her partner to do the same. In short order, their little legs were positively twinkling as they put on a spurt of speed that left them red-faced and panting by the time the figure ended.

Luckily for all concerned, the orchestra brought the performance to an end soon after. Everyone in the set bowed to everyone else and tottered away from the floor. Leaving Miss Hutton and he standing there alone, as if in possession of the field.

Oh, to the devil with his conscience! And Rawcliffe’s schemes. He seized Miss Hutton’s hands.

‘I say,’ he panted. ‘Would you like to do that again?’