Annie Burrows - The Captain Claims His Lady

She blinked. ‘You cannot mean that.’

‘I jolly well can. I don’t think I have ever enjoyed a dance more.’

She peered up at him, as though perplexed.

‘But we disrupted the others. We didn’t...keep time.’

‘We kept perfect time. We just kept a bit more of it than the others, that was all.’

She tipped her head to one side, as though assessing his viewpoint. ‘That’s as may be,’ she then said, pensively. ‘But I don’t think anyone else will return to the dance floor while we remain on it.’

He glanced round the other occupants of the ballroom, who were, indeed, looking a bit reluctant to return to the floor while they still stood there. ‘Lightweights,’ he said scornfully. ‘It wasn’t as if I trod upon anyone’s toes. Nor did I knock anyone over.’

‘Have you ever done so? Knocked anyone over, I mean? I know about the toe-crushing.’

‘Not actually.’

‘I have,’ she said dolefully.

‘How did you manage that?’

‘Swung him round with a bit too much enthusiasm.’

He couldn’t help grinning at the image she conjured up for him. ‘You can swing me round with as much enthusiasm as you like,’ he assured her. ‘And you will never manage to knock me off my feet.’

She eyed him in an assessing manner.

‘Come on,’ he urged her, ‘let’s dance again. And this time, no holds barred. Let’s just enjoy ourselves, for once, without worrying about what damage we might do.’ Or what the future might bring. ‘And then I shall escort you in for tea.’

‘You...you...’ She gazed at him as though he was some kind of marvel. ‘You are going to set tongues wagging,’ she finished, though he was pretty sure that was not what she’d been going to say.

‘From what I can gather, they wag anyway,’ he said scornfully. And then noted the little furrow between her brows. ‘Does it bother you?’

She lifted her chin. ‘Not tonight. Besides, I won’t hear it, will I, if I am on the dance floor, or supping tea with you.’

But she would have to face it the next day. And the one after that.

Poor Miss Hutton.

Not that he was going to permit sympathy for her to stop him from his pursuit. And conquest.

Too much depended on it.

Chapter Five

Lizzie had never woken up, while in Bath, with a sense of anticipation. And she’d always regarded their daily attendance at the Pump Room as just a part of the grindingly dull routine she had to weather. But this morning, her heart was beating double time as she helped Grandfather out of his sedan chair.

Would he be there today? Captain Bretherton? He’d come yesterday, to drink the waters. Although she couldn’t think why. He was the strongest man she’d ever met. Which was probably why she’d enjoyed dancing with him so much. For the first time, she hadn’t felt oversized and gangly, and unfeminine. Not at all. She’d felt...

Well, if he was here today, she could ask him what on earth he was doing, drinking the foul waters, when he was so...

She felt a blush coming on and ruthlessly turned her thoughts in another direction. The last thing she wanted was for anyone to notice how susceptible she was to Captain Bretherton and start quizzing her about him.

And if he was here, she was going to speak to him in a sensible fashion. Not stammer and blush, and sigh. Absolutely not. She’d start, she’d decided earlier—after ransacking her wardrobe for a gown she would actually like him to see her wearing, before realising she didn’t possess one—by asking him why his doctor had sent him to Bath to drink the waters. For there was nothing most invalids enjoyed more than going into great detail about their ailments. While he was describing a set of symptoms that would probably make her shudder, she wouldn’t have to come up with anything witty or interesting by way of response. She wouldn’t have to do anything but listen. And by the time he’d recounted the history of whatever ailment he had, he probably wouldn’t appear so...god-like. Which would be a good thing, because it was blasphemous to think in those terms about a mere mortal.

But how else to account for the fact that she became a different person whenever he drew near? A wittier, more graceful version of herself. Who could actually dance? It was nothing short of miraculous.

Ouch!

She winced at the blow from Grandfather’s walking stick.

‘That’s the third time I’ve asked you! What’s got into you, girl?’

‘Nothing, Grandfather,’ she replied penitently. ‘I was wool-gathering. I do beg your pardon. I—’

‘Never mind excuses. Snap out of it. And go and fetch me my cup of water. It’s what I bring you for, after all. Go on. At the double!’

‘Yes, Grandfather.’ Lizzie made her way across the crowded Pump Room to join the queue at the fountain. If he was here, he would have to come and find her. It wasn’t the done thing for a lady to seek out a gentleman. Even if she could pick him out from the crowd, which she couldn’t.

She fingered her reticule, wishing she had the courage to make use of the one item that would have put her on an even footing with all the other people here. But she hadn’t.

She sighed.

He wouldn’t come to look for her. Even though he’d said he’d enjoyed their time together last night, she mustn’t pin her hopes on him still being in the same frame of mind today. Men with god-like attributes such as he possessed surely did not waste more than one evening upon any one female. Why, he might not even still be in Bath. He—

‘Good morning, Miss Hutton.’

He was here! And bowing to her. And speaking to her. At least, he’d said good morning. Which meant—Oh! She ought to make some kind of reply.

‘Ah. Oh. Um.’ Yes. Very witty. That would really impress him. A wave of embarrassment flooded her, making her cheeks flame.

‘It’s deuced hot in here, isn’t it?’ he said. Oh, how kind of him to come up with a valid reason for her to blush!

‘Don’t know why they need to have a fire blazing,’ he said, ‘with all the crowds jostling to get in.’

‘Grandfather always takes a seat as near to the fire as he can, while I go to fetch his water,’ she managed to say, though her tongue felt a bit too big for her mouth.

‘Rheumaticky, is he?’

Which reminded her, she had meant to quiz him about his own ailments. With the twin aim of getting him to do most of the talking, while toppling him from his pedestal.

‘It’s his broken bones. He had a few injuries during his years of active service. And he claims draughts set them off. Is that why you are here? Were you injured? I mean, that is, you are in the navy, are you not?’

‘I did have my fair share of injuries,’ he replied, as the queue shuffled forward. And fell silent.

‘And is that why you have come to drink the waters?’

The queue shuffled forward again before he had made any reply. Which made her fear he had picked up some nasty disease which he couldn’t mention in female company.

Well! That would make her think less well of him. Sailors were notorious for seeking...comfort...in whichever port they happened to be. She ought not to know about it, but—

‘It is a bit complicated,’ he finally said. ‘I had yellow jack when I was in the tropics, which left me...not in prime twig, shall we say,’ he finished saying on a huff of a laugh. ‘And then I was taken prisoner by the French.’ He plucked at the front of his jacket, making her aware that it hung a bit loose on his big frame. ‘I lost so much weight while enjoying their hospitality that when I finally came back to England my friends said I resembled a scarecrow.’

They reached the head of the queue. The footman handed them each a cup. They stepped aside.