Bronwyn Scott - One Night With The Major

Across the room, a ripple shifted the crowd as the dance ended and couples walked back to their groups, new pairs drifting on to the floor. It was the flash of turquoise that caught his eye, bright and vibrant, and Cam’s eye riveted on it. Turquoise and dark hair, both a striking contrast against the pale palette of ivories and creams and blondeness around him. It was enough to capture his attention and to recall the memories he’d been trying to subdue all evening. ‘Who is that?’ Cam gestured with his flute. Maybe someone new to hold his interest was exactly what he needed, someone to replace his dancer in his fantasies.

‘You have good taste.’ Sutton followed his gaze. ‘It must be all that time abroad. That is the tea merchant’s daughter, our richest, most controversial prize of the Season.’

‘Because she’s a Cit? One would think we’d be more progressive these days. If we can power steam ships and run an empire, surely we can broaden our minds about social class.’ Good lord, the champagne was starting to take effect. His tongue was looser than a Covent Garden whore.

Sutton laughed. ‘It’s all about self-protection and you know it, Cam. People think if we let everyone in, the peerage would mean nothing and we’d be useless. But that’s not the problem with her. I dare say most would make an allowance for the Honeysetts in order to get their hands on all that money. Lord knows the aristocracy needs it.’ He dropped his voice even lower. ‘It’s her breeding, I’m talking about. Society is uncomfortable with the fact that her mother’s Indian. She’s a mixed-blood heiress and society has no idea what to do with her.’

‘Society had better get used to it. Empires by nature are not homogenous.’ Cam couldn’t keep the disgust out of his voice. The colour of someone’s skin should not determine their value. He thought of his dancer and the leers men had cast her in the tavern, and the disregard he’d feared they would show her without his protection.

‘True enough,’ Sutton agreed. ‘We’re seeing more and more of that as the empire expands—wealthy men marrying abroad and bringing their children home, only to discover England doesn’t want them. They’re trapped between worlds.’

Cam’s heart went out to the heiress. The Season must be torture for her, knowing that no matter how much money her father had, her antecedents would be held against her, weighed against access to that fortune. The girl would never truly know if she was appreciated for herself. ‘I want to meet her,’ Cam said, the decisiveness clearing the fuzziness of his head.

The request stunned Sutton. ‘I’ve only met her once, last week at the Haverfords’ rout.’

‘Good. Then she’ll remember you.’ Cam made a forward motion with his hand. ‘Lead on.’

‘It won’t do you any good,’ Sutton argued as they wove through the crowd. ‘Rumour has it, she’s nearly engaged to Wenderly.’

‘Wenderly?’ Cam’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Is he still around? The man must be nearly sixty. I’d think a widow would be more his sort.’

‘Well, you’d be wrong,’ Sutton said over his shoulder. ‘He’s got a taste for virgins these days.’

They approached the heiress’s little court from the side so that she was turned away from them. The crowd parted to make room for the newcomers and Cam stood back, waiting for Sutton to make the introductions.

‘Miss Honeysett, a pleasure to see you again.’

‘Mr Keynes! How good to see you . How is your camel dairy?’ she effused with genuine sincerity in a voice that held notes of the familiar, the smoke of it, the soft intimacy of it, sending a ripple of awareness through Cam.

‘My dairy is fine, how kind of you to remember.’ Sutton bowed over her gloved hand. ‘I have a friend with me tonight who would like to meet you. May I introduce you? Miss Pavia Honeysett, this is Major Camden Lithgow, lately of the Fourth Queen’s Own Hussars, although he’s not in uniform tonight as he’s home on leave.’

Cam stepped forward, his gaze locking on Miss Honeysett for the first time. He stalled, barely hearing Sutton finish the introduction. His heart pounded hard. The room seemed to spin either from champagne or from the shock of a fantasy come to life. His mind grappled with the enormous improbability of it all. After weeks of wishing for it, his dark-eyed dancer was here.

* * *

He was here. Pavia froze, barely remembering to extend her hand, so intent was she on his face—a face she’d studied intimately in the dark, a face she’d committed to memory. Only now the face had a name: Major Camden Lithgow. ‘Enchanté,’ Pavia murmured automatically.

Mrs Finlay’s academy had done its job with years of drills to help protect against unnerving circumstances. Perhaps he wouldn’t recognise her. It was a short-lived thought. The sharp look of shock in his eyes said he remembered her quite well. He’d not expected to find her here either.

‘The pleasure is all mine.’ His eyes lingered on her, full of memories and questions even as he delivered that wickedly wrapped double entendre. In the world beyond Cam Lithgow’s broad shoulder, the musicians struck up the beginnings of a dance. She was caught off guard, but Cam took advantage. ‘Might I hope you are free for the waltz?’ She was envious how quickly he’d recovered his aplomb while she was still wallowing in stunned surprise.

‘Absolutely.’ She took his arm and let him whisk her away to the dance floor and whatever privacy they might find there. It was the perfect short-term remedy. They would be seen, but not heard.

‘You were not a dancer like those other girls that night.’ He wasted no time, his hand at her waist, moving them into the waltz as he began his interrogation.

‘No.’ She was breathless as they took the first turn, the speed of his pace perhaps akin to the speed with which his mind was working, sorting, as she was, through the surprise and the facts. ‘I was not supposed to see you again.’

‘Nor I you, yet here we are, dancing again, but in very different circumstances,’ the Major said tautly.

Pavia lifted her chin defiantly. ‘Here we are, but it changes nothing. I am not asking you to claim a previous association with me. In fact, I’d prefer you didn’t.’ Never mind that she still dreamed about him at night, that he, nameless as he’d been, had somehow managed to imprint himself on her heart, on her mind, in that short time. She knew now she’d never be rid of him.

‘I know.’ His blue eyes narrowed, fixed on her in a piercing cobalt stare. ‘My friend tells me you’re engaged to Wenderly.’ He paused, perhaps considering that piece of information, and her mouth went dry. Did he know she’d been a virgin? Would he put the pieces together? Would he be angry? She didn’t want his anger. Even now, her body thrilled to the feel of his hand at her waist, of his hand in hers, the weight of his gaze on her, things she’d never thought to experience again.

‘It’s a possibility.’ Pavia was careful with her words. She couldn’t risk him saying otherwise if it came up in casual conversation at his clubs.

He arched blonde brows in doubt. ‘Truly? Does the earl tolerate such liberal behaviour in his fiancée? Does he know you dance in taverns and seduce men in their chambers?’

Pavia froze him with a stare. Scolding him silently for such crassness was the only recourse open to her. She could not plead it was only the one time or he would know her secret and he would know she’d used him. But it sat poorly with her to let him get away with thinking what she’d done with him was habitual. ‘That was one night out of time. It is best we forget about it,’ she said tightly. ‘If we don’t acknowledge it, it is as if it never happened.’