Jenni Fletcher - Captain Amberton's Inherited Bride

‘Then perhaps you ought to have informed me of your wishes earlier, Father. Or at least asked. I’ve no wish to be ungallant.’

‘This is ungallant!’

‘Perhaps I might escort Miss Harper into supper?’ Lance interrupted smoothly. ‘Keep her in the family, so to speak?’

‘You can stay out of it!’ Their father’s face was starting to take on a familiar puce colour.

‘As you wish. I was only trying to help.’

‘We all know very well how you help, sir!’

Their father gave a sudden jolt, as if he’d just realised what he’d said and who was listening, though he seemed unable to think of a way to remedy the situation, his jaw quivering with a combination of frustrated rage and embarrassment.

‘In any case, my offer stands, Miss Harper.’ Lance broke the ensuing awkward silence, regarding his father with amusement. ‘Though I might not be able to offer such scintillating conversation as my brother here. As you can tell, you’d be in danger of him talking your ear off.’

‘Arthur.’ Their father’s tone was threatening. ‘A word.’

Lance gave his brother a supportive look as the two men stepped to one side, leaving him alone with his distinctly embarrassed-looking companion. At least her cheeks had some colour now, he thought sardonically, having turned a vibrant shade of luminous pink, as if she were even more mortified by their situation than his father.

‘I didn’t mean to cause any trouble.’ Her voice was so quiet he found himself leaning forward to catch it.

‘And you haven’t.’ He took a step to one side, attempting to block her view of his father and brother arguing. ‘We aren’t happy in our family unless we’re butting heads.’

‘Your brother doesn’t look very happy.’ Her tiny brow wrinkled as she peered around him. ‘He looks very unhappy.’

Lance twisted his head with a frown. That was true. As much as he hated to admit it, Arthur did look unhappy. His shoulders were slumped forward as if he were wearing some kind of heavy garment that he couldn’t shrug off or put down. Not that there was anything that he could do about that—nothing except tell him to stand up to their father and he did that often enough—but Miss Harper was more observant than he’d expected. If he wasn’t careful, she’d force him to be serious.

‘If he’s made a promise to Miss Webster, then he ought to take her in to supper.’ She looked back at him, wide-eyed. ‘I don’t understand why your father’s being so insistent.’

He shrugged in what he hoped was a convincingly offhand manner. ‘Our fathers are old friends. I suppose they want the two of you to get to know each other.’

‘But not you?’

‘No.’ He couldn’t repress a smile. ‘I’m afraid my reputation precedes me.’

‘Reputation for what?’

He opened his mouth and then closed it again, fighting the impulse to laugh. He wasn’t often rendered speechless, but in this case he had no idea how to answer. Was she really so innocent that she didn’t know what he meant? He was tempted to tell her, even more so to show her, but he could already sense her father’s disapproving stare from the other side of the ballroom. It wouldn’t be long before the old man made his way round to interrupt them and he felt reluctant to let her go quite so soon.

‘Shall we have a dance before supper?’ He extended one arm with a flourish.

‘Dance?’ She looked as if he’d just suggested something indecent. ‘Oh, no, I couldn’t.’

‘Why not?’ He made a pretence of looking around. ‘This is a ball, if I’m not mistaken.’

‘I’m just not very good. That is, I’ve had lessons, but only with women and never in public. I really don’t think that I could.’

‘You mean you’ve never danced with a man before?’

‘No. My father says—’

‘But this is perfect! You have to start some time.’

He grabbed hold of her hand impetuously, ignoring her father’s furious glare as he pulled her on to the floor. The idea of being her first anything was strangely appealing, even if it was only a dance, and there was no harm in getting to know his potential sister-in-law. It wasn’t as if he was flirting with her, no more than came naturally anyway, and it wasn’t like Arthur would care—or even notice. Judging by the heated discussion taking place on the edge of the dance floor, his brother had chosen the most public of venues to finally make a stand. It didn’t look as if that was going to end any time soon. In which case, the longer he distracted the subject of that discussion, the better. It was almost selfless of him really...

‘No!’ She dug her heels in and tore her hand away abruptly.

‘Miss Harper?’

He swung round in surprise. She looked defiant all of a sudden, like a cat arching her back, flashing her eyes and hissing at him. The effect was as impressive as it was disarming, and he felt a dawning sense of respect. Apparently she wasn’t as obedient as he’d assumed, wouldn’t be charmed or cajoled or bullied on to the dance floor. There were claws behind that small, soft-looking facade. Damned if that didn’t make her even more attractive!

‘I apologise for my forthrightness, Miss Harper.’ He bowed in an attempt to look suitably chastised. ‘I can only blame overenthusiasm.’

‘I told you, I’m not good enough to dance.’

‘But I am, though I say so myself. I haven’t dropped anyone for a good half hour.’ He moved back towards her, putting a hand over his heart with mock solemnity. ‘But I promise I won’t let you fall. If you’ll do me the honour of accepting this dance, that is?’

Her eyes widened slightly, as if she wasn’t sure how to react, and he found himself willing her to say yes. Out of the corner of his eye he could see her father bearing down on them, coming to drag her away most likely, and by the slight tilt of her head he had the distinct impression she’d just noticed him, too. To Lance’s surprise, the sight seemed to decide her. After a moment’s hesitation, she took his arm, following him out into the middle of the dance floor.

The orchestra struck up a tune and he smiled with satisfaction. It was a polka, a livelier dance than the waltz, but still one that allowed him to face her, to place one hand on her shoulder blade while he clasped her gloved fingers in the other.

‘My father told me not to dance with anyone except your brother.’ She tensed as his hand skimmed across the small of her back.

‘Then you’re more rebellious than I thought, Miss Harper.’

‘I’m not rebellious at all.’ Her expression shifted subtly. ‘Though sometimes I think I’d like to be.’

‘Indeed? Then you’ve come to the right man. I’d be more than happy to help.’

‘Oh.’ Her brow furrowed with a look of confusion. ‘Thank you.’

He bit back a laugh, flirting by habit, though in truth, he was surprised by the variety of ideas that sprang to mind, none of which were remotely suitable in relation to his brother’s future wife. Over the top of her head he could see Cordelia Braithwaite pouting at him, though the sight left him cold. For some inexplicable reason, he preferred the unworldly, unusual Miss Harper.

‘The music’s very fast.’ She sounded nervous.

‘Just follow my lead.’

He squeezed her fingers reassuringly as he led them off, sweeping her in a series of increasingly wide circles around the dance floor. She stumbled slightly at first, but quickly caught up with the rhythm, gradually relaxing in his arms as she adapted to the lively pace of the music. Contrary to what he’d expected, it was surprisingly easy to dance with her. He didn’t have any backache at all. She was so light that he found himself actually lifting her off her feet with every hop, her natural poise making her float like a feather in his arms.