‘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.
‘I didn’t peg you for a liar, Miss Harper.’ He arched an eyebrow accusingly.
‘What do you mean?’ She looked startled again.
‘You said you weren’t a good dancer. You’re a natural.’
Her whole face seemed to light up as she smiled. ‘I do enjoy it. We have a ballroom at home, though we’ve never had a ball.’
‘What a waste.’
‘Sometimes I dance there by myself.’
‘Without music?’
‘I sing.’ She bit her lip suddenly as if regretting the admission. ‘I suppose that sounds ridiculous.’
‘On the contrary, I’m sure you make quite a charming picture. I’d like to see and hear it.’
She smiled again and he tightened his grip on her shoulder, amused and intrigued in equal measure. He’d never visited the Harpers’ mansion in Whitby, though it was rumoured to be immense and as chilling in appearance as its owner was in reality. The daughter really was straight out of a fairy tale. At this point he wouldn’t have been surprised to learn that she’d grown up in an ivory tower.
‘This is your first ball, I understand?’
She nodded enthusiastically. ‘It’s my first anything. I’ve never seen so many people in one place. The ladies all look so beautiful.’
‘I suppose so.’ He glanced around, though the rest of the room seemed to have lost some of its lustre. All the other women looked drab by comparison.
‘Would you introduce me to some of them?’
‘The ladies?’ He raised both eyebrows this time. ‘Don’t you know anyone?’
‘The only people I know here are my father and yours, and now you. I don’t have many acquaintances.’
‘Not even in Whitby?’
‘No.’ She looked vaguely apologetic. ‘My father doesn’t like to make calls and he doesn’t approve of me going out on my own.’
‘Indeed?’ He felt a flicker of anger towards her father. Had she really been a prisoner, then? And yet she spoke matter-of-factly, as if she didn’t expect anything else. ‘In that case I’d be glad to make some introductions. Then perhaps you could encourage your father to throw his own ball? So that you can dance in your own house, I mean.’
‘Father?’ Her laugh sounded like a bell tinkling. ‘I can’t imagine that ever happening.’
‘Not even for your coming out?’ He felt a sudden impulse to test her, to see if she suspected anything of their fathers’ scheming. ‘I’m sure you’d find plenty of suitors.’
The silvery glow that had seemed to envelop her faded, as if a shadow had just fallen over her face. ‘My father doesn’t approve of suitors.’
‘Maybe not, but after tonight I’m sure there’ll be plenty of young men eager to renew your acquaintance.’
‘Eager for my father’s money, you mean?’
He almost tripped over his feet, taken aback by her bluntness. It was an unfortunate truth that in the eyes of the world her fortune would constitute her most attractive feature. She was too unusual looking to be called beautiful—he wouldn’t be surprised if his father actually saw coins when he looked at her—but such things weren’t usually spoken about out loud.
‘I see.’ Something of his thoughts must have shown on his face because an expression of hurt swept over hers. ‘I think I’d like to stop dancing now.’
He blinked, surprised for the second time in less than a minute. Never in his life had a woman asked to stop dancing with him before. Most wanted to do a lot more than that. He couldn’t have been any more surprised if she’d slapped him across the cheek.
‘Miss Harper, if I’ve offended you then I apologise.’
‘You haven’t.’ She stopped stock-still in the middle of the dance floor, every part of her body turning rigid at once. ‘I know what I am.’
‘What you are?’ He made a brief gesture of apology as the couple behind them polkaed straight into his back.
‘Yes! And I refuse to stand here and be mocked for it.’
‘What...?’
He didn’t get any further as she twisted away from him, pushing her way through the dancers as he stared speechlessly after her. What on earth had he said to cause such an extreme reaction? That she might have suitors? Women liked to be told they’d have suitors, didn’t they? And yet she’d seemed to think he’d been laughing at her, as if the very idea were a joke—as if she were a joke. Why the hell would she think that?
He started after her, taking a different path through the throng. He had to fix it, whatever it was that he’d done. If his father were really so determined to have her as a daughter-in-law, then he didn’t want to make a bad situation any worse—although he didn’t want to upset her either, he realised. The look of hurt on her face had elicited an unexpected feeling of guilt. It wasn’t an emotion he was accustomed to, had actually taken him a few moments to identify, and he wanted to be rid of it as quickly as possible.
‘Miss Harper.’ He intercepted her before she could reach her father. ‘I wasn’t mocking you. I was only trying to make conversation.’
‘Well, I didn’t find it amusing.’
‘Then blame my shoddy manners.’ He put an arm out as she tried to dodge past him. ‘I was too forward, but for what it’s worth, I think you m
ight have any number of eager suitors. There aren’t many women I’d run across a ballroom for.’
She lifted her chin, meeting his gaze with a dignity that managed to make him feel even more guilty. ‘I’m not devoid of intelligence, Captain Amberton. My father’s told me not to think about marriage and I don’t. He’s warned me that any suitors would only be after my fortune.’
‘But that’s preposterous!’ He felt a spontaneous burst of temper. What kind of father would say such a vile thing, as if she had no attractions of her own? She had more than enough, in his eyes anyway, not that it was his place to say so. That was supposed to be his brother’s job. Where was Arthur anyway? There were enough people looking in their direction now, but no sign of his brother among them.
Her eyes flashed. ‘My father wants what’s best for me. He’s trying to protect me.’
‘He’s a liar!’
‘Indeed, sir?’
Lance clenched his jaw, stifling an oath at the sound of her father’s voice behind him. So much for behaving himself. Somehow he’d managed to cause a scene and insult one of his father’s oldest friends into the bargain. Not that he felt particularly sorry. On the contrary, now that he’d started a scandal, he saw little point in stopping.
He turned around, looking the older man square in the eye. ‘If you’ve told your daughter that no man would want to marry her for herself then, yes, sir, you’re a liar.’
‘What I say to my daughter is no business of yours.’ Harper’s beady eyes narrowed malevolently. ‘And I’ll thank you to keep your distance in future. She won’t be dancing with a reprobate like you again.’
‘Better a reprobate than a liar.’
‘Captain Amberton!’ Miss Harper pushed herself between them, though her tiny height did nothing to obstruct either one of their views. ‘You’ve no right to insult my father!’
‘I do when he insults you.’
‘I’ve only told her the truth.’ Harper jutted his chin out as if daring him to take a swing at it. ‘Or are you saying that you’d marry her without my money?’
‘What?’ He said the word at the same moment she did, though it was impossible to tell which of them sounded the most horrified.
‘I asked if you’d marry her for herself? Since you take such a keen interest.’
Lance dropped his gaze to her face, but she was already looking away, arms folded around her waist as if she were trying to make herself look as small and unobtrusive as possible. Would he marry her? No. Of course not. He had absolutely no intention of shackling himself to any woman, no matter how attractive or intriguing he found her, though he could hardly say so without causing her further embarrassment. Better that than an engagement, however...
‘I’m about to return to my regiment, sir.’ He gave the first excuse that came into his head. ‘I’ve no provision for a wife.’
‘Ha!’ Harper’s face contorted with a look of malicious glee. ‘I thought not.’
Somehow Lance resisted the urge to grab the older man by the lapels and throw him headfirst through the nearest window. What on earth was the matter with him? Every eye in the room was turned towards them, every ear honed to hear every word—even the orchestra had stopped playing to listen—and yet Harper seemed so determined to win their argument that he had no qualms about humiliating his daughter in public. Just how much of a monster was he?
‘What’s going on?’ His father burst upon them suddenly, trailing a defeated-looking Arthur behind him. ‘Lance, I told you to behave yourself.’
‘I was behaving myself.’
He ran a hand through his hair, torn between exasperation and dull fury. How exactly had he found himself in this position, between two livid fathers, a silent brother and a tiny kitten of a woman who looked as though she wished the ground would open up and swallow her? Why the hell was he the one defending her?
‘He called me a liar.’ Harper’s tone was indignant.
‘And you called me a reprobate.’ Lance shot him a savage look. ‘I believe that makes us even.’
‘Apologise!’ His father’s voice was a hiss, bristling with rage. ‘Apologise to our guest right now.’
‘Don’t you want to hear my side of the story?’
‘Your side of the story is always the same. He called you a reprobate because that’s what you are. Now apologise or get out of my house this instant!’
‘Stop!’ It was Miss Harper who interrupted this time. ‘Please stop. It was all my fault. I overreacted, I’m sure.’
‘I doubt that, my dear.’ His father didn’t even bother to look at her. ‘You mustn’t distress yourself.’
‘But you mustn’t do this! Not because of me. It’s too awful.’
‘It’s no more than he deserves. This is the last straw, Lance.’
‘For you, too, Father.’ He didn’t wait another moment, turning his back and cutting a swathe through the dancers as he stormed towards the door. ‘Don’t expect me to set foot in this house ever again!’
‘Good!’ His father’s voice reverberated around the ballroom. ‘Because I wouldn’t let you in! You’re no son of mine any more!’
Lance stopped in the doorway, opening his mouth to hurl one final parting shot, then closing it again as he caught sight of his brother. Arthur was standing off to one side, a picture of such abject misery that he was half tempted to march back across the room and drag him away with him, too. But he was going back to his regiment and Arthur...well, Arthur was going to marry Violet Harper.
He took one last look at her face, at her big blue eyes made even bigger with shock. She was right about one thing. This was all her fault. If she hadn’t been so damned oversensitive, then he wouldn’t have had to run after her to apologise, wouldn’t have run into her father or stood up for her either, not that she’d thanked him for that! His lip curled contemptuously. From now on, he’d stick with the Cordelia Braithwaites of the world. Women like Violet Harper were more trouble than they were worth.
He turned away, mentally consigning his father, Harper and the whole room, Arthur excepted, to the deepest, darkest region of Hades. As for Violet Harper, future sister-in-law or not, he earnestly hoped he never set eyes on her again.
Copyright © 2018 by Jenni Fletcher
Keep reading for a special preview of HIS WICKED CHARM, the latest book in Candace Camp’s popular MAD MORELANDS series!
His Wicked Charm
by Candace Camp
PROLOGUE
1892
THE DOOR OPENED. The room beyond lay in darkness, broken only by a swath of moonlight. There was no reason to be frightened, yet some nameless, faceless terror iced Con’s veins. Still, he stepped inside. The fear in him was worse.
The walls of the room were curved, disorienting, and everywhere he looked were clocks—standing, hanging, scattered over tables and stands, lined up in cabinets. Brass hands winked, catching the dim light. Con moved farther in, his heart pounding, and stopped at a narrow table. The tiered rows were padded with dark velvet, and they were lined with not clocks, but compasses, their needles pointing in unison toward the windows. Turning now, he saw that compasses stood in the cabinets and hung on the walls amid the clocks.
He was too late. He knew it with a certainty that closed his throat: he would fail. Con ran toward the window, but he didn’t move. The needles on the compasses began to whirl. Running, gasping, he reached out, knowing he’d never reach it in time. Someone screamed.
Con’s eyes flew open, and he jerked upright in the bed. His lungs labored in his chest, his heart thundering, and he clenched his muscles, fists curled so tightly his fingernails bit into his palms. Sweat dried cold on his skin.
It was a dream.
He glanced around him. He was in his own bed, in his own room. It was only a dream.
Through the open doorway to the adjoining sitting room, he could see Wellie
perched in his cage, regarding Con with bright black eyes. That scream must have been the parrot’s screech.
The bird moved from foot to foot and rasped out, “Wellie. Good bird.”
“Yes. Good bird.” Con’s voice came out almost as hoarse as Wellington’s. He sank back onto his pillow, closing his eyes. It had been nothing but a bad dream and easily explained—today was Alex’s wedding day. He was worried about oversleeping and failing in his duties. The problem was he’d been having the exact same nightmare for weeks.
CHAPTER ONE
WHEN CON AWOKE AGAIN, sunlight was shooting through a crack in the drapes straight into his eyes. For the second time, he bolted upright. Heaven help him. After all that, he’d overslept. He jumped out of bed and began to shave.
Wellington called Con’s name and flew into the room, taking up his favorite position atop a bedpost. “You wretched bird—screeching like a banshee in the middle of the night, yet not a word when it’s time to get up.”
Wellie let out a noise that sounded disturbingly like human laughter. Con grinned and patted his shoulder for Wellie to perch on it. Con stroked a finger down the parrot’s back.
“It’s just you and me now, boy,” he said softly. “Alex is going on to better things.”
There was an odd pang in his chest; Con had felt it more than once lately. He couldn’t be happier for his twin—Sabrina was perfect for Alex and loved him madly. Alex was over the moon about marrying her. There was nothing in the world Con wanted more than his brother’s happiness. And yet...he could not help but feel as if a piece of him was leaving.
With a sigh at his own selfishness, Con set Wellie aside and headed downstairs. He found Alex in the dining room, gazing out the window—shaved, dressed and ready to go eight hours before the ceremony. Casting an eye over his twin, Con said, “Eager or terrified?”
“A little of both.” Alex let out his breath in a whoosh. “Thank God you’re finally up.”
“Why didn’t you wake me?” Con asked, going to the sideboard to fill his plate.
“Because it was four o’clock in the morning. Wellie woke me up screeching, and I couldn’t go back to sleep. I didn’t think you’d care to be awakened.”
In Thrall to the Enemy Commander Page 25