The Captain Claims His Lady
- -
- 100%
- +
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?’
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.
‘I say, Miss Hutton, I don’t suppose you would care to knock this out of my hand again this morning?’
‘It won’t do you any good if you don’t drink it.’
‘I don’t think it will do me any good if I do,’ he said glumly. ‘To be honest, I think I will gain more benefit from sticking to my daily swim in the stuff.’
He swam? Oh, how she wished that Grandfather would grant her permission to do the same. But she wasn’t ill. And so there was no need for him to waste his blunt on any such treatment for her.
And then a horrid thought assailed her. It sounded as though he was explaining why she would not be seeing him again.
‘Are you telling me you will not be attending the Pump Room again?’
‘What? No. It is just...’ He bent his head, as though studying the cup he held in his hand. Then, with one swift movement, he raised it to his mouth and tossed back the entire contents in one go.
Then shuddered. ‘To think people drink this willingly.’ He shook his head.
‘But...you just did.’
‘No. That...’ he grimaced ‘...was my punishment.’
‘For what?’
He turned away from her for a moment, presumably to dispose of his cup. ‘My sins,’ he said, turning back to her, ‘are too numerous to mention. Let us instead talk of you.’
‘Me?’ Her voice came out in a squeak.
‘Yes. I want to know everything,’ he said in a determined voice, ‘there is to know about you.’
‘Well that won’t take very long. I am really very boring.’
‘Not to me, you aren’t. Have you any idea what it was like, to dance with a partner who...matched? Most women make me feel big and lumbering and awkward. But not you.’
‘Oh.’ She felt another blush coming on. And, before she could stop her unruly tongue, she heard herself admitting, ‘It was the same for me, too. That is, most men make me feel big and lumbering and awkward.’
‘Can you wonder, then, that I want to get to know you better?’
‘I... I...’
Her feet, by this time, had carried her back to her grandfather without her even taking note of where she was going. And since he was by her side, he’d fetched up there, too.
‘Who’s this? Eh?’ Grandfather was glaring up at them from under lowered brows.
‘Captain Bretherton,’ said Captain Bretherton, bowing.
‘And just what do you think you’re doing with my granddaughter? Eh? Young jackanapes.’
‘I was thanking her for taking pity on me last night and dancing with me.’
‘Taking pity on you? That’s a likely story.’
She wasn’t sure if she imagined it, but Captain Bretherton seemed to stiffen. His voice was certainly a bit cool when he said, ‘Miss Hutton, now that I have restored you to your grandfather, I shall bid you good day.’
Her spirits plunged as he disappeared into the throng. That was probably the last she’d see of him. He might say he wanted to get to know her better, but no man, at least none with any pride, would stand for being addressed as a jackanapes.
‘Didn’t take long to get him to take to his heels, did it?’ Grandfather was glaring in the direction of Captain Bretherton’s retreat. ‘Though I warned you about fellows of his stamp, yesterday. What do you mean by dancing with him, eh?’
‘Well, he asked. And I didn’t have any reason to refuse...’
‘That’s the trouble with places like this. Full of strangers. Anybody can pass themselves off as marquesses or dukes...’
She took a breath to object. Grandfather’s eyebrows lowered even further. ‘Or call themselves captains,’ he persisted. ‘Ten to one he never got nearer a regiment than walking past a parade in Hyde Park.’
‘Well, no, but then he is in the navy. He...’
‘Playing on your susceptibilities is he, because of Sam?’
Lizzie flinched. Firstly, the chances Captain Bretherton knew she’d even had a brother, let alone one who served in the navy, were so remote as to be laughable. And secondly, why would he play on her susceptibilities?
‘Just let him know you don’t have a dowry, next time he comes sniffing round. Then we’ll see what his motives really are.’ He rapped on the floor with his cane. Though he might as well have struck her with it again.
‘Very well, Grandfather,’ she said, with as much meekness in her voice as she could muster. ‘Next time I see him, the first thing I shall do is tell him I am penniless.’
She hadn’t thought it was possible for his eyebrows to get any lower, but they did. And he thrust out his jaw, as though he was trying to decide whether she was being sincere. But, after a moment or two, he leaned back in his chair, with a ‘hmmph’, and then turned his shoulder to carry on the conversation in which he’d been engaged before.
Lizzie took up her station behind his chair, her chin up, her gaze fixed straight ahead. She wasn’t trembling, although the entire episode would have humiliated any girl who hadn’t grown inured to such scenes over the years. She told herself that Grandfather probably meant well. That he was trying to protect her, in his own, inimitable fashion. That Bath was the kind of place that did attract men on the lookout for gullible heiresses, or so Lady Buntingford had told her. And that it didn’t matter what they looked like. A practised seducer would make his intended victim feel as though there was something special about her. Something that only he, out of the whole world, could appreciate. Make her believe he truly loved her. So that he could get his hands on her money.
So, the sooner she informed Captain Bretherton that she had none, the sooner she would know whether his interest in her was genuine.
Or not.
Chapter Six
He strode from the Pump Room, his fists clenched. No wonder Lady Rawcliffe had said Miss Hutton would jump at the chance to escape her grandfather, if that was an example of the way he treated her. The old man should have taken an interest in the stranger who’d escorted her back to his side, not driven him away. After insulting her, in front of all the other Bath quizzes, by insinuating that no man could possibly have asked her to dance for any reason except from pity.
He’d had to walk away before retaliating in kind. Which wouldn’t do his prospects any good. You couldn’t get into a stand-up row with a man, then ask for permission to court his granddaughter. Or a sit-down row, anyway, since the old man hadn’t stirred from his chair.
He whipped off his hat and ran his fingers through his hair. Since today was Tuesday, he wasn’t going to be able to see Miss Hutton tonight and attempt to offer her any comfort. Because it would be cards in the Assembly Rooms. Still, since he’d already told her his aversion for games of chance, she wouldn’t expect to see him. She wouldn’t think her grandfather had scared him off.
Would she?
* * *
It felt as if a month went past, rather than just a day and a half, before he was entering the Assembly Rooms again. For on his return from his daily swim, he’d found a muscular young man waiting for him outside the door of his hotel room, bearing a message from Rawcliffe and Becconsall. They’d decided he needed a bodyguard, apparently, and had sent Dawkins to perform that duty, under cover of being his valet. It had taken some time for them to discuss strategy. By the time they’d reached an understanding it had been too late to attend the Pump Room. So he was chafing at the bit by the time he entered the room where he hoped he might find her attending the Wednesday night concert.
And it wasn’t all to do with furthering his quest to find Archie’s killer, either. Even if he never got any further with Miss Hutton, he simply had to convince her that he hadn’t danced with her out of pity. Although he did feel a bit sorry for her, in some respects. She really needed someone to give her a bit of confidence, so that she could blossom into the kind of woman any man would be proud to call his wife.
Any man but him, that was. He might have agreed to pose as an eligible bachelor, but he didn’t really have anything to offer any woman. He’d returned from France a hollow shell of the man he’d once been. And even that man hadn’t been in any position to take a wife. He had to live on his pay. Which meant that not only would his wife have to struggle just to get by, but she’d be doing it alone, because he’d be away at sea.
He scanned the room for a glimpse of her. She should be easy enough to spot. She stood head and shoulders above every other female, and most men, in any room. And her silvery hair was very distinctive, too. He’d certainly had no trouble picking her out from the crowds in the Pump Room, that first time.
A smile tugged at his lips as he recalled the moment she’d backed into him, with such force she’d knocked the cup of water from his hand. And the sudden, surprising flare of attraction that contact with her body had provoked. Surprising, because he hadn’t felt any such stirrings since the day he’d fallen into the hands of the French.
But not unwelcome. For one thing it was proof that he was recovering, physically at least. For another, it meant that in one respect he would not be deceiving Miss Hutton at all. He was genuinely attracted to her.
Ah, there she was. His heart lifted. And not just at what she might represent in terms of vengeance for Archie. She looked stunning with the candlelight gleaming on her silvery hair. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. Indeed, it wasn’t until he was within a few feet of her that he noticed the older woman standing with her. The same one who’d been with her the night he’d asked her to dance.