A Warrior for Christmas (4 page)

Dimity smothered a smile as Corwin jerked his focus back to Mister Johnson. “The progression in this dance travels down through the line and back up again until the head couple is at the top and each pair in the set has had a turn to lead the dance.”

The bemusement in Corwin’s expression told Dimity he coveted no turn at all. But she smiled at him encouragingly. Her chest fluttered madly when he smiled back.

Mister Johnson bent his round figure in a bow and said to Corwin, “We begin with these courtesies to our partner.”

Corwin bowed his sinewy length at Dimity. Heart racing, she curtsied to him.

Mister Johnson’s sister, a well-padded genial woman of uncertain years, plucked away at the keys of the pianoforte. A rush of excitement flooded Dimity upon detecting the vibrations of music. As long as Miss Johnson played, she could hear, in a fashion. Was there anything grander in the world than to be here with Corwin amid this wondrous sound?

The dance began under Mister Johnson’s direction. Dimity relished the strong feel of Colin’s hand on hers, the warmth of his arm penetrating her sleeve when they linked arms. Clapping, circling in and out of the formation, and kicking up her heels before promenading with him again, was far livelier and glorious than the minuet.

Mister Johnson stepped alongside them to guide Corwin. The panting gentleman paused now and then to blot his flushed face with a handkerchief. But Dimity barely heeded him. She knew the steps by heart, and hers beat for Corwin.

He discarded his coat over a chair and wore only a striped waistcoat, giving Dimity an even better view of his muscular form. His white shirt contrasted with his sun-browned skin. For all his protest at learning to dance, he soon mastered the movements, and his eyes smiled even if he didn’t. Now and then, his twitching lips gave away his enjoyment.

All else faded and there was only Corwin, his melting eyes, vital spirit, him…she could dance all afternoon and into the evening. Even fly.

Mister Johnson disrupted her dreamy state. His wig slightly askew, he paused again to catch his breath and mop his glistening brow.

Her guardian also drew up. “Perhaps some refreshment and a short rest?”

Mister Johnson wagged his head. “Yes indeed. That would be most welcome, thank you.”

Mistress Stokes rang for refreshments. The efficient housekeeper must have left instructions. Two footmen appeared with a pitcher of cider, pewter mugs, a china platter laden with gingerbread cakes, snowy napkins and small plates. The repast was set out on the tea table and the cider poured. Everyone helped him or herself and sat in the chairs pushed along the wall at the far side of the room.

Dimity sat in an armchair and washed the cold cider over her dry throat then bit into the spicy gingerbread powdered with sugar. Corwin settled in the chair at her side and ate with evident appreciation.

What did he normally have in the way of fare, she wondered? She knew so little of his former life.

Mister Johnson chewed and drank with absorption then dabbed his lips on a napkin. “Perfectly delicious, Mistress Stokes. Whitfield Place is all the richer for your meticulous hand in its keeping.”

She brightened and looked almost pleasant.

He turned to Dimity. “Miss Scott, I declare I’ve never seen you in better form. Might this have to do with the present company?” Mirth twinkled in his magnified eyes.

“Indeed,” Miss Johnson chortled, her generous figure jiggling.

Mister Whitfield smiled. “I can attest to my nephew never having appeared in better form either.”

Corwin exchanged looks with Dimity. “That is quite probable, sir, but then you have never seen me in
all
my forms.”

An image of Corwin in a tan hunting shirt, leggings and high-top moccasins, a musket in his able hands, flashed through Dimity’s mind. Her cheeks heated. Had he noticed?

He flicked a wink at her, indiscernible to others, but she almost gaped at him.

Dropping her gaze from his amusement, she glanced around at his light tap on her arm. “Our guests,” he said so she could see his lips, and gave a nod across the room.

In her beguilement, she’d missed the announcement of Mister and Miss Owens’ arrival. The young couple emerged side by side through the double doors.

“Quite good.” Mister Johnson got to his feet and trotted over to greet his relations.

Corwin stood and extended his hand to Dimity. Not that she needed his assistance to rise, but likely he’d noted his uncle doing the same for Miss Johnson and it was only polite. She enjoyed the excuse it gave Corwin to take her hand. She wished he could pull her into his arms and, quivering at the image, envisioned them twirling around the room.

He fired another smile at her, or through her, the way she warmed at his every glance. Flustered again, she waited by his side as the newcomers approached.

The lean gentleman, referred to earlier as a lawyer, was attired in charcoal gray. The earnestness in his brown eyes suited a man of somber nature and his face seemed somewhat gaunt, as though he were too absorbed in his legal cases to trouble to eat. The cloth of his coat and breeches was of good quality though nothing extravagant. He wore no wig; his brown hair was neatly tied back and his unadorned cravat spotless.

Miss Owen appeared the opposite of her brother. Her indulgently lacy cap and floral gown suited the well-endowed figure that jiggled with the laughter escaping her reddened lips. Surely, no woman’s lips were naturally that red. From the near wincing in Corwin’s expression, Dimity assumed Miss Owen’s incessant laugh grated on his nerves. It was on such occasions that she didn’t mind so much not hearing.

Rather than being in any way gaunt, Miss Owen’s pink face was plump, her chin creased in a double fold. She was all animation. Her brother must have inherited the seriousness in the family, or they had different fathers.

What a wicked thought
, Dimity chided herself, just because Miss Owen seemed an insipid creature. Her brother on the other hand…my, how rapt his eyes were and they bent toward her. Dimity wasn’t certain whether to be flattered or alarmed by the fixity of his regard.

Chapter Three

Corwin offered a stiff bow to each newcomer. He skimmed over silly Miss Owen, wishing he could gag her into silence, but his attention lingered a moment on her brother. Mister Owen had the lean look of a hardened wolf. A spark lit his intent gaze when he spotted Dimity, like a predator sighting its prey. Here was no dandy, and no fool. Geoffrey Owen was dangerous. If this were the frontier and not a polite drawing room, Corwin would remedy the gentleman’s absorption in Dimity with his fist.

The rules of engagement were different in this “civil” world, but Corwin remembered hearing of duels. Wasn’t that how his uncle had suffered the injury to his eye? Corwin wasn’t acquainted with swords, but he could hurl a tomahawk in calculated revolutions to strike his target at the precise location he desired, and he was deadly with a musket. But it seemed easier simply to spring at Mister Owen here and now.

No doubt Uncle Randolph would disapprove, and Dimity, of course. Corwin didn’t much care about anyone else’s sensibilities.

Mister Owen stopped before Dimity. “Your servant, Miss Scott.” He bent low, offering her a practiced bow, and raised his head, his eyes on hers.

“Sir.” Dimity curtsied and looked up. “Welcome to Whitfield, Mister Owen. Miss Owen,” she added with a curtsy in the giggling young woman’s direction.

“I’m charmed to make your acquaintance, Miss Scott,” the female gushed. “We must meet often while my brother and I lodge with Uncle Johnson.”

Dimity murmured, “I shall look forward to it.”

She turned back to Mister Owen’s relentless regard as Miss Owen burbled on, “Such a lovely home. I much admire Whitfield. I understand you are Mister Whitfield’s ward? Tragic about your parents. Killed in the border wars, were they not?”

Uncle Randolph replied for Dimity. “Miss Scott is my ward, but I believe you are confusing her parentage with that of my nephew, Miss Owen. His parents fell in the frontier and he is only recently returned to us from captivity. Pray remember that my ward is unable to attend to your conversation unless she sees your face.”

Miss Owen stared at him blankly. Whether as a result of the unusual tidings about Corwin or Dimity, Corwin couldn’t tell. The news seemed to come as no surprise to her brother.

“Now, Hortense, my dear,” Mister Johnson gently remonstrated, “I did write you of young Mister Whitfield’s circumstances and Miss Scott’s infirmity.”

Clearly, Dimity caught this last bit because she appeared uncomfortable.

The addled young woman considered Corwin as though he wore an Indian headdress then shifted her attention to Dimity. “Forgive me,” she said, and leaned in near Dimity’s face, mouthing exaggeratedly and raising her voice so the servants in the kitchen could have heard. “I’m such a goose sometimes. I forgot Uncle said you were afflicted with deafness. How dreadful for you. And to think I thought your parents killed by savages too.”

Corwin was so annoyed he could’ve taken the woman by the shoulders to shake some sense into her, though it seemed more likely he’d shake out what little she had.

Mister Owen looked down his nose at his sister. “Let us not keep these good people from their refreshment.”

“Of course. So sorry!” she shouted at Dimity, who took a step back.

“We are finished eating,” she attempted, her words nearly lost in the nervous giggles escaping Miss Owen.

She’d be a far sight more nervous if Corwin hissed a threat in her ear, but that was beneath him.

Mister Owen took his sister by the arm. “Hortense, be so good as to regale us on the pianoforte.”

“Oh yes, well, all right, if you think I should,” she fumbled, casting uncertain glances at Corwin.

“Please do,” her uncle urged. “You may accompany us and give your aunt a rest.”

Mister Owen walked his sister across the room. He seated her before the musical instrument and returned to the gathering. She struck up an unexpectedly beautiful song and a smile touched Dimity’s lips. Whether she could detect the melody or only the rhythm of the music, Corwin didn’t know. But if Miss Hortense wished to make amends, this was the means to do it. He would willingly tie her to the seat to keep her in place.

Mister Johnson clapped his hands and signaled his niece. She paused for his instruction. “Shall we resume our practice? I thought perhaps we might rehearse the minuet. A simpler variation,” he amended.

Corwin wasn’t certain how simple it would be. He’d just caught onto the last dance, aided by distant memory. He wasn’t keen to learn a dance he had no recollection of. But as this affair was for his benefit, he supposed he should enter into the gaiety. Dimity seemed to delight in each step.

She glanced searchingly at him and he gave a nod. How could he do otherwise? No wonder his uncle conceded to her every whim. It was amazing she wasn’t spoiled beyond all endurance.

Again that little bantam of a dance master spoke out. “Rigorous practice is required to gain proficiency, but we must make a start, mustn’t we?” he said, looking at Corwin.

In this event,
we
meant him.

“Perhaps a demonstration?” Mister Johnson suggested. “Geoffrey, if you would be so good as to partner Miss Scott while we observe? Attend closely, young Mister Whitfield.”

Corwin had no intention of doing otherwise as that wolf stalked to the center of the room with Dimity on his arm.

****

Dimity hardly knew what to think, but sensed the power in this lean man as Geoffrey Owen led her out onto the floor. All others watched. Mister Johnson seemed bursting with pride, and Corwin particularly absorbed. Was he intent on mastering the minuet, or something more?

After curtsying to the assembly and to Mister Owen, who made similar honors to their onlookers and to her, Dimity turned to the side. They faced each other at an angle. His slanted eyes bored right through her. Unlike most gentlemen, he saw beyond her infirmity to the woman she was, as did Corwin. But the manner of Mister Owen’s regard was unsettling.

Perhaps she was being too sensitive, her experience with men so limited. Doing her best to push hesitation aside, she attended to the steps. No small feat. Yet the music from the pianoforte reverberated in her soul.

They danced, curving sideways, to meet at the back of the open space on the floor. Mister Owen took her hand. The heat of his grip bespoke the fervor in his gaze. He wheeled her around in an elegant swirl. They both danced sideways to the corner of their space, then to the other corner, and back across diagonally…releasing hands and retaking them again… wheeling, turning.

Formal slow steps comprised the dance while the passion she sensed in Geoffrey Owen was anything but sedate. She widened her eyes at him, feeling as though he would settle his full lips over hers at any moment. Her chest rose and fell and though her gown wasn’t cut particularly low, she flushed under the heat of his gaze even there.

The minuet nearing an end, she and Geoffrey danced forward. He took both her hands in his, increasing his hold. Clasping hands, they turned then danced sideways to the back of the space.

It was nearly finished now. Together, they stopped and opened their figure to the audience. She caught Corwin’s narrow gaze as they made honors.

She curtsied to Geoffrey who gave her a small smile that conveyed a wealth of sentiment.

He bowed and looked her full in the face. “You are exquisite, Miss Scott.”

“Thank you.” He needn’t have said; she knew his sentiments, and lowered her eyes from the intensity in his.

“It seems Geoffrey has found something to claim his attention other than the law,” she observed the jovial Mister Johnson remark to her guardian, who did not receive these tidings with equal pleasure.

A chill ran through her when she scrutinized Corwin. In that moment, she saw the savage within the man.

****

That wasn’t a dance. It was a mating ritual. And not one Corwin wanted Dimity to have any part in. Not that she’d been a willing participant. But without intending to convey such irresistible appeal, she’d fairly shouted for notice. If she were prey, she would have attracted every predator in the wild. Gaining the attention of a lawyer was near enough.