One Night With The Major

‘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.’

‘Of course, if that is what you want. You have nothing to fear from me. Your secret is safe.’ But Pavia thought she detected a shadow of disappointment as he reassured her. ‘I won’t be in London long, just until my leave ends in August. I will rejoin my troops in the Crimea. Don’t worry. London is large. We needn’t encounter one another again.’ He smiled, but it was not warm. ‘I won’t be home for a long while then. If ever.’ He was angry. There was a coldness to his words as the dance ended and he escorted her back to her court.

So it was done. Her fantasy had come full circle as his broad-shouldered back walked away from her, swallowed up in the crush of the ballroom as best it could be. Major Lithgow was taller than most, his hair brighter than most. Pavia was certain she could find him in any room if she looked. She could not look. It would do no good to torture herself with looking. A hundred questions had gone unasked during their waltz. The less she knew of him the better, the harder it would be to find him. He was not an acceptable substitute for Wenderly or for the other titled gentlemen she was supposed to be chasing. He was a military officer of some rank and respect, but he did not come with the title her father coveted. He would say she could have any officer. There was nothing special there. She had to give the major up.

‘Miss Honeysett, I believe this dance is mine.’ A wheat-haired man of respectable height and impeccable dress bowed before her, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled, confident in himself and his appeal.

Pavia returned the smile of the only Marquis out wife-hunting this Season. ‘Yes, I believe it is.’ Beyond him, she caught her father’s eye and nod of approval. And beyond her father was the golden head of Major Camden Lithgow, a pretty blonde beside him, her hand on his arm, her face laughing up at him, her body leaning close as if they were long acquainted and easy with one another. The sight riveted Pavia with a surge of irrational, jealous anger. How dare he! How dare he what? How dare he do exactly as she’d bid him and forget her?

Only there was no forgetting, was there? He knew that woman and she knew him. Quite well. Their body language suggested a history between them. No wonder he hadn’t flinched at her request to forget their night. He’d hardly want the pretty blonde with him to know such a thing.

‘Ahem.’ The Marquis smiled again, revealing straight white teeth as he attempted to reclaim her attention with a compliment. ‘I have been looking forward to this dance all evening.’

Pavia gave herself a mental scold. She needed to focus. This was a man to bring up to scratch. It shouldn’t be too hard; he was thirty-five, needed to marry and he was penniless—penniless enough to overlook her antecedents in exchange for a fortune.

‘As have I,’ Pavia lied smoothly and laid her hand on his sleeve.

Chapter Six (#uccd2f7d4-c241-5222-9ff4-3f526f6d4ed4)

She wanted nothing to do with him! The thought still rankled a week later. It didn’t help that for a girl who’d claimed to dismiss him, she was everywhere. Cam couldn’t go to a musicale, a ball or a sailing party without her being there. So much for the idea that London was a big place. He couldn’t seem to avoid her. Worst of all, she’d grown an appendage otherwise known as the Marquis of Chatham. She was on his arm, laughing, smiling, entrancing. Chatham was clearly smitten with her. Today was no different. She was dressed in a day gown of simple white muslin with a square neck and tiers of ruffles at the hem and charming Chatham effortlessly.

‘It seems Wenderly has some competition,’ Cam remarked drily to Sutton from their vantage point at the Countess of Claremont’s Richmond picnic. Caroline and the others in their group had wandered off a short distance to view the river, giving him a few minutes alone with Sutton.

Pavia and Chatham had wandered off on their own somewhere too, he’d noted, and the thought sent a hard surge of something through him. There were only so many things two people stole away on their own to do. Hot images of their one night swam to the fore followed by a bolt of undeniable jealousy. Had Chatham kissed her yet? Did he, too, know the sensual press of her lips, how she moved her whole body into a kiss? The way her breasts felt pressed against one’s chest? Of course, she’d been naked then, naked for him. Irrationally, he wanted to be the only one she was naked for, the only one she kissed like that.

‘And Caroline?’ Sutton asked rather bluntly, breaking into his thoughts. ‘Does she have some competition as well?’

Cam shot his friend a hard stare. ‘What the hell is that supposed to mean?’

Sutton chuckled. ‘It means you haven’t been able to take your eyes off Pavia Honeysett since the Banfields’ ball.’ Sutton cocked his head, considering. ‘Nor she you, I think. She watches you when you’re not looking.’ Sutton plucked an orange from the basket on the blanket and began to peel.

She watched him? Cam schooled his features into bland neutrality, careful not to give away any reaction as to how that made him feel. A schoolboy exhilaration shot through him. He’d laugh at himself if Sutton wasn’t already doing it for him. He was twenty-eight and a soldier who’d seen the world. He was well past the crushes and infatuations of a green boy, yet here he was, fantasising about a woman he couldn’t have. ‘So, she’s decided to go to the highest bidder?’ Cam asked, definitively forgoing a response to Sutton’s question.

‘I think that’s what her father has decided,’ Sutton replied evasively.

Under other circumstances, Cam would find little to dislike about Chatham. The man was an excellent horseman, a solid marksman who responsibly held his seat in the House of Lords and kept a superior wine cellar. He supposed women found the Marquis attractive in other ways. He was tall and kept a clean, well-tailored appearance. He would, indeed, be an extraordinary catch for a Cit’s daughter. She would be able to vault to the top of society’s rungs with such a marriage.

‘She won’t get a higher bid than that.’ Cam couldn’t keep the despondency out of his voice. He couldn’t compete with the Marquis. He’d never before felt any lack in his assets. He had a comfortable income, a small manor house in Little Trull in Somerset, which he never visited, political connections through his grandfather and opportunities to use those connections if he ever left the military. But those assets paled in comparison to what a marquis could offer, even one in financial straits. And yet she looked at him.

Cam rose from the blanket, feeling suddenly restless. ‘I’m going for a walk.’ He needed space. Perhaps if he had a moment’s privacy he could regain perspective. He felt as if he hadn’t had a moment to breathe on his own since he’d been home. His days and his nights were filled with family and the family’s plans for him. There’d been dinners and parties, and councils with his grandfather and his father, like the one this morning before he’d set out for Richmond, only this time Caroline’s father had been there, too. It had been conducted pleasantly enough. No one was putting his thumbs to the screws. But the message was the same: It was time to make the engagement official. Caroline had waited patiently through three Seasons. It was hinted that she’d even passed on other offers.