The Major Meets His Match

Disgrace, that was what. Humiliation. All sorts of unpleasantness.

If she found out.

Therefore, Aunt Susan had better not find out. Had better not suspect anything was amiss. Or she would start digging.

That prospect was enough to make her draw on all those hours she’d spent in front of the mirror, perfecting that insincere smile. And plastering it on to her face.

‘Lord Becconsall,’ she said through gritted teeth. ‘I would love above all things to dance with you.’

With a triumphant grin, he held out his hand, took hers and led her on to the dance floor.

Chapter Four (#uab8dd46f-076a-5ef6-b8a7-a4fdff1b2b36)

‘Lady Harriet,’ he said, raising one eyebrow.

‘Lord Becconsall,’ she replied tartly.

He grinned. Because addressing him by his title had not managed to convey the same degree of censure at all. But then, as she very well knew, lords could get away with staggering around the park, drunk. Or riding horses bareback for wagers.

Whereas ladies could not.

Not that she’d been doing either, but still.

‘I suppose you expect me to feel flattered by your invitation to dance,’ she said, ‘when you are notorious for not doing so.’

‘Flattered?’ He raised one eyebrow. And then the corner of his mouth, as though he was biting back a laugh. ‘No, I didn’t expect that.’

‘Do you want me to ask what you did expect?’

‘Well, if we are about to delve into my motives for asking you, then perhaps I should warn you that you might not like mine.’

‘I’m quite sure I won’t.’

‘But would you like me to be completely honest?’

‘Yes, why not,’ she said with a defiant toss of her head. ‘It will be a...a refreshing change.’ At least, in comparison with all the other encounters she’d had in Town, where people only talked about trivialities, in what sounded, to her countrified ears, like a series of stock, accepted phrases they’d learned by rote.

‘Well then, if you must know, I felt so sorry for you that I felt compelled to swoop in to your rescue.’

‘My rescue?’ That was the very last motive she would have attributed to him.

‘Yes.’ He looked at her with a perfectly straight face. ‘You looked so miserable, sitting there all hunched up as though you were trying to shrink away from the silly clothes and hairstyle you are affecting tonight. And I recalled the impulsive way you dropped to your knees beside my prone body, to give what succour you could. And I thought that one good turn deserved another.’

Harriet sucked in a short, shocked breath. Though it was more in keeping with what she knew of him so far to fling insults at her, under cover of escorting her to the dance floor, than to swoop in to her rescue.

He would definitely never say anything so...rude to any other lady to whom he’d just been introduced. It just wasn’t done. Even she knew that.

But then, since he held her reputation in the palm of his hand, he clearly felt he could get away with saying anything he liked.

‘Well, if we are being honest with one another,’ she said, since what was sauce for the goose was sauce for the gander, ‘I have to say I agree with you.’ There, that should take the wind from his sails.

‘Surely not. Or—’ A frown flitted across his face. ‘Is your duenna compelling you to wear gowns of her choosing?’

‘I wish I could say you were correct. But this display of poor taste is entirely my own doing,’ she said.

‘You are deliberately making yourself look ridiculous?’

Far from looking shocked, or disapproving, Lord Becconsall only appeared intrigued.

But the necessity of taking her place in line, and dipping a curtsy as the first strains of music blared, prevented either of them from saying anything further. Which made her grind her teeth. Because of course she had not been deliberately trying to make herself look ridiculous. She’d just never had the chance to spend whatever she wanted on clothes, that was all. And it was only with hindsight that she’d seen that modelling her wardrobe so slavishly on Kitty’s, who had always looked so fashionable and pretty whenever she’d come to visit, had been a mistake.

But from now on, she was going to ask the modiste, and her aunt—and, yes, even Kitty—if the styles and fabrics she was choosing actually suited her.

For some time the intricacies of the dance meant that he could only take jabs at her during the few seconds during which they passed or circled each other. Jabs which she could deflect by looking blank, then twirling away as though she hadn’t heard them.

‘You are supposed to smile at your partner, just occasionally, you know,’ he informed her at one point.

‘I might do so were I dancing with someone I liked,’ she snapped back.

‘Tut, tut, Lady Harriet,’ he said dolefully. ‘You gave me to believe you wished above all things to dance with me.’

‘You know very well I had to say that,’ she hissed at him.

‘Do I?’ He looked thoughtful for a few measures. And then, with a devilish gleam in his eyes, asked her, ‘Would you mind explaining why?’

‘You know why.’

He widened his eyes in a look of puzzled innocence. ‘But...how can you have changed your opinion of me so completely? Last time we met, you flung yourself into my arms—’

‘I did no such thing,’ she hissed at him. ‘You...grabbed me—’

‘You put up no resistance, however. And you appeared to be enjoying the interlude as much as I did.’

Well, what could she say to that? Though he was wicked to remind her that she’d behaved with dreadful impropriety, he’d also admitted to enjoying kissing her. Which went a good way to soothing the sting imparted by his taunts. As well as doing something to her insides.

The same sort of something his kiss had done to them, actually.

‘No riposte?’ He sighed, looking almost disappointed. ‘I was so sure you would waste no opportunity to give me a tongue lashing.’

Since he looked at her mouth with a wistful expression as he said this, she couldn’t help licking her lips. And recalling the way his own tongue had probed at them, seeking entrance. Which made her unable to tear her eyes away from his mouth.

She cannoned into the lady to her right.

This was a disaster! Almost the first time she’d actually got on to a dance floor and he was ruining it by saying things that made her forget where she was, or which direction she was supposed to be hopping in.

‘You are determined to humiliate me, aren’t you?’ she said, next time they drew close enough for him to hear her.

‘I have no need.’ He chuckled. ‘You are doing an admirable job of it all on your own, what with the clothes and the scowls, and the growls and the missteps.’ He shook his head. ‘I cannot believe you are related to Major Inskip.’