Imposter Bride by Patricia Simpson

was this woman who could captivate him so
easily with her words and eyes? She continued to gaze at him, the
look in her eyes not nearly as empty as he had imagined the
expression of the real Miss Hinds would be. Intelligence and
perception glinted in her eyes.
    “And this American habit of yours—this lack of
deference—has it made your life difficult here in England?” she
asked.
    “At times.” He returned the wine glass to his
tray.
    “And you’re a captain. Are you a seafaring man?” she
inquired, “Or did you acquire your rank on the battlefield?”
    “Both.” She was back to asking personal questions.
Instantly his guard rose into position. “And you, will you keep the
plantation in Santo Domingo?”
    “I haven’t decided.” She sipped her wine and turned
her gaze toward the fire, hiding her expression from him, as well
she should. He was not the only one with a past to conceal. “I’m
not certain I want to return to that life.”
    “I see.” Why would she want to return? She was
nothing but a maidservant in Santo Domingo. He studied the side of
her face. “It is likely your grandmother will want to be assured of
your identity in some way, seeing that she’s never met you before.”
He waited for a telltale blush, a momentary flutter of lashes—but
saw nothing to betray her as an imposter. What a gifted little
actress! “Do you have a birthmark or some such thing?”
    “No. Nothing. I hadn’t thought she would want
proof.”
    “When a fortune is at stake?” He raised his glass in
a silent toast to her. “In fact, you will have to prove yourself a
bit to these Londoners, too. Anyone who comes from the hinterlands
such as ourselves, must work extra hard to earn their stamp of
approval.”
    “That is,” She arched a brow. “If one desires to be
stamped.”
    Her wry reply caught him off guard. Ramsay nearly
sputtered wine over his empty plate. He grabbed his napkin and
covered his mouth to smother his grin. Did she know how utterly
sexual was the undertone of her remark—at least to him?
    Miss Hinds’ brows drew together and she leaned
toward him. “Are you all right, sir?”
    He nodded, his shoulders still shaking with
laughter. She would have to learn to curb her tongue when speaking
to Metcalf and his crowd, or she would be shunned in all the
salons. Women with clever minds and unbridled tongues did not fare
well in this society. And he should not encourage her by displaying
his amusement.
    “Still,” he remarked, coughing behind his fist. “You
must learn to dance to their tune.”
    “Why? I doubt you do.”
    “Yes, but I am not marrying a peer of the
realm.”
    “Oh yes. That.”
    He watched her, a slight smile on his lips,
immensely enjoying the way her emotions played freely across her
face when she allowed it.
    “And do you dance, Miss Hinds? The minuet? The
quadrille?”
    She shrugged prettily and the banyan slipped
dangerously low on her right shoulder. “I’m afraid not.”
    “You must. Your grandmother will want to take you to
a score of parties while she’s in town. That’s how it is done
around here.”
    “What if I cannot?”
    “I will hire a tutor to refresh your memory. You
must show no lack of accomplishment.”
    She took a sip of wine and slipped her fingers
around one bare ankle, seemingly unaware of how provocative she
appeared in the overlarge robe. “Why are you so kind to me,
Captain? Why is it so important to you that I succeed?”
    He swallowed, knowing he must never reveal the
selfish reason for his aid, but suddenly unwilling to lie to her
either. What could he tell her that wasn’t a falsehood? What could
he say that wouldn’t show him for the selfish driven bastard he
actually was?
    Ramsay rose. “Because you’re an outsider,” he
replied brusquely. “Like myself.” He gave a curt nod in her
direction, cutting short their conversation again. “Thank you for
dinner, Miss Hinds. Goodnight.”
     
    The French modiste had worked miracles in