Major Lord David by Sherry Lynn Ferguson Page B

I have tried every way I might to make
clear that I do not seek such a sacrifice from you! `Prepared’? Is
that why you persist, and present yourself with all your braid
glittering before my eye-because you treat this as a campaign? I suppose it has not occurred to you that I-I wish to
be free?”
    She had never before seen him look so put out, not even at
the New Year’s unmasking. And, amazingly, his temper registered entirely in his gaze. Those striking blue eyes were suddenly darker and startlingly cold.
    “That is another matter. You might have said so at once. I’d
have found your interest in entertaining Lord Grenby, or some
other nod-head, far more plausible than your ostensible reasons.

    “You-you know you wish to be released as well.”
    “You mistake me.” His searching gaze was difficult to bear.
“Is this punishment, then, for having been too forward?”
    “It is not a punishment.”
    “Oh, but it is,” he said darkly. Abruptly he bowed, very
gracefully and correctly. “Obliged to you, Miss Caswell. Miss
Caswell.” He nodded to Ephie. “I shall expect Sir Moreton to
be informed.” And while Billie still stood shaking, he left the
room. Seconds later, the front door closed heavily.
    Billie stepped closer to the fire. Leaning one hand against
the mantel, she closed her eyes. The flames seemed to be giving off very little heat; she felt unexpectedly chilled. She had
never thought to see smiling, teasing, laughing David Trent so
grim. Yet surely his pride would recover shortly, and then he
would know himself grateful.
    “Well…” Ephie said, reminding Billie of their silent audience. “I have always thought you a remarkably sensible girl.
Indeed, how could you be otherwise, with all those brothers?
And so honest and frank.” Busying herself in storing her
sewing, Ephie still had not looked up. “I’ve long known you’d
prefer half a dozen pursuits to tattling with debutantes or
hemming a stitch. Indeed, why should you be pressed to such
frippery, given your unusual maturity and wisdom?” Ephie’s
sharp brown gaze rose to meet hers accusingly. “But when a
man takes the time to be as candid as the major was just now
with you, and you haven’t the good sense to value it-well,
Miss Wilhelmina! I’ll warrant you’ll not find another like him!”
    “I don’t expect to, Ephie,” she said wearily. Oddly, having
released him from his pledge, she felt the pledge all the more.
    “He has offered twice now, Billie. Do you anticipate he shall
offer again?”
    “I don’t know, Aunt. I would hope, after this, that he shan’t.”
    “The more fool you! I know you, Billie. You probably believe you have acted in fairness. But ‘tis a misplaced sense of
fairness you have-as though you both play at some sport! The rules to which you take such exception were meant to
protect just such as you. And they protect the gentlemen as
well. Did it not occur to you that the major might now find
himself held up to ridicule? In any event, you are unlikely to
find the ton half as warm as it has been”

    “He needn’t be ridiculed. He did not cry off. And nothing was
announced, nothing was agreed upon-there were no settlements. I have injured only myself.”
    “You think that, do you? And what if he cared for you? The
two of you certainly bicker as though you were very close indeed.” Billie stood silently as Ephie’s lips pursed. “You had
best hope he regains his equanimity,” she offered sternly, “and
trots back here again tomorrow.”
    But the next morning brought the news that Napoleon Bonaparte, having escaped his confinement on the island of Elba,
had landed on the south coast of France and meant to make
his triumphant way back to Paris. Billie knew then that if Major Lord David were to be “trotting back” anywhere, it would
most likely be to renewed conflict on the Continent, and not to
her own chilly doorstep.

She had released him; he did not feel