Free Enchanted Rendezvous: A Tangled Hearts Romance by Rebecca Ward

“Don’t,” he said.
    She turned to look wonderingly at him, and he nodded to a thin matron in a plum-colored dress and matching turban. “See that female bearin’ down on Lady M.? That’s Lady Breek. She’s a gabble-monger who clacks away like a Spanish dancer’s castanets. Listenin’ to her is almost as bad as dancin’.”
    “I collect that you do not dance.”
    Lord Brandon looked pained. “Pershing insistedwe learn, and it was worse than learnin’ to ride. Dancin’ is an exhaustin’ pastime, ’pon my honor. What do you think, Miss Verving?”
    Before Cecily could reply, a loud male voice exclaimed, “I tell you this. If those rebels don’t watch themselves, they’ll soon be dancing to another tune.”
    Lord Brandon winced visibly at Montworthy’s declaration, and Cecily glanced askance at a group of young men nearby. All of them, except for an officer in scarlet regimentals, wore gold braid on their sleeves.
    “The colonel’s Riders,” Lord Brandon sighed. “We are caught between the devil and the dark blue sea.”
    Cecily glanced hopefully toward Lady Marcham and noted that she and Lady Breek were deep in conversation. At least Lady Breek was doing the talking, and Aunt Emerald’s eyes had become glassy as she listened.
    Montworthy was declaiming, “It’s as Colonel Howard says. We’re a great nation. Damn it, Jermayne, we can easily crush America.”
    Beside Cecily, Lord Brandon stiffened. He looked hard at the officer in regimentals, who was protesting, “Not that easy to fight a whole nation. By Jove, no. You’d have to hire mercenaries. It’ll beggar the treasury.”
    A chorus of disclaimers rose at once. The officer shrugged and turned away, and Cecily caught a glimpse of a sun-darkened face with a puckered scar seaming one cheek.
    She had no time to observe more before Lord Brandon caught her by the elbow and began to propel her in the direction of some French windows. “What are you doing?” she asked indignantly.
    “You were wonderin’ how to escape all those tiresome people, weren’t you?” his lordship demanded.
    There was surprising strength in Lord Brandon’s arm, and Cecily was swept effortlessly forward. Knowing that to resist would cause a scene, she allowed herself to be walked through some French windows onto a balcony. As soon as they were alone, she rounded on him.
    “Of all the rag-mannered tricks,” she exclaimed. “I did not ask to be brought here, sir.”
    “No, but you’ll have to admit it’s more pleasant than in there,” Brandon drawled.
    About to sweep back into the drawing room, Cecily felt a breeze laden with the scent of roses and honeysuckle touch her cheek. She could not resist pausing to glance over her shoulder and saw that the balcony overlooked Sir Carolus’s gardens.
    It
was
much more pleasant there, but the forms had to be observed. “I must go in,” Cecily said.
    “Why?” Lord Brandon wanted to know.
    Cecily started to speak, then stopped as Lord Brandon continued. “Don’t let customs dictate your behavior. Think for yourself.”
    In spite of herself Cecily could not help smiling. “My father used to say that. He said that manners change but truth stays constant.” She leaned forward, so that her elbows rested on the marble edge of the balcony. “He warned me that if I did not think independently, I could never be a free woman.”
    “Then he was a clear-thinking man, a rarity in any age.”
    Was it a trick of her imagination, or had Lord Brandon’s voice changed somehow? Cecily glanced at the man beside her, but his face was in shadow.
    “No wonder you are the kind of woman you are,” he continued.
    “I do not think—” Cecily began, but he silenced her.
    “You
do
think. That is what I find so delightful about you.”
    This was not a proper conversation. Cecily knew that she should end it, put Lord Brandon in his place, and return to the others. Instead, she heard herself say, “Others do not share your view. I am