Free To Tame a Dragon by Megan Bryce Page B

it through. It was too much. Even Jameson himself couldn’t name a horse after a
     woman. She held a hand to her chest and relief whooshed out of
     her in a long breath. “Oh, this is a joke. Ha ha. Yes, you had
     me going there.”
    She eyed her brother, who now sat slumped
     gasping for air, and pursed her lips. She looked at Jameson.
     “What did you really name her then?”
    His eyes twinkled and he smiled. “Amelia.”
    Robin had been correct. The rest of the
     evening was filled with long-winded lectures and harsh
     criticisms of both men’s parentage and mental capacities. Yet
     neither could quite get the laugh off their face and thought the
     evening well worth the price.

    Another night, another ball. Amelia had lost
     count of the events she had been forced to attend this season;
     not even her first year had been quite so much work. Last night
     she had attended a smallish dinner party with Clarice, where the
     girl had endeavored to convince both Misters Snowden and
     Stillwell that their efforts were better spent elsewhere. And
     she had done it with grace and tact, something Amelia had
     watched with surprised interest. The more time she spent with
     Clarice the more she thought the girl would indeed make someone
     a very fine wife. As long as the gentleman was of the refined
     sort and had some power to back up Clarice’s grace and tact.
     Both Misters Snowden and Stillwell had seemed inclined to ignore
     Clarice’s rebuffs until Amelia let them know their intentions
     were now unwelcome.
    Grace and tact were all well and good, but
     Amelia had always preferred to get the job done quickly when the
     time for play was done.
    The most unrefined gentleman still in
     the good graces of the ton made his way to her side,
     offering a drink.
    “I’m not speaking with you.”
    “Come, don’t be a spoilsport. You tried your
     damnedest last night to get me to change the name. You know I won’t. I
     enjoy steering you, or at least your namesake, around for once.”
    “It is improper!”
    His eyes twinkled and he whispered, “Oh, I do
     know that.”
    “You are the most... I can not fathom...”
    Words failed her and she let out a small
     growl. He simply smiled wider and once again offered her the
     drink.
    “Drink up, my dear. It seems your throat is a
     little parched.”
    “That is not punch.”
    He looked down, as if in surprise. “Hmm? Oh,
     you looked a little tired. Thought you might need something a
     little stronger.”
    “Are you trying to get me drunk, Jameson?”
    He held an offended hand to his chest. “Get
     you drunk? My dear Amelia, you simply looked thirsty.”
    “You’re making me very nervous. Please go
     away and bother someone else.”
    He leaned toward her, pressing the glass into
     her hand. “I’m glad I’m making you nervous.”
    She watched him walk away and shook her head.
     How many more months of this was she to bear? Perhaps if she got
     Clarice married off before the end of the season she could
     escape to the country early. She was in desperate need of some
     peace and quiet.
    The reason she was in such desperate need of
     peace and quiet left her alone for scarcely half an hour before
     he was back bothering her again.
    He bowed, his hand held out to her. “I
     believe this dance is mine.”
    She sighed and placed her hand in his,
     allowing him to lead her onto the floor. “Did you have to choose
     a waltz?”
    “I believe I did. My hope is to one day
     complete a whole dance without a tug-of-war ensuing. I think it
     unlikely, but I’m willing to keep trying.”
    “Perhaps the fault lies not with me but with
     my partners.”
    Jameson nodded, looking thoughtful. “What
     you’re saying is none of your dance partners has mastered the
     art well enough and you are simply trying to instruct.”
    “Something of the sort. Should I be expected
     to follow someone’s lead in a dance, no matter his
     rhythm or technique?”
    “Of course not, my dear, although