Free Enchanted Rendezvous: A Tangled Hearts Romance by Rebecca Ward Page B

battlefields than drawing rooms. Rough tongue. Soldier. Used to foul language. Sorry I swore.”
    He looked so uncomfortable that Cecily’s sympathies were aroused. “I pray that you will not regard it,” she said gently. “In certain peoples’ company, I often
want
to use foul language.”
    The captain peered at her, then smiled a shy smile. “Good of you to say so, ma’am. Very kind. But females—I mean, ladies—with fans and gewgaws make me nervous. And the men in fancy dress are worse. Eh? A lot of counter-coxcombs—”
    Here his eye fell on Lord Brandon’s attire, and he stammered into silence. “It is getting quite cool,” Cecily said hastily. “I think we should go in.”
    Trailed by the captain, Lord Brandon escortedCecily back into the drawing room, where members of the orchestra were taking their places. The floor had been cleared for dancing, and chaperons were positioning themselves. Younger ladies were beginning to cast hopeful glances at the cluster of the colonel’s Riders, who were still holding forth on the war with the colonies.
    “Young muttonheads,” Captain Jermayne remarked dispassionately. “Don’t look like they know the first thing about war. I wonder what they’d have done in our shoes at Salamanca, Brandon.”
    “You were at Salamanca together?” Cecily asked, astonished.
    The captain nodded. “We were that. I nearly died there. Would have, if Brandon hadn’t—”
    “Ah, the orchestra has begun,” Lord Brandon interrupted. “Will you honor me, Miss Verving?”
    Before she knew what he was about, she was in his arms and being whirled away onto the floor in a very fast waltz.
    It all happened so quickly that Cecily had no time to protest. And after the first astonished moment, she did not particularly want to protest, for she realized that Lord Brandon was an accomplished dancer.
    Almost from the cradle Cecily had loved to dance. Her unconventional parents had encouraged this, and one of her happiest nursery memories was that of waltzing with her laughing young mother while her father accompanied them on the pianoforte.
    She had forgotten all about that golden moment, but now as she spun about in Lord Brandon’s arms, the memory was rekindled. “Am I going too fast for you, Celia?” he was asking.
    Cecily would not admit to a breathlessness caused, no doubt, by the fast pace of the dance.
    “To tell you the truth, I do not know why I amdancing with you,” she retorted. “And my name is not Celia.”
    “It suits you.” Cecily felt the surprisingly strong arm around her waist tighten. “You’ve read what Jonson writes ’To Celia,’ haven’t you? ’Drink to me only with thine eyes, and I will pledge with mine—”
    “I do not see,” Cecily said severely, “that that has anything to do with me. And pray stop singing, Lord Brandon. You are making a cake of yourself.”
    “—‘Or leave a kiss but in the cup, and I’ll not look for wine,’ ” Brandon warbled blithely. “It’s only a song, of course. I wasn’t suggestin’ that you leave kisses lyin’ about.”
    Cecily attempted an icy stare. It was a failure, for the corners of her mouth had begun to twitch suspiciously. “A waste of time,” Lord Brandon went on, “leavin’ kisses inside cups. There’s a much better use for them.”
    The bold black eyes that rested on her lips were neither sleepy nor lazy, and Cecily found it even more difficult to catch her breath. It was, she thought, high time to end this extremely improper conversation.
    Abruptly she changed the subject. “Why did you not want to speak with Captain Jermayne?” she questioned.
    “Because I’d rather have the honor of waltzin’ with you, naturally.”
    Not taken in by his guileless smile, Cecily continued, “He said that you were both at Salamanca.”
    He shuddered. “Not somethin’ I like to dwell on, ’pon my honor. It was one of Pershing’s maggoty ideas that I join a regiment, and I loathed every minute of it. Now