Free The Wedding Cake (The Wedding Series) by Christine Dorsey

does.”
    “I know. But she’ll have her very own family duke soon.”
    “Is that why you’re marrying Westfield? If it is—”
    “Papa, no. My betrothal to—”
    “What is it?” Her father turned to follow her gaze. “Ah, Ian, my boy, there you are. Didn’t think you were coming.”
    “How are ye, Mr. Murphy, Miss Murphy?”
    “We’re doing very well. Cinnamon and I were just discussing the ball. Would you call it a success?”
    He chuckled. “For a lonely sea captain from the Highlands it seems grand enough.”
    “And since you mentioned grand, I have to say, you look grand yourself, my boy. Doesn’t he, Cinnamon?”
    “Yes.” An understatement if she’d ever spoken one.
    “Thank ye both. And may I return the compliment, Miss Murphy. ’Tis obvious again that green becomes ye.”
    Her smile reflected his own.
    “Now look at you two young people standing here talking with me when there’s music playing and dancing to be had. Go along with you.”
    “Papa, I believe this dance is promised.” Cinnamon fiddled with her dance card, nervous at what Captain McGregger must think having her foisted on him.
    “Well, whoever it is hasn’t the gumption to come looking for you so I’d say ’tis his loss.”
    “Would ye do me the honor, Miss Murphy?” The captain extended his hand and she had no alternative but to take it. He escorted her inside, placed a white gloved hand at her waist, and guided her into the circle of dancers.
    “I fear I’m not very adept at this.”
    “You’re doing fine.”
    “Strong praise, indeed.”
    Cinnamon raised her eyes from the front of his shirt and the corners of her lips lifted. It was hard to ignore him when his strong arm encircled her, when his scent enveloped her. And when he smiled at her that way. “Where did you learn to dance, Captain?”
    “The same place ye learned to bake, I imagine. Self-taught.”
    “Well, you must have had a better teacher than I. Last evening I did everything right... I thought.” She sighed. “But the cake flopped. Flat as a pancake.”
    “Did ye open the oven before it was done?”
    “I thought I should check.”
    “Next time wait till ye can smell it.” He grinned down at her. “Good smells, mind ye. Don’t wait for the scent of something burning.”
    She laughed, then abruptly became serious. “I can’t seem to get it right.” Her eyes narrowed. “And don’t tell me to stop trying. I want it perfect.”
    “Have I told ye to give up?” He waited till she shook her head. “And I won’t. ’Tis too important, Cinnamon.”
    Were they talking about baking the cake? All of a sudden she wasn’t certain. But they must be. What else was there? “Captain, I—”
    “Ian. My name is Ian. Remember, I’ve given up my ship.”
    “Yes, but...” She paused and smiled up at him. The idea of saying his name was so appealing. “Ian.” She tested lightly, pleased when his hand squeezed hers.
    The strains of the Strauss waltz floated around them, and suddenly Cinnamon felt as if she too were floating. She stared into his eyes, those blue eyes, that reminded her of the sea, and faraway places, and freedom. She whirled about the room, safe in the cocoon of his strong embrace. Just the two of them.
    Then the music died away, the last notes echoing into nothingness before they separated.
    “Cinnamon, there you are.”
    Tearing her gaze away from Ian’s, she nearly cringed when she saw her mother rushing toward her, Lord Westfield in her wake. Luckily she and Ian were near the edge of the dance floor. Still, she had the impression that people were staring.
    “I told His Grace we would find you, and here you are.” Her mother gave Captain McGregger a look of dismissal which he ignored. “Lord Westfield has something to tell you. Well, here she is.”
    “So I see.” The duke stared down his long nose at her mother. “Though there really was no urgency. I simply wished to take my leave, Miss Murphy.”
    “So early?”
    “Yes,