Free The Lucky One (Brethren Of The Coast #6) by Barbara Devlin Page B

bonnet is safe.” Daphne giggled, but he could make no sense of her statement. “Will you join me, in the receiving line, Sir Dalton?”
    “Yes.” He shuffled his feet, tugged on his cravat, and cleared his throat. “I-I am fine.”
    “I beg your pardon?” The stunning Miss Harcourt blinked, as she could not possibly comprehend what she had done to him, and he dared not apprise her. “Are you all right?”
    “Where are your brothers?” Until he could marshal his wits and leash the beast, he sought safe harbor in an innocuous subject. “Should we not assume our positions?”
    “Yes, as I believe we have our first arrivals.” Daphne peered over his shoulder. “Robert, Richard, take your places, and no grumbling.”
    “We will be but a moment, as I require a word with your brothers.” The scamps attempted to evade him, but Dalton splayed his arms. “Gentlemen, this evening is important to your sister, and I will not allow you to spoil it. Robert, if you upset her, in any way, I will box your ears. And Richard, whatever wiggles in your coat pocket had better remain there else I will make you swallow it. Are we clear?”
    “Yes, sir,” the gadlings replied in concert.
    “Wait a minute.” Dalton adjusted Richard’s neck cloth. “Who taught you to tie a cravat?”
    “I did.” With a mighty scowl, Robert folded his arms. “And I think it looks fine.”
    “Well that explains it.” Never had he dealt with such unruly delinquents. Dalton gave his attention to the elder sibling and a butchered mathematical. “Yours is not much of an improvement on his.”
    “What do you care?” As he reworked the yard-length of linen, Dalton met Robert’s harsh stare. “And what are your intentions, in regard to Daphne?”
    “This is neither the time nor the locale to discuss such matters, and button your coat.” And Dalton had no idea how to answer the question, as he had not pondered his fledgling feelings for the governor’s daughter. “You will do. Now march, and smile for your sister.”
    After a lengthy tour of duty at the entrance, welcoming what he presumed was the entire Portsea population, the orchestra, if he could call it that, as it was comprised of an awkward assemblage of resident musicians—again a generous description, struck the signature, if less than graceful, notes of a waltz. And given their brief rehearsal, he could only hope they maintained a consistent rhythm. As prearranged, he claimed his hostess for the evening, to commence the gala.
    “Shall we show your neighbors how it is done?” Just the simple practice of anchoring his arm about her waist had Dalton pondering how any man had resisted Daphne, as she manifested a potent combination of innocence mixed with unassuming strength, which could drive a sane man mad as a March hare from an overwhelming desire to possess her.
    “I do so wish to make a good impression.” With a glowing expression, she rested her palm on his shoulder, and they clasped hands. “But I am nervous, as I have never danced with anyone but my father.”
    “Then you may rely on me, as I am an expert.” For a scarce second, he doubted her inexperience. Then again, Miss Daphne had spent her entire life, thus far, on an island. “Stay close, my dear.”
    In that instant, Dalton steered the impeccable backwater lady in what he hoped was the most refined ride of her existence. Around and around, they twirled in each other’s embrace, moving as one entity, until he could no longer discern where he ended and she began. Soon they slipped the bonds of the mortal coil and whirled beyond the crowded confines of the palatial ballroom, soaring ever higher. Swathed in an imaginary indigo blanket filled with twinkling stars, and aware of nothing save the constant beat of his heart, he luxuriated in her ocean blue gaze.
    And then a pebble struck him in the cheek.
    Gritting his teeth, he glanced to his left and discovered her brother Richard, standing at the edge of the dance