Free The Indomitable Miss Harris by Amanda Scott

was such that she subsided obediently. “Good evening, Wakely. I trust Miss Harris will not be annoyed by any further attentions from you.”
    This time his tone sliced through even the brandy. Young Mr. Wakely reddened perceptibly. “No, my lord. As you say, my lord. Not me, sir.” He turned rather too abruptly upon his heel and stumbled against a corpulent gentleman following in the wake of a regal dame. “Beg pardon,” muttered Mr. Wakely wretchedly. Then, bethinking himself of another detail, he turned back to Landover. “Want I should pass the word, my lord?”
    “By all means,” was the damping reply.
    Gillian, her eye upon Mr. Wakely’s careful progress, let a tiny chuckle escape as she turned back to Landover. The sound froze in her throat, however, when she encountered blazing fury in those hazel eyes.
    “My lord?”
    Her voice was tiny. She tried to clear her throat, but he took her hand, clamped it down upon his forearm, and drew her inexorably from the dance floor toward a group of chairs, temporarily vacant, against the nearest wall.
    “Sit.” She sat. At first he seemed about to deliver his lecture standing, but with a quick glance around the crowded ballroom, he thought better of it and took the chair to her left, growling, “That is exactly the sort of behavior I had hoped my presence would deter, Miss Harris.”
    “But how was I to know? He seemed all right when he asked me to dance, and I’ve danced with him often since I came to London. He’s perfectly harmless, my lord.”
    “That remains to be seen,” he retorted grimly. “As to how you should have known, that is the precise reason for having a chaperone. And don’t try to flim-flam me by pretending Amelia Periwinkle approved Mr. Wakely for a partner. She would have noticed his condition straightaway.”
    “But she was right beside—” Belatedly, Gillian realized she had not so much as glanced at her companion before accepting Mr. Wakely’s invitation. Her cheeks flamed, and she found it difficult to meet Landover’s steady look.
    “Just so. At least you do not prevaricate, Miss Harris. That must always be accounted in your favor. Nevertheless, henceforward, you shall dance with no one who has not been formally approved by Amelia Periwinkle or myself. Is that absolutely understood?”
    “I am not a child, Landover,” she grated between clenched teeth. “I can look after myself. I can even handle the Mr. Wakelys of this world, and I should vastly prefer to do so by myself. I cannot like having my every step overlooked.”
    “And the ‘Harris Heiress stakes’? Can you handle those as well, my dear?” There had been a touch of sarcasm in the first few words, but at her stricken look, his tone gentled. Now he laid his hand comfortingly upon hers. “Do not look so distressed, child. And don’t glare at me for calling you so. You may be of an age to become a matron lady, and you may have done a great many things in the past three weeks or even before that in Sussex, but you are still a child in experience. And it is my duty, whether either of us likes it or not, to protect you from yourself as well as from others who might do you harm.”
    “Who could do me harm, sir?” Gillian demanded in a last-ditch effort. “I am not a ninnyhammer. I do not hop into shabby coaches with strange men, nor do I meet would-be lovers at romantic rendezvous at midnight in the manner of a literary heroine.”
    “But you do go to Vauxhall Gardens with only a young jackstraw for protection,” he retorted.
    “We have already picked that bone, my lord!” she protested indignantly.
    “So we have,” he agreed ruefully, “and I for one detest having my past errors constantly flung in my face. I cry pardon. Forgive me?”
    It quite took the wind out of her sails. It was as though she had girded for battle only to have her foe suddenly and without warning throw down his arms. “I forgive you,” she replied gruffly, but she watched him warily,