Free Rebellious Bride by Donna Fletcher Page A

gray coat and trousers. A white silk shirt was set off by a silver-gray vest, and his gray cravat, so English and so out of place in the West, seemed at home on him. His dark hair was pulled back and tied at the nape of his neck as usual. His blue eyes, so haunting in their color, appeared even more intense in the dusk of the setting sun. He was simply... magnificent.
    “Another cider?” Hank asked, drawing Lil’s attention back to him.
    Lil thanked him for his thoughtfulness and handed him her empty glass.
    “Be right back,” Hank said and hurried off.
    Lil swayed to the gentle tune and smiled. She intended to enjoy herself tonight, which meant ignoring Lord Sherborn. “An easy task,” she mumbled and focused on the dancers.
    Her smile faded slowly. Lord Sherborn was dancing with Mary Beth. One hand barely held her waist while his other gently cupped her hand. He held her like a porcelain doll that was delicate and fragile. They swirled to the music, floating around and around like a couple on the top of a music box.
    “They look good together,” Hank said, returning with her filled glass.
    Lil nodded, though she wasn’t in agreement, and took the glass.
    “Word is,” Hank whispered, leaning in closer to Lil, “that Mary Beth says she’ll be planning a spring wedding by the end of winter.”
    “I wish her luck.”
    Hank stumbled in his speech some before his courage returned enough for him to speak. “I-I-I’m glad you’re not taken with the lord like all the other women.”
    Lil smiled at Hank. She liked him. He was a harmless young man of sixteen who was always nice to her, unlike the abrasive Doug Tanner, who was heading her way.
    “Let’s dance, Hank.”
    She deposited her glass on a nearby table, grabbed Hank, and pulled him out onto the dance floor. Her smile was wide as she swirled past Doug, who was standing at the edge of the dance floor watching them.
    The evening wore on without incident. Lil kept much to herself and danced often with Hank, feeling comfortable and unthreatened by him. She caught up with her father and Holly while Hank was dancing with Sue McPhearson, a pretty young girl of fifteen.
    “Enjoying yourself?” Sam asked.
    Lil fanned her warm face with her hand. “Having a wonderful time.”
    “And you, Lord Sherborn? Do you like our dance?” Sam asked, directing his attention past Lil.
    Lil stiffened at the sound of Rolfe’s response. “It’s much more entertaining than I expected, Sheriff.”
    Holly hooked her arm with Sam’s. “You promised me another dance.”
    Sam looked at his daughter and then turned to Lord Sherborn.
    “May I have this dance, Lillian?” Rolfe asked.
    He felt obligated, damn it. Holly did this on purpose. She knew if she asked Sam to dance, Rolfe would have no choice but to ask her out of politeness. Wait until she got her hands on her.
    Lil turned. “I’d be delighted to dance with you.”
    Rolfe escorted her to the dance floor. She expected his touch to be feather-light, the way it had been when he danced with the other women. Instead his hand was firm on her waist, his fingers biting snugly into her. His other hand clasped hers firmly. He pulled her closer, keeping her at an appropriate distance, yet daring that imaginary line. His possession of her was solid and confident. There was no doubt he was in command. She followed him easily as they circled the dance floor. His steps were skillful, his hold on her possessive, and she delighted in the curious feeling it induced in her. Her breath quickened, and his hold on her tightened. For a brief moment she was assaulted by the crazy thought that she belonged to him and him alone. She submitted to her wild imaginings and enjoyed the dance, enjoyed his possessive grip on her, enjoyed the insane notion that she was his.
    The music ended all too quickly. Rolfe glanced down at her, nodded, and left her standing on the dance floor. Lil walked in the opposite direction, calling herself a million kinds of