Free Elisabeth Fairchild by Captian Cupid

where he had done unspeakable things?
    The gentlemen present followed Miss Foster’s movements with sly sideways glances, or openly lascivious gaze.
    It heated his skin to observe unmasked desire in their eyes. It made him wonder if his own regard for her was in any way ungentlemanly. It pained him to observe the rigid set of neck and jaw as she walked this dreadful gauntlet head high, manner infinitely polite-- smile courageous.
    He longed to cloak her from such callous welcome, and yet, it occurred to him that his every interaction with her would be closely observed, and most likely subject to misinterpretation. Their every word and gesture would be open to speculation, to gossip’s assumptions. His name and reputation were unknown here, hers cast in stone.
    How many years had she suffered such welcome? A wonder she had not become completely embittered, encased in a hard impenetrable shell. Her former wariness at last made some sense to him.
    He resolved to meet her with all deference once he had circulated among the other guests. He would treat her with respect and admiration, as she deserved.  But not at once, not first among the many. Her Cupid he might be, and yet he must not seem too eager. That would do her more damage than good.
    No. He must open the world’s eyes slowly. Not a frontal charge he reconnoitered, but a surprise assault.

Chapter Ten

    She felt herself safe, unnoticed. Perhaps forgotten. The war heroes, whose attentions were in high demand, passed her by, headed for the music and dancing. She was sure they would not surface again for some time. The house, after all, was hot, stuffy and stuffed with the elder set. It was to the dancing barn youth and vigor were drawn.
    Cupid surprised her, surprised everyone in the drawing room , in making appearance again, an eye catching muscular specimen towering over a sea of gray hair, and balding pates, his deep voice stilling the helpful buzz of well meant, bride-to-be-advice in which Fiona sat swamped.
    “Does my hostess care to dance?” he asked.
    Such courtesy did not go unnoticed. It won him approval in many an aging female eye, and Fiona responded very prettily with a blush, saying that she would indeed love to dance.
    They left the room, arm in arm, a rapier sword beside an apple dumpling, and Penny thought herself again gone unnoticed until his return a quarter of an hour later, when having fetched a flushed and breathless Fiona a cup of punch, he turned, as if it had been his intention all along, and sought Penny out in her corner by the window, and asked her with a formal bow, “Miss Foster, do you care to dance?”
    Penny wondered if he knew how much attention his request won them. She wondered when some well meaning soul would see fit to warn him away.
    “Charmed,” she said simply, as Lady Anne might have done, and took his arm, knowing they were watched, knowing that there would be speculation of a growing friendship between them, perhaps even more. As she gripped the muscled strength of his arm, she considered what it might be like, to fulfill their wildest assumptions with this marksman, her Cupid.
    All eyes surreptitiously followed their exit from the room, as he parted the sea of them, and plucked up her cloak without so much as having to be told which one. He swung its warmth about her shoulders, the weight of his hands, the embrace of the cloak intoxicating, and yet his hands did not linger. He offered no further reason for gossip, no further fodder for daydreams.
    Then they were outside, the night’s chill fingering heated cheeks and throat. She lifted her face to the stars, breathing a veil of mist on the near full moon peeping through moving cloud cover, and a screen of swaying treetops. Ah, Lady Anne, she thought, what am I to do with these feelings? with this gentleman so far beyond my touch?
    “Velvet suits you,” he said.
    A compliment, and so long had it been since she received one she did not know what to do with it. “So