Free Susanne Marie Knight by A Noble Dilemma Page A

leaning over a seated young woman. He raised the woman’s gloved hand to his lips, then kissed her fingers. The woman gave the man such a wide smile that no one could possible think her a demure young miss.
    Petunia gasped. “That hussy!”
    Before Bethany had a chance to stop her, Petunia charged headlong toward the man. Was he Lord Weatherhaven?
    Bethany took a moment to sigh before heading after Petunia. Life in the village of Bamburgh, Northumberland had been so much simpler than here in London, with its big city intrigues.

Chapter Six
    Dashing about the dance floor as if on fire was a pastime reserved only for the young and the foolish. Unfortunately, David considered his sister both. So it was no surprise to see Petunia race from one end of the ballroom to the other.
    Demmed inappropriate.
    And since her expression was set as if she were preparing to battle the enemy, he feared some sort of unpleasant confrontation would soon take place. He had to avert disaster. Making his way over in her direction as nonchalantly as he could, he then spotted the source of her agitation.
    Lord Weatherhaven was paying his respects to the Marquess of Overton’s daughter, Lady Harriet.
    That in itself would not have generated excitement, except for the fact that Weatherhaven had offered for Lady Harriet during the Last Season. Lady Harriet had refused the viscount, and that had been that.
    Or so David thought.
    With her blue eyes flashing, Petunia stared up at her lord and master. Her hands tightened into fists, her narrow jaw jutted. If she were a man, she would have been a prime candidate to frequent Gentleman Jackson’s boxing saloon.
    Pity the man who was to be her opponent.
    Weatherhaven was oblivious, as great men often were concerning their spouses. And as the Weatherhaven marriage was of such a recent occurrence, David’s understanding of Lady Petunia had to have been far superior than that of her husband’s.
    “Petunia, here you are. I’ve been looking for you.” Weatherhaven, a tall man slightly prone to portliness, inclined his curly dark head at his wife.
    David readied to speak, and Petunia opened her mouth, but grey-garbed Bethany, hovering by his sister’s side, was the one who spoke first.
    “My lady, would you do me the honor of introducing me to your husband?” Bethany turned her attention to Weatherhaven. “I am so deeply indebted to you, kind sir, for allowing your wife to see to my amusement here in London.”
    While Weatherhaven replied, David smiled warmly at her. He should have known his country miss would have the wherewithal to smooth over this little contretemps.
    Petunia blinked those china blue eyes of hers, obviously needing a few more seconds to compose herself. David jumped in and performed the introductions himself.
    Then he turned to the still-seated Lady Harriet. “Lady Harriet, may I present Bethany Branford, our cousin from Bamburgh, Northumberland?”
    Lady Harriet regally glanced up, then looked down her prominent, hooked nose. “Delighted, I’m sure.”
    The woman looked as far from delighted as could be. In fact, as cross as crabs was a phrase that could adequately describe Lady Harriet.
    David withheld his amusement. “If you will please excuse us, Lady Harriet.”
    Without waiting for her reply, he shepherded his sister, her errant husband and Bethany in the direction of the Duchess of Margrove’s large cloakroom. They weaved through the closely packed revelers. All were silent, except for Weatherhaven — he attempted to make inconsequential conversation.
    Poor fellow was still unaware he faced a monumental frost. It would take more than a few well-phrased words to thaw out Petunia.
    Indeed, his sister seemed to be a pot readying to come to a boil.
    Once inside the room, the pot boiled over.
    David quickly gazed around. Only three guests lingered within the gloomy walls of the cloakroom, but they were three too many.
    “Weatherhaven, how could you dance attendance on that