Unbuttoning the Innocent Miss (Wallflowers to Wives) by Bronwyn Scott

Author:Bronwyn Scott [Scott, Bronwyn]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2016-06-30T21:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

Two dances! He’d pledged the little bitch two dances. Cecilia fumed with angry tears smarting in her eyes from the sidelines. She’d caught sight of Claire’s dance card quite by contrived accident earlier in the evening when they’d passed in the retiring room. Claire’s card was fuller than usual, but that hadn’t been the surprise. The surprise had been seeing Jonathon’s name in bold letters printed on the card not once, but twice!

Twice! Twice was the maximum dances a gentleman could offer to a lady. It was the number Jonathon reserved for her. To offer that many dances to Claire somehow made Claire, an adequately dressed wallflower, equal to her, Cecilia Northam, a diamond of the first water, a woman destined to be the next Countess of Oakdale. Heaven forbid! It was not to be borne. Jonathon was hers and he needed reminding of it. Claire did, too.

Just look at them! She couldn’t help but notice the pair of them flying by on the dance floor, Claire in a lovely lilac and a beatific smile on her face, Jonathon laughing down at her as if the little wallflower had said something witty. He looked as though he was enjoying himself. Immensely. There was an easiness, a tenderness when he looked at Claire. Maybe Anne was right and he had kissed her, after all. She’d prefer to believe Anne was just being spiteful with her news. But seeing them like this, it was hard to dismiss Anne’s comment as complete heresy.

She twirled her champagne glass between her fingers. Signing up for two dances was one thing. Getting both of those dances was another. Lilac was a lovely colour, but it showed water stains. Badly.

* * *

‘Have you decided?’ Jonathon whispered, swinging her through a turn. ‘Where shall our next adventure take place?’

‘The French market tomorrow near Fitzrovia.’ She’d decided that afternoon, not long after he’d dropped her off. He would have a chance to barter and argue. Haggling with the vendors would force him to think on his feet. There could be no script like today. Anticipating the conversations would only get him so far. His wits would have to do the rest.

‘I like the challenge of that.’ Jonathon smiled his approval and she nearly melted. She didn’t tell him the rest—that there would be handwritten signs at the stalls, just a few words at the most at a time. She was hoping to trick him into reading without thinking in the hopes that the spontaneity and informality of the setting would break through what was left of his performance anxiety.

‘Good.’ She beamed up at him. ‘I’ll bring a shopping list and a basket.’

‘And our other adventure, Claire? I would like to walk with you in the garden tonight.’ His voice dropped, husky and private at her ear, his hand tightening on her back to draw her closer.

She didn’t feign ignorance. She knew precisely what adventure he meant. She’d thought of nothing else since he’d first uttered his rather provocative suggestion: that he could show her great pleasure.

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