Regency Vows. Kasey Michaels
carriage door opened, and for several heartbeats she sat paralyzed by her own vulnerability. And then she forced herself to move. Jet beads sparkled on her red slippered toe as she extended her foot from the coach. Captive inside a prison of whalebone, she needed assistance even with this. Reaching out to the footman, she gripped his hand to climb out.
But the hand she gripped did not belong to the footman. It belonged to Captain Warre.
“A wise decision, leaving your cutlass behind this evening,” he murmured, helping her to the ground.
His touch rippled across her skin like a hot gust across a still sea as she stepped into the night, with panniers jutting out stiffly at her hips and stays making it impossible to breathe normally.
“I could hardly win society’s approval if I hadn’t.”
“Approval?” He raked his gaze over her, lingering in forbidden places. “My dear Captain, nobody will approve of you. Our goal is mitigation, not acquittal.”
The man who had swabbed her decks and polished her cannons was gone. In his place was not even a naval captain in blue, cream and gold, but the Earl of Croston in dark green brocade and a silver-embroidered waistcoat. A white shirt embellished with the subtlest ruffles lay stark against his sea-bronzed skin. At his side hung a Royal Navy sword.
His power hummed through her, and the physical connection of his hand was dangerously comforting.
“I am not on trial,” she whispered sharply, pulling from his grasp.
“On the contrary,” he said. “Every word that falls from your lips will be entered as evidence in the court of society’s opinion.” He gave her a look. “As well as every chair and footstool you pitch into the street.”
She scoffed. “I shed no blood.”
“Commendable indeed. In any case, it would seem I am to be your constant companion, according to the plan you outlined aboard the Possession.”
Her eyes locked with his in a mutual memory. Her back to the wall, his hands on her breasts. Her fingers in his hair, his tongue mating with hers. Bodies on fire. Her shove, his push. William’s fist.
Even now, a hint of yellowed purple marred his jaw.
“Excellent.” She offered her most predatory smile and hoped he didn’t see her shiver.
“But there will be no room for your tricks this evening,” he warned grimly. “More depends on society’s favor than I would wish. My brother will not be moved. His heart is involved, or so he believes.”
Her own heart sank. “Clarissa Holliswell.”
“Yes.”
Already the carriage was pulling away and another was coming up behind it. Captain Warre guided her toward the entrance, where music and light spilled from inside the house. A woman in front glanced over her shoulder and let her gaze sweep over Katherine. Behind them, more carriages arrived and more glittering fashionables picked their way toward the entrance. Their stares burned into her back.
“I spoke with a few men during a brief visit to Westminster,” he said under his breath as they climbed the steps. “It seems your unexpected return has sparked interest in the bill. It’s a good guess the second reading will be approved.”
A light-headed rush threatened her balance, but she recovered quickly. “It would seem your debt is proving more difficult to repay than you once imagined.”
His lips tightened to reply just as they swept into the house, and there was no more time for talking. The majordomo announced them. A commotion undulated through a crowd that was too large to be “intimate,” and all eyes turned their direction. The room fell silent and suddenly she was fifteen again, shimmering in her first real gown, gliding into her first assembly where every face held the hope of a new and exciting acquaintance.
They held no such hope now. The light-headedness returned with a vengeance.
“Steady,” Captain Warre murmured, seamlessly guiding her forward as the crowd found its voice again in a roar and a stately old man came toward them, beaming. The sight of him sent her reeling back even further through time, and for a breathless moment she was eight years old again, being shooed from Papa’s library.
“My dear Lady Dunscore,” he declared with a bow, kissing her hand. “Words cannot express my deep gratitude and delight at seeing you once again. It has been too long, my dear. Too long indeed.”
Mr. Allen was positively, irretrievably out of his mind. Instinct overcame time, and she curtsied deeply. “An honor, Lord Deal.”
“And, Croston,” he said to Captain Warre. “An honor and a relief, my good man. Ach—an honor and a relief.” Turning back to her, he lowered his voice and leaned close. “We have our work cut out for us, but don’t you worry. Too many wafflers not to win over a bare majority, and I don’t want that upstart cousin of yours for a neighbor.” He smiled at her with kindly brown eyes and winked, and the past made another grab for her mind.
“I have every confidence in your ability to persuade them, Lord Deal,” she said, though at the moment she felt very little confidence of any kind at all. Through a break in the crowd she spotted part of an elaborate confectionery display on a table along one side of the room. In its center sailed a ship constructed of sugar.
Good God.
Already an onslaught of well-wishers presented themselves to Captain Warre, proclaiming their amazement at his safe return while the melodious strains of an orchestra lilted from the far end of the ballroom. Some of the faces she remembered. Some she didn’t.
Furtive female eyes slid her direction from behind fluttering fans, at once curious and condemning. Less cautious male eyes appraised her with salacious approval. Their stares assaulted her like cannon fire from all sides and she felt herself being dragged back, dragged down, reduced into the small pile of helpless girl who’d been taken from the Merry Sea.
You know nothing about me. The scream pushed into her throat, but of course, she swallowed it. She waited for her senses to sharpen the way they did when a ship engaged her at sea, but instead she floundered beneath the weight of what they thought they knew. She could feel them measuring who she was against who she’d been, drawing conclusions based on their own imaginations.
They didn’t know one bloody thing about it. Someone—Lord Deal—pushed a glass of red wine into her hands. She took a drink and locked eyes with a devil in red and gold embroidery and a jet-black wig. He raked her shamelessly with his gaze.
“Whatever has put that glint in your eye,” Captain Warre whispered, “leave it be.”
“I was merely thinking perhaps I should have brought my cutlass, after all. I have a distinct impression that I’m being looked upon as prey.”
His eyes shot to the dark-haired rotter. “I shall deal with men like Winston, if the need arises. Your job is to appear demure, amiable and harmless.”
“Harmless!”
“Smile,” he ordered under his breath.
She curved her lips.
“We shall do this on my terms or not at all, my dear lady Captain. I’ll not allow your stubbornness to keep me in London a day longer than necessary. In fact, the evening’s tedium is lessening my sense of obligation as we speak.”
A hint of concern in his eyes belied the bite of his words, and it fueled her with a lick of irritation. “Need I remind you that I saved your life?”
“You say that as if you did me a boon.”
He pivoted for more introductions, and more, and more.
“Lady Dunscore!” a Lord Swope exclaimed, letting his eyes rest on Katherine’s bosom. “An utter fascination.”
“Indeed,” declared a Lord Tensy, grinning at Lord Swope’s side. “Almost makes me