“Yes. Mamma has a headache and wants to go home.”
“So do I, as it happens. Might I beg a ride?”
“Of course. But surely your family would—?”
“Oh...” Margaret feigned a casual air. “The Bentons are not ready to leave, and I do hate to spoil their evening.”
Emily touched her arm, eyes concerned. “They cannot force you to marry him, you know.”
Margaret arched one brow. “Can they not? I shall hold you to it.” She gathered her shawl and followed her friend into the hall.
There, raised voices from the ballroom drew them back to its doors.Bang. Squeal—wood against wood. An overturned chair slid across the floor. The music stopped, one violin shrieking in protest as the musicians lowered their instruments one after the other, and dancers scattered.
Emily grasped Margaret’s wrist and pulled her into the ballroom. Margaret resisted, not wanting anyone to see her dressed to depart, but Emily ignored her and stepped closer. Both young women craned their necks to see past taller gentlemen and ladies’ feathers to identify the cause of the commotion.
Ringed by the cautious but curious crowd, two men stood, chests out, hands fisted. Both were tall and dark-haired. Lewis Upchurch stood facing their direction, his handsome features sparking with shock and irritation. For one moment, Margaret thought the other man was Piers Saxby, offended at the attention Lewis paid Miss Lyons. But in the next she remembered that Saxby wore evening dress beneath his tricorn hat, while the man facing Lewis wore trim buckskin breeches, tall boots, and a riding coat.
“You are needed at home,” the man growled.
Lewis smirked. “And hello to you too.”
“Now.”
The man’s profile came into view—a black beard obscured his features, making him look twice the pirate Saxby had appeared.
“Temper, temper, Nate. Are these the manners you learnt in the West Indies?”
Margaret gasped. It couldn’t be.
“And what of your manners?” the second man challenged. “Did Father not write and ask you to return home and do your duty?”
Nathaniel Upchurch. Margaret couldn’t believe it. Gone were the pale features, the thin frame, the hesitant posture, the spectacles. Now broad shoulders strained against his cutaway coat. Form-fitting leather breeches outlined muscular legs. The unfashionable dark beard emphasized his sharp cheekbones and long nose. His skin was golden brown. His hair unruly, some escaping its queue. Even his voice sounded different—lower, harsher, yet still familiar.
Lewis grinned. “I am doing my duty. I am representing our otherwise dull family during the important social season.”
Nathaniel glanced around as if suddenly aware of their audience. “Will you step outside to speak with me in private or shall I drag you?”
“You might try.”
Nathaniel grabbed Lewis’s arm, and Lewis lurched forward, caught off guard by the strength of the pull.
Beside her Emily whispered, “Is that Nathaniel Upchurch?”
Margaret nodded.
“But he is so changed. Had he not been arguing with his brother, I should not have recognized him. He looks, well, nearly savage, does he not?”
Again, Margaret managed a wooden nod.
“If I did not know better, I would think him a pirate.” Emily drew in a sharp breath. “Perhaps he is! Perhapsheis the Poet Pirate the papers are full of!”
Margaret barely heard her fanciful friend. Her mind was clouded with a vision of Nathaniel Upchurch as she had last seen him. Eyes wide, pained, and misty green behind smudged spectacles. His thin mouth downturned. Dejected.
Regaining his balance, Lewis shook his arm free. “Unhand me, ape.”
At the insult, Nathaniel slammed his fist into his brother’s jaw. Gasps and cries rose among the frozen guests, heating them to agitated life.
Margaret did not realize she had cried out as well, until Nathaniel’s head snapped in her direction.
