“And how is your grandmother?” she asked dutifully.
“Oh, she’s fit as a country horse, don’t you know. If you’d care for a chat with her, I’d be happy t—”
“Miss Harris,” a low, precise voice uttered from directly behind her, so close she could feel warm breath on the back of her neck.
Jumping a little, she turned around. Captain Vale gazed down at her with his bird-of-prey eyes. “Captain. Is it time for our waltz?”
“Yes.” He held out one hand.
Stifling an inward sigh, she set her gloved fingers into his bare ones and they walked onto the dance floor. Ah, well. She required a partner for this dance, and he was one. He also appeared to be more fit than Mr. Henning, which boded well. When he put a hand on her waist, she put hers on his shoulder, resting her fingers on the gold braids and epaulets that adorned all captains in the British navy. Even retired ones.
She looked up to realize they were the first ones on the floor, which left them poised like anxious statues as the rest of the couples gathered around them. “Are you enjoying your evening?” she asked, to break the silence.
“Yes.”
“How long has it been since you were last in London?” There. That would require at least two words to respond, doubling his total thus far.
“It’s been seven years since I was last in England.”
Oh, ten words at once!“You never even returned for leave until now?”
“No.”
And back down to one-word answers. Before she could summon another query for him, the orchestra began the waltz. He knew the steps, wherever he’d been, and he danced precisely and neatly. What he didn’t do was smile, instead continuing to gaze at her until she rather desperately wanted to look away. Deliberately she slid one foot a touch sideways, at the same time tightening her grip on his fingers and looking down toward her feet. Swiftly sheblinked a few times before she lifted her gaze again, this time angling her head to view the dancers around them rather than him.
“Has your brother spoken to you about me?”
Drat, now she needed to look at him again and pretend he didn’t remind her of a hawk. “No, he hasn’t,” she returned, managing to focus on his left ear.
“I thought not. As I said, Miss Harris—Miranda—I have been away from England for quite some time. Now that I’ve returned, I wish to establish my place here among the peerage. The most efficient way to do so is to marry someone whose place and reputation are already both established and unblemished—as are yours. A marriage between us would be efficacious, and we should proceed without delay.”
Her feet kept moving, but Miranda couldn’t quite hear the music any longer.Of all the—what—how was she supposed to reply to that? Matthew might have warned her that his new friend was softheaded. She meant to kick her brother in the shin the moment they returned home.
“I admire your logic,” she said slowly, choosing her words with care, “and your determination to succeed. That said, I am not looking to wed a military man, retired or not. Thank you, though, for your complimentary words.”
They did another circle of the room while he continued to look at her. “You are in an inferior position without realizing it,” he stated in the same tone with which he’d proposed—outlined—their marriage. “Speak with your brother.”
A frown pulled at her mouth, and she fought to suppress it. “I don’t need to speak to anyone. Again, I thank you for your interest, but I simply do not return it. Now, let us be civil until the end of the dance.”
“I am always civil. Nor do I wish in this instance to play the villain. Speak to your brother.”
“I don’t—”
“An argument now is pointless. I shall call on you in the morning at ten o’clock and we shall proceed once you are in possession of all the facts.” Around them the music hit a crescendo and echoed into silence. They stopped moving, but he kept hold of her hand and her waist. “As I said earlier, I believe in promises. And in keeping them.”
Letting her go, he turned on his heel and strolled off in the direction of the garden doors. Perhaps he was hungry and meant to go swoop down on a mouse or a hedgehog outside. Whatever the devil Captain Vale might think he’d heard from Matthew, this could not be allowed to stand. She would not tolerate hearing the gossip that some too-long-at-sea ship’s captain had declared that he meant to marry Miss Miranda Harris.
Matthew stood with Eloise and the giant MacTaggert brother, Lord Glendarril, and she set off toward them. When her brother spied her, he actually took half a step backward. Since he couldn’t possibly be reacting to her careful, composed expression, something else was afoot. That idea alarmed her to her toes. Still, he was an affable young man, her senior by only a year, and he might well have said something in jest that the captain took seriously.
“Might I have a quick word with you, Matthew?” she asked as she reached his side.
“Eloise and I were about to take a stroll in the garden, Mia. Could it wait?”
“Nae,” the viscount countered. “Ye’ll nae be strolling in any garden in the dark with my wee sister, Harris.”
“Coll,” Eloise protested, her cheeks darkening. “It’s just a bit of fresh air.”
The big Highlander took his sister’s hand in his greatpaw and set it around his forearm. “Then I’ll take ye. Harris’s sister wants a word with him.”
