Chapter 22
“Any word as to when your orders will come through to return to the coast?” Greys asked Lucas Cockfield, rocking back on his heels.
“Word is late summer.” The major half-smiled with a shake of his head. “I think we can wrap this damn war up with the new weapons we’re getting down there now.” Cockfield likely knew more, but even so far removed from the Ashanti front, would keep any possibly strategic details to himself.
“Have you met up with your brother yet this spring?” The wager, in Greys’ eyes, ought to come secondary to this. Because there was no promise that the duke’s younger brother would return from the Gold Coast where they’d been fighting to maintain the Anglo stronghold.
Cockfield grinned. “I might have. Blackheart appears to be thriving, as always, but I’m sure you’re aware.”
“Indeed.” Greys swallowed hard. From the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of Diana, who was finally deeming him worthy of her attention, even if it was from ten yards away.
The combination of self-reproach for having ignored her wishes in his own round-about way, and disgust at his lack of self-discipline for doing so, left him ill at ease. He wasn’t used to second-guessing his decisions.
Diana, of course, was now making him pay for it.
He tugged at the lace on his sleeve and then straightened his shoulders.
The orchestra members had resumed their position on the dais, and across from them, one of the regimentals was striding purposefully toward Diana.
“If you’ll excuse me a moment,” Greys said.
“Of course.” Cockfield took a sip of his drink and made a small salute.
Greys moved around the Lord Major, across the floor, and then stepped into Gilcrest’s path, effectively cutting him off.
“Captain,”
“My Lord.” The captain offered a practiced smile. One that Greys didn’t trust for a moment. “If you’ll allow me to beg your pardon, a lovely lady is anxiously awaiting me to partner her.”
“Miss Diana Jones?” Greys confirmed.
“Why, yes,” the man lifted his chin almost defiantly.
“And it is a waltz?”
“The lady has assured me she’d been given the nod to dance it just ten days ago.”
“Ah.” Greys knew this, of course. She’d told him the same while strolling through the silent streets of Mayfair.
Had that really been earlier that morning?
The time spent with her was etched in his brain, perhaps because it had been life-changing. And he wasn’t about to allow another man to waltz with her, to take her in his arms, not when she damn-well belonged in his.
Was he jealous? Dash it all, Greys had never been jealous of anyone.
“I’m afraid there’s been a mistake.” Greys held up a hand to wave a gloved finger. “She’ll be dancing this set with me.”
He marveled that he was willing to come to blows over a dance. Where had this willingness to resort to violence come from?
But then he corrected himself. It wasn’t the dance he was willing to go to blows over, but the woman.
And if need be, he would. He’d learned long ago not to take a stand unless he was willing to follow through with it. But no challenge would be issued. Greys knew this because this soldier lacked character. Gilcrest had tells, and those of the captain exposed him as a coward.
Captain Gilcrest sneered. “I thought you were courting Lady Isabella.” He said.
“You thought wrong.”
“Surely you are not courting Miss Jones?” The young man’s brows rose in a most condescending manner.
