Bane repressed a chuckle and aimed a bow at the duck-feeding trio. “I would be delighted,” he told them, and added, in an undertone that only Livy heard, “Minx.”
“You are, after all, coming to a ball. I must suppose you intend to dance,” said Livy.
“I like dancing,” Bane conceded. “Thank you, Miss Wintergreen, for organizing partners for me. Five of them, withyou and your sister. I would ask for a second dance, but I do not want your aunt to be cross with you.”
“You know she has warned us not to encourage you?” Livy asked.
“I suspected.”
“And yet here you are.” Those silver eyes flashed as she challenged him.
“Here I am,” Bane agreed, peaceably. “I’m not such a poor thing as to let a little opposition scare me away. Lady Marple does not have the power to choose your husband. Nor, for that matter, does your own father. You are of age to choose for yourself—and your nature is not the kind to bend to the pressure of others.”
“You might as well give up,” Livy told him. “I am not inclined to marry.”
At that moment, Miss Marple yelled for help, and Bane raced to chase away a feathered bully of a duck. It was not until they approached the Marple townhouse that he had an opportunity for the final word in their conversation. He touched her arm to stop her as she was about to ascend the steps, the last in a procession of ladies. He bent closer and murmured, “I am not scared away, Miss Wintergreen. When you are ready, you can tell me your objections, and I shall do my best to counter them.”
She had time for nothing more than a harrumph of displeasure before her sister called, “Do hurry up, Livy.”
Bane watched her hasten inside and only then let himself smile. Yes. He was not at all displeased with the afternoon.
