Marrying The Major. Joanna Maitland

used her free hand to pull her trailing skirt from under her heel. The skin of her other arm was beginning to heat within Hugo’s sustaining grasp. The glowing warmth was like nothing she had ever experienced before.

      ‘Miss Fitzwilliam?’

      Emma blushed rosily. What was she thinking of? ‘Thank you, Major,’ she said. ‘Your prompt action prevented me from becoming an undignified heap on this path. I am most grateful.’ She smiled up at him through her lashes, forcing herself to maintain the expression even when he withdrew his hand from her arm. ‘If you will permit me to say so, sir, you are much stronger than you look,’ she added saucily.

      Hugo grinned briefly and, Emma fancied, somewhat ruefully. ‘Needs must when the devil drives, ma’am,’ he said. ‘With only one good arm, I could not have lifted you from the ground, you know. So I had no choice but to stop you while I still could.’

      Emma stared at him in frank amazement. Was he actually laughing at himself? This time she could not be mistaken, surely?

      She stooped quickly to retrieve his cane—and to hide her whirling thoughts from his penetrating eyes. She could not begin to understand him. Her childhood friend was still there—somewhere—but, overlaid on the young Hugo there was the oddest chameleon of a man…

      ‘Your cane, Major.’ Straight-faced, she handed it to him.

      ‘Thank you, ma’am,’ he said politely. There was a moment or two of awkward silence between them. Then Hugo surprised her yet again by saying, ‘I was about to return to the house, as it happens. If it would not be too tedious for you, I would welcome your company for a space.’

      Emma nodded in astonished agreement. What had come over him? He sounded—

      ‘I am only sorry,’ Hugo continued in the same polite tones, ‘that I cannot offer you my arm.’ He flourished his cane with his right hand as he spoke.

      Emma smiled to herself but said nothing. For twenty minutes, they walked slowly along the path in companionable silence. The pine needles and the previous season’s dry leaves crunched beneath their feet. A faint scent of crushed pine rose up around them. A woodpecker was drumming in the distance.

      By the time Emma had worked out what she needed to say, they had reached the edge of the wood. From there, the long path led straight up to the stables and the house. They were now in full view of anyone watching from the windows.

      Emma stopped under the last oak tree, waiting for Hugo to turn back to her. She smiled at him in wide-eyed innocence, hoping for even the slightest hint of a response. With most men, she knew exactly what reaction to expect, but Hugo was totally unpredictable.

      At last, his gaze seemed to soften the merest fraction.

      ‘Major,’ she said gently, ‘I do hope you will accept our dinner invitation.’ He started to frown, but she hurried on. ‘It is to be a very small affair, you know, just ourselves and the Hardinges…and a few old friends. You remember the Rector and Mrs Greenwood, I’m sure, and Mrs Halliday? I know they would all like to meet you again.’ She dropped her gaze and let her voice sink a little more. ‘I promise you that all of them are much better-mannered than I. You will not be embarrassed.’

      Emma could feel the heat of a flush on her face and neck. She did not dare to raise her eyes.

      ‘How can I possibly refuse?’ said Hugo quietly.

      Emma looked up at last to see that he was limping slowly back to the house. She had won.

      But she had guaranteed Hugo would not be embarrassed in her house. Could she ensure that her promise was kept?

      Chapter Four

      Hugo lay back on his pillows and gazed out through the open bed-curtains at the first faint glimmerings of the dawn. Years of living in the Peninsula had taught him to love the huge expanse of the night sky and the unchanging patterns of the stars. He would never again permit drawn curtains to shut them out—or to shut him in.

      Gingerly, he raised his injured left arm so that he could clasp his hands behind his head. That simple movement, never before achieved, gave him profound satisfaction. Yes, he was making progress—a little progress.

      He focused on the day ahead—and on the evening. He was a fool to have accepted her invitation. It would mean nothing but embarrassment for him; and the usual expressions of pity and horror at his injuries. But she had been so apologetic about their disastrous first meeting. And, for just a single moment, she had made him feel like a whole man again.

      Hugo groaned aloud. It would not do to remember Emma too clearly. Her figure-hugging riding habit would have fired any man’s blood; and that long feather had reached down from her saucy little hat, caressing the soft bloom of her cheek like a lover’s hand. He had known that she was working her wiles on him—but, even as he recognised how artfully she was using her huge blue eyes, he had found himself unable to resist them.

      The hoyden child had become a siren woman.

      Hugo closed his eyes once more, trying to shut out Emma’s persistent image. It would not do for him to think too kindly of her. She was a spoilt, flirtatious little minx—in some respects she had not changed one jot—and she obviously enjoyed making a May game of every man she met. How many offers had she rejected out of hand? Richard had not said precisely, but there had certainly been quite a number. And, in spite of such behaviour, she was still the toast of London Society, with every eligible male dangling after her.

      Hugo’s weak arm was now very stiff. He straightened it with difficulty, and some pain, which reminded him that he, at least, was far from eligible.

      Hugo leant back in his chair, his right hand playing idly with his glass of port. So far, at least, the Longacres dinner party had passed off much better than he had dared to hope. None of the guests had stared; and no one had embarrassed him in any way, not even by offering to help him on the stairs. Clearly, Emma had been as good as her word. Hugo felt himself warming to her even more. She might be a little spoilt—just a very little, he had now decided—but she could be thoughtful, and kind. She was upstairs now with the ladies, where she would be dispensing coffee with that radiant smile of hers, and ensuring that every one of her guests felt she had been singled out for special attention.

      Exactly as he had felt, when he arrived with the Hardinges.

      Naturally, Emma’s first priority had been Lady Hardinge, but she had welcomed Hugo with gentle words, and with warmth in her eyes and in the clasp of her hand. He had had leisure, then, to admire her from a distance while she settled Lady Hardinge into a comfortable chair in the saloon, putting extra cushions in the small of her back. It was no wonder that Emma had become the toast of London Society, he had concluded; her radiant golden beauty would have ensured her success, even if she had been penniless. Tonight, she was glowing in a simple gown of cream silk, with a posy of forget-me-nots at her bosom, their clear blue serving only to point up the intense colour of Emma’s eyes. Hugo found himself envying the man who would win her.

      ‘Don’t you agree, Hugo?’

      Richard was speaking. But what had he said? Hugo raised his glass and sipped, savouring the rich sweetness for a moment. Then he smiled a little ruefully. ‘Forgive me, Richard. I was miles away. What did you say?’

      Richard shook his head. ‘I never had you down for a dreamer, Hugo—except about adventures, of course.’

      ‘That was a long time ago, I fear,’ Hugo responded neutrally. These last few days, Richard had begun to make oblique references to their shared past and to Hugo’s years of soldiering. It was necessary, Hugo knew, and he was grateful to Richard for his tact.

      ‘As it happens,’ Richard continued with barely a pause, ‘we were talking of the Derby. Sir Edward’s Golden Star is being heavily backed at Tatt’s. Is that not so, sir?’ He turned to his host at the head of the table.

      Sir Edward paused in the act of refilling his own glass. ‘I’m afraid so,’ he smiled. ‘Odds