The Captain and the Wallflower. Lyn Stone

signal to leave her alone. “Go, find another to tease who will at least earn you points for originality.”

      He inclined his head. “Certainly no ridicule intended, my lady. I merely ask to be considered. I have some trouble in that quarter as you have no doubt heard.” He cast a pointed look at her overfed companion, who promptly blushed and hurried away.

      Morleigh returned his attentions to Grace. “Will you not grant me a small favor, at least, and take a turn about the floor?”

      Perhaps this was an arranged jibe, compliments of her uncle. “Do you know Wardfelton?”

      “I have not met him yet, but I shall seek him out immediately if you will give me leave to ask him for you.”

      “For my person? Not only a dance? How droll.”

      “For your hand in marriage,” he said without equivocation.

      A short laugh escaped in spite of her dismay. The man was either woefully desperate, quite mad or downright cruel. “I should give you that leave, my lord, and hold you by law to your word. It would serve you right for carrying this jest too far.”

      Amazingly, he stretched his hand closer, his expression totally devoid of sarcasm, his deep voice rife with sincerity. “Please do. I would be forever grateful. Perhaps we could dance and discuss it further?”

      His madness must be contagious. Whatever he had in mind could hardly lower her any more in public estimation than did the way she looked tonight. And why should she care if it did? None of her former friends were in attendance, not that she had ever had many who would be here in town.

      She had hoped at first to appeal to someone she knew to give her some respite from her uncle, but he had warned her no one would. In fact, she had nothing provable to complain about except his clearly implied hatred and her suspicion that, for some cause unknown, he wished her to wither and die. She could not run away again, for even if he were disposed to let her, where would she go and what would she do?

      Revealing her fears to anyone and asking their interference might imply hysterics on her part. Wardfelton had accused her of that himself, cleverly attributing it to her martyring grief and self-induced illness. No doubt he had already broadcast that diagnosis to anyone willing to listen. Secluding her in a madhouse was a distinct possibility, and perhaps tonight was meant to set the stage for that.

      Damn the man and his threats! This was no way to live, and she was sick of it. Why had she stood it for so long?

      Let him do his worst. She probably would die soon one way or another. Sad, but that fact seemed oddly freeing at the moment. It wasn’t as if she stood any chance of ever making another match or doing any of the things a young woman of means might undertake. She had no means. No prospects at all. Why not do as she pleased tonight and damn the consequences?

      Without thinking any more about it, Grace placed her gloved hand in the captain’s again. He swept her onto the dance floor and into a scandalously close waltz.

      She was not so familiar with the steps, but he held her firmly and guided her as if they had practiced daily for weeks. Grace found it exhilarating, being held so near and whirled about so expertly.

      After one turn around the floor, she looked up at him. “Why do you do this, really? You have already made us a spectacle, so honesty will lose you nothing.”

      His expression smoothed out. “Honestly? I need a wife. And I am guessing that you need a husband. That is why we are here, is it not?”

      “You do know Wardfelton. He has put you up to this.”

      “We have never met, I vow it on my life. I will admit I sent Lord Trent as my emissary to ask Wardfelton’s leave to court you.”

      “Oh, he would never agree to that,” she stated, quite sure of it. Who knew what her uncle would do to her simply for having this dance and conversation?

      “Well, he did not refuse, either. Probably too deep in his cups. I can only hope he’s drunk enough to let me have you. Assuming you are willing, of course. Are you?”

      She laughed a little. “What idiot steered you in this direction, I wonder? I’ve not a farthing to recommend me. I would come with nothing. Surely he made that clear enough.”

      “I come with everything you will need. Make your demands and I shall meet them.”

      Grace shook her head and kept a smile on her face, unwilling to let him see how painful it was to be toyed with in such a way. Yet she decided the best way to deflect this sort of jest was to laugh along with the jester. “Ah, well, if you put it that way … A thousand quid per annum, two maids and a shiny new phaeton. Oh, and diamonds, of course. A lady must have diamonds.”

      He gave a satisfied nod. “Done and done, my lady. Only, you shall have two thousand, all the servants you like, plus a matched team to pull the phaeton.”

      “Why, thank you!” she exclaimed with her widest smile. “But what of the gems, my lord? Does that break the deal?”

      “No. Do you prefer blue or yellow stones?” He whirled her again, causing her stomach to flutter wildly.

      “White diamonds,” she declared, leaning back and challenging him with her eyes. “You know, this is most entertaining. For you, that is to say. As for me, I should like to kick you in the shins and spit in your face. Manners prevent, however, so if you would kindly lead me back to my place by the wall and collect whatever sum you have riding on this farce, I would be most appreciative.”

      He stopped dead still in the middle of the floor and stared down at her. The music faltered and the noise died down. With no apparent care for who was watching and listening, he took both her hands in his and brought them to his lips. “Lady Grace, you’ve quite stolen my heart and I cannot live without you. Would you do me the great honor of becoming my wife?” His voice was even deeper than before. And rather loud in the gathering hush.

      A collective gasp shook the cavernous room. Someone dropped a violin and the strings pinged, the only other sound to be heard.

      “Say you will have me, or my heart will break.” A stage whisper if she had ever heard one. It fairly echoed round the room.

      Grace barely resisted the urge to throw back her head and laugh out loud. She had not laughed that way in so long, perhaps she had forgotten how, but the urge was there.

      She glanced over the group surrounding them and saw Wardfelton had entered the ballroom and was standing there with his mouth agape. She realized at that moment she would do virtually anything to discommode him further. And anything to get away from him permanently, even if it landed her in a worse fix. Well, here was her chance.

      She recalled the old expression, better the devil you know … Balderdash, that wasn’t so in her case. The devil she didn’t know could hardly be any worse than Wardfelton. She had nearly forgotten what it was like to live without constant terror. And for some unfathomable reason, she had no fear of Captain Morleigh. None at all.

      Grace looked back into the eye of the presumptuous man who held her hands. Here was no devil, only a slightly disfigured fellow who doubted his appeal to women so devoutly he would settle for the one he thought most desperate. Well, he had found her right enough.

      The description of him that Miss Thoren-Snipes had passed around had been widely dispersed, according to Grace’s companion earlier this evening. Perhaps Morleigh suffered more than anyone knew, especially if he was now reduced to pleading with the least-agreeable woman in the room to marry him.

      He began to look hopeful then, taking her hesitation for wavering, she supposed. It certainly was that. She felt him draw her closer as he leaned down to speak privately. “All that I promised you, plus independence,” he whispered, then added, “no conditions attached.”

      “None?” Yes, he was mad.

      “Well, faithfulness, of course,” he said against her ear. “We will vow that much when we wed. But otherwise, you