Captain of Her Heart. Lily George

another drink of his wine. “In the midst of the general merrymaking, we learned Bonaparte had crossed the frontier.”

       “What did you do?” Harriet leaned toward him.

       “Wellington and the Duke of Richmond shut themselves up in a dressing room, strategizing. Then Wellington decided we would attack on the morrow. I left when I got word so I had time to make my men ready.”

       “Of course,” Harriet replied, gently urging him to keep talking.

       “But many of the men elected to stay until dawn. They didn’t have time to change clothes, and fought in evening dress. The strangest thing of all was that, of all the men who danced that night, I reckon half were dead or wounded by the next evening. I was one of the lucky ones.”

       His matter-of-fact voice cut her deeply. Her eyes stung with unshed tears. “I’m sorry.”

       He looked at her, surprise opening his gray-green eyes wide. “Why are you sorry? That is a soldier’s lot in life.”

       Harriet shook her head. “It seems a terrible waste, is all.” Her voice sounded so thick she hardly recognized it.

       “No tears at a ball.” He took the glass from her hands. “I apologize for bringing the matter up at all. It seems strange to me, that this is the first ball I have attended since that fateful night.”

       She swallowed and nodded her head.

       “Would you like more punch? I might take another glass of wine myself.” He stood up, looking down at her expectantly.

       “Yes, if you please.”

       In his absence, she struggled to regain her composure. Flicking a glance over the crowded ballroom, she spotted Sophie, still dancing with Lieutenant Marable. A flash of anger suffused her, leaving her breathless. Did her petulant sister, so young and so headstrong, deserve a man like Captain Brookes?

       Brookes strode across the ballroom, balancing the two drinks carefully while he navigated the throng. He halted in his tracks, staring at the dance floor. Ah, he had seen Sophie dancing merrily with someone else. Harriet could not turn away.

       Brookes stared at the couple a moment longer. His head swiveled toward Harriet, his green eyes locking with her gaze. An inscrutable expression crossed his face. Then he vanished. Harriet peered around sharply. She could no longer pick out his broad shoulders in the crowd. She cast her eyes down, studying her blue kid slippers with intensity. Where he went was no concern of hers, was it? Perhaps he found a pretty dancing partner to incite Sophie’s jealousy.

       Two very masculine feet shod in black leather appeared next to hers. She raised her head, heat rising to her cheeks.

       “Miss Harriet.” Captain Brookes cleared his throat. He started again, speaking in an even tone, “Would you do me the honor of reserving the next dance for me?”

      Chapter Nine

      Brookes stood before Harriet, extending his hand. She cast her azure eyes up to him, and he willed his countenance to remain impassive. He refused to allow Harriet to read into his soul and discover his inner turmoil. Seeing Sophie with another man—a man who could have been him a few years ago—fired Brookes with an overwhelming urge to prove himself. His heart thumped painfully in his chest. Could he manage a dance? Riding a horse never troubled him but the hops and skips of a country dance presented a challenge that set his heart racing and his palms sweating. Hedging his bets, he requested a minuet of the orchestra. ’Twas the slowest dance in his recollection.

       Time ceased to move. Only Harriet would break the spell. After an eternity, she slipped her hand into his, rising gracefully from the chair. “I would be honored, Captain.” Her touch, even through their gloved hands, sent tingles up his arm. He breathed deeply of her violet scent, willing himself to remain steady and composed.

       They wound their way through the press of the crowd to the cleared area in the middle of the room. “A minuet, if you please, ladies and gentlemen,” cried the village shopkeeper, the impromptu master of ceremonies. Interest surged through the crowd of onlookers, and several of the younger couples began clearing the floor. “A minuet? How very old-fashioned.” One young lady laughed, swishing past Brookes on the arm of her partner. Yet Brookes noted with pleasure that some of the older couples, who had not been dancing, stood up. Taking their places on the floor, the faces of the couples reflected surprise and excitement.

       The orchestra struck up a few stately opening bars. Brookes stood still, listening for a moment. Like the fifes and drums calling his men to standards, the delicate strains infused Brookes with a sense of purpose.

       Brookes steered Harriet beside that mirror image of his youth who had claimed Sophie for the cotillion. Obviously they were proceeding with the old-fashioned minuet. Their second dance together. The young pup had serious intentions, did he? Bowing, Brookes moved to stand next to Sophie.

       “Captain Brookes, allow me to present Lieutenant Marable.” Harriet indicated the young man with a wave of her gloved arm. He bowed low, and the lieutenant returned the salute.

       “Captain Brookes, sir. I’ve heard tales of your sport at Waterloo.” Marable regarded him with something like awe. His openmouthed gaze sent a frisson of discomfort down Brookes’s spine.

       “Have you, now?” Brookes turned and bowed to Sophie, who returned the honors. Facing Harriet, he made his salute. She curtsied, but kept her eyes trained on his face. She nodded, inclining her head ever so slightly. Her encouragement sent strength surging through his body.

       “Oh, yes. The tales of your cavalry charge fill the men of my battalion with admiration.” Marable turned and honored Harriet, then Sophie.

       Would that young idiot shut his trap? Honestly, ’twas enough to try a man’s patience. “Indeed.” Brookes took Sophie’s hands, leading her around to one side. He bowed to her, and she responded with a deep curtsy. He stepped gingerly at first, unsure if his leg would follow his commands. He shifted his weight slowly to the ball of his foot, then back to his heel, rising and falling in time with the music. He breathed a sigh of relief. Everything seemed to be going well. Time to engage in battle.

       He reached out, taking Sophie’s hands. They slid a few paces to the left, and he drew her slightly closer. “This reminds me of a ball some three years ago.” He squeezed her hands, willing her to understand. He was the same wild lad as before he left for the peninsula, despite the outward changes she saw. Wasn’t he?