Page 9 of A Lady's Lesson in Scandal
She should stitch the instructions onto handkerchiefs and hand them out at balls. Millie almost smiled. But then she remembered the task at hand.
This was serious business. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t kind. But she was tired of being kind and fair at the expense of her own happiness. She wished the circumstances were different. But wishes were as useless as tea in a typhoon. No one would save Millie from her fate except Millie herself. With some assistance from the duchess, of course.
The major general swept her onto the floor, his right palm pressed against her left. His left hand resting on the generous swell of her hip. She had noticed Major General Drake walked with a slight limp, but it didn’t hinder his graceful movements on the chalked floor. She lifted her right hand and placed it on his shoulder. A shoulder made of granite.
Good heavens!
The man must have replaced his musculature with something impenetrable and unyielding. Millie fleetingly wondered how one achieved such a medical miracle. But then the violins began to sing, the cello resonated through the crowd,and like the wind in the rowan trees or the sea swelling on the sand, they began to move.
Never before did her feet float above the floor. Never did she feel delicate and fragile in a man’s arms. Never had her heart beat so loudly, she feared the whole assembly might hear it. Perhaps it was because the major general was so tall. And powerful. And terrifying.
And desirable.
Poppycock!
Millie didn’tdesireMajor General Drake.
Ridiculous notion.
From her first meeting with him four months prior at Lord Geoffrey Bradford’s dinner party, he had continually been rude and dismissive toward her.
If she was bold enough to bring her scheme to fruition, his disdain would only intensify.
But what choice do I have? Pernicious Patricia and her ridiculous plans!
No. She couldn’t blame her stepmother for what she was going to do to Major General Drake. This decision was hers, and she must shoulder the consequences alone.
Besides, adding ‘rake’ to his reputation will only increase Major General Drake’s appeal with young ladies who like dangerous, mysterious men with dashing scars.Which I do not. She viciously reminded herself.
But honestly! Did he have to look like some romanticised Viking warrior with the most startingly blue eyes she’d ever seen? So light, they reminded Millie of a description she’d read about icebergs written by the courageous Captain John Biscoe in theJournal of the Royal Geographical Society of London. It was incredibly unfair.
No wonder Lord Drake’s gaze could freeze her like a blast of arctic chill. Chips of frigid water trapped in a face both fearsome and striking. Though his gaze didn’t seem cold tonight.
Can glaciers smoulder?
If only Millie’s conundrum could be solved with a solid round of sparring instead of a waltz. She was getting quite good at physical combat. Philippa said her height and general athletic prowess made her a dangerous pugilist. It would be so much easier to grapple with Major General Drake than glide across the dance floor in his strong arms.
But not nearly as pleasant.
Millie’s thoughts were becoming muddled. An unfortunate habit she developed around Major General Drake.
‘I should offer you my felicitations on your upcoming wedding.’ The major general’s gravelled voice created vibrations along her spine, spiralling over nerve endings, zinging through her veins like a primal pulse.
Mingling with his leather and clove scent was something dark and smoky. Perhaps it was the cheroots she’d seen him smoking. She wanted to lean closer and inhale him.
‘Do you ever tire of doing things you should instead of what you want?’ Millie pressed her lips together.Where had that come from?She risked glancing up.
He pulled her infinitesimally closer.
‘Yes.’
One syllable and her core turned liquid.
Candlelight glinted on the blond stubble covering his chin. His shadow beard matched the shade of his hair. What little hair he had. He kept it shorn so close to his head, he almost seemed bald. A shocking fashion choice, but who was she to judge?
He had a remarkably symmetrical head. What would it feel like to rub her hand over the bristled edges of his hair? She shivered.
‘Are you cold, Miss Millicent?’ He leaned close, his words tickling her ear.
