Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

S kirts swirled, feet stomped, hands clapped… Carswell frowned. Hands clapped. The very motion used to be second nature to him, but now the thought of trying to clap made his stomach churn. He’d look like a fool out there. What had possessed him to think a ball would be a good idea?

He tugged at one side of his waistcoat and then the other but it still did not seem to hang straight. A low growl rumbled in the back of his throat. An elderly woman with more wrinkles than hairs on her head glanced at him. He needed to remove himself before his foul mood ruined the night for the others.

The assembly hall had only a few rooms off the main area and all were filled with people that were either playing cards or trying to find a moment away from the larger crowd. Not wanting to converse with anyone, he retrieved his greatcoat and exited out a back door that led to a small frozen garden.

The frigid air of December slapped him in the face, making him wonder if he’d made the right choice. The quiet was nice, though. Out in the cold he did not have to think about his own inabilities on the dance floor.

Stomping his feet, he tried to warm his legs. At least they still worked, that was something to be grateful for. Other men had not been so lucky.

“Carswell?”

He spun to find Beth, her cloak in place, standing near a hedge of holly. “Why are you not dancing?”

Not having anything else to organize, he straightened his hat and checked the position of his cravat.

She glanced at the ground, her cheeks rosy from the cold. “Please do not be upset, but you appear distressed. I thought you might like to talk… instead of dance.”

He grasped the wrist of his right hand behind his back. How had she deduced the crux of his problem so quickly? His gaze swept over her. Then again, he should not have been surprised by her intuition. It had been evident in every interaction they had ever had.

Beth Haynes had a tender heart. One that led her to care for all those around her, even a grumpy captain turned lord who felt sorry for himself.

A slow smile curved the edges of his lips. “I would love to dance with you.”

She tipped her head, her arms wrapping her cloak tightly about her. “Then why did you not ask? I would have gladly stood up with you in the ballroom.”

“Because I am a curmudgeon that does not want to put his disgusting hand on display for all to see.”

Her arms dropped to her sides and she glared at him. “Your hand is in no way disgusting, and I will not stand by and let you brazenly demean yourself.” She crossed the distance between them and took his wilted hand in hers, lifting it above her head, and boldly placed her hand on his waist.

Warmth spread out from the contact. Hesitantly he placed his hand on her waist, completing the stance of the country waltz. There was no music other than that of the earth; a rustle of wind through the bare trees and the sound of a lone cricket the only accompaniment as they began moving about in a large circle.

Gradually they inched closer to one another sharing warmth, but no words. Carswell’s heart beat wildly in his chest. They should not be alone like this. What if they were discovered? He smirked. Actually, worse things could happen.

That his feelings had traveled so far where Beth was concerned as to consider marriage a viable option made his feet completely stop.

The sound of Beth’s heavy breathing filled his ears and he pulled back to peer at her. Her beautiful blue eyes blinked up at him but she did not shy away from his gaze. She released his hand and he slowly lowered his arm to loop around the other side of her waist.

She shivered, her nose and ears bright red.

“I should get you back inside.” He studied her face, waiting for her to agree.

Instead, she slipped her other arm between them placing her hand flat against his chest. If he’d thought his heart could not beat any faster, he was wrong. His eyes dipped to her lips, the same lips that had brushed his cheek in the carriage.

“I am perfectly warm here… with you,” she whispered.

The hush of her words echoed through him, slowing his rapidly beating heart to an even thrum—much like the rhythmic beat of the Royal Army’s drummer boy as he led them into battle. With it, came the same excitement mixed with fear. Kissing Beth might be the biggest victory he’d ever experience, but just like with war, there were risks.

He would not die, of course. But if she rejected him, if she disliked his attentions or found him insufficient in some way… well some injuries were so deep they could not be seen by the human eye.

A breeze fluttered one of her blonde curls about her face. She closed her eyes. Whether it was an effort to ward off the hair or done in anticipation he did not know, but it was all the invitation he needed.

He pressed his lips to hers. They were cool at first, but warmed as he gently moved. She responded beautifully, the arm wrapped about his waist tightened and he obliged her by deepening the kiss.

A feeling he could not distinguish bubbled up from within. It was warm and comforting, bringing utter contentment, while at the same time exciting and new. He’d never experienced such a complex sensation before.

After a moment, he pulled back, knowing in their current secluded situation it was up to him to be an honorable gentleman.

Beth’s eyes fluttered open and a dreamy smile lit her face. “Thank you.”

He chuckled. “You are welcome, I think. I am not sure I have ever been thanked for kissing someone before.”

She tilted her head. “Is that what you were doing? I thought you were simply being a gentleman and warming my lips for me.”

He guffawed. She grinned and pulled away from him.

When he was finally able to get his laughter under control, he said, “You surprise me at every turn, Beth. One minute you are as timid as a mouse and the next you are as comical as a court jester.”

“I hope that is a good thing.”

He took her hand. “It is a very good thing. But I think it best if I return you to the warmth of the assembly rooms. Too much unselfishness on my part would not be good for your reputation.”