Between Two Captains

Chapter One - part two

As soon as he stepped down from the cab, Ethan could hear the waltz music drifting from the well-lit ballroom of Lord Graves’ town home. He mounted the wide front steps, his dislike of big parties, especially ones given by Richard Graves and attended by Martin Poole, welling up the closer he got to the front doors. How he wished for the camaraderie of his brother at a time like this, even though he could well understand Charlie’s desire to remain cloistered away.

Not terribly long ago, Charlie had been one of those uniformed rakes waltzing one of many dance partners across the smooth wooden floors. And then during his time in India, he’d fallen madly in love with Sarita and taken her for a wife. Of course, the Crown had never recognized the marriage but Charlie had never wavered from his love for the beautiful houri. How could he feel anything but the agony of his past in such a setting as this?

Ethan handed his card to the footman. When his arrival had been announced, he turned his attention to the receiving line and sighed.

Martin Poole stood at the head of the line. He was his usual red-faced self, appearing like the well-turned out penguin he always did at such functions. Richard Graves was next to him, an imposing man with steel gray hair and aristocratic features. One would have to get past those shark-like eyes to truly find him human.

Ethan took a step toward them. He looked past Graves to the young woman standing next to him. He sucked in his breath, his gaze suddenly captured by the glint of chandelier light off the most gloriously red hair he’d ever seen.

She was in the middle of shaking hands with Bertrice Esterhazy, a wealthy dowager who then released the girl’s hand and moved on.

His gaze followed the graceful coiffure of curls and tresses downward to a face of pale skin and soft features. Full pink lips and high cheekbones filled the center of her heart-shaped face. My God. Violette Poole was nothing short of enchanting.

At the last second, he remembered to keep walking, lest he appear rude.

“Ethan, old boy, good to see you.” Martin Poole smiled at him from his red face..

“Hello, Martin.” Ethan accepted his handshake, suppressing his wicked need to stare at Martin’s daughter. “Good to see you.” The words tumbled out automatically. Martin was old enough to be his elder brother by ten years and their mothers had been dear friends. Clarice Poole had been an engaging and handsome woman, yet had somehow failed to pass these qualities on to her son. Ethan had often wondered what qualities Martin did possess that had charmed Sandrine Maynard into his bed.

There was no wondering, however, about Clarice’s granddaughter.

“You know Richard Graves, of course.” Martin’s voice brought Ethan back to the present.

Ethan looked at him, suppressing a shudder. He shook Graves’ hand as briefly as possible. “Yes, of course. We’ve met.”

Poole cleared his throat. “And this is my daughter, Violette.”

Ethan looked at her. To his surprise, he caught the young woman staring at him.

A gentle blush of pink stole into her ivory skin, which he noticed had a delicate showering of freckles. Her full lips curved into a shy smile. Her greenish-blue eyes widened for just a moment, showing in their depths, that same intoxicating mixture of sensuality and innocence that had swallowed his heart when he’d met Ellie. Thank God this woman was marrying someone else. If she hadn’t been, he could see himself getting into all kinds of mischief…

The look of wonderment in her face vanished as quickly as it had appeared and she held out a gloved hand. “I’m very pleased to meet you, Captain Carrick.” Her voice was soft, her accent an intriguing blend of English and French. “Your mother and my grandmother were dear friends, I know. My father has told me about you. He speaks very highly of you.”

Ethan accepted her hand and shook it gently. He wanted to turn it over and kiss it but did not trust himself. The spiral of heat tightening his groin would cause his lips to linger on her hand. Apparently, he was still fully capable of falling for such beauty, no matter what he told himself. “Congratulations on your forthcoming marriage.”

Her smile widened. “Thank you, Captain.” She glanced up at Graves. “I look forward to my future as well.”

Ethan released Miss Poole’s hand, working to keep his jaw from dropping. Had he heard correctly? Was this beautiful creature actually glad about her engagement? Perhaps his initial impression of her wide-eyed innocence had been merely an apparition, something he’d wanted to see. In spite of the speculation he and Charlie had engaged in earlier that day, the possibility existed that Violette Poole was as much of an opportunistic lowlife as her father.

His immediate disappointment was followed by sharp relief, as if a weight had lifted off him. He no longer had to worry that some innocent child was being fed to the wolves. She seemed quite happy about her fate. Perhaps even ecstatic, although he couldn’t imagine how.

He smiled and bowed politely. Thankfully, the next person in the receiving line approached, taking Miss Poole’s attention. Across the room, Ethan saw an old acquaintance of his from the military and advanced into the ballroom toward him, accepting a glass of champagne from a waiter with a tray as he did so.

Violette had to force herself not to stare after Captain Carrick when he walked away. The young woman who succeeded him in the receiving line commanded her attention, not affording her the opportunity to watch the strikingly masculine man as he moved through the room.

The man’s presence was like a palpable force. From the moment she’d first looked at him, he took her breath away. An angular jaw drew her eyes to a face that had been pleasantly weathered to ruggedness, a stark contrast to so much of the unappealing aristocratic dandies in the room. Raw male strength emanated from his features and the dark eyes, intense, simmering with myriad emotions, had stirred her very depths. There was a quality she couldn’t quite name that seemed to radiate from within that broad chest. His handshake had been brief but strong and gentle at the same time. His large hand had swallowed up hers and his voice too, had that quality she couldn’t name but which had almost caused tears to flow.

She pasted on her best smile and shook the young woman’s hand, quite unable to register the girl’s name in her consciousness. Her mind was all jumbled from meeting the man who’d come before her.

Violette pasted on her smile, working to ignore the tension in her shoulders. What a shame she’d never been the natural born actress Maman had been. The charade she was putting on for her father’s and her fiancé’s benefit, was sapping every ounce of strength she had and she was terrified she wouldn’t have the force to carry out her escape plan in the wee hours of the morning.

Finally, after what had seemed forever, the last guest had arrived. Mr. Graves—for she refused to think of this man as Richard—offered her his arm and together they strolled to the edge of the dance floor.

The orchestra was in the middle of a waltz set and Mr. Graves pulled her out into the thick of the dancers. Of course, they all cleared a large space in the center of the dance floor for the guests of honor and all eyes in the room were on them for a few moments before the guests resumed their dancing, drinking and conversations.

Mr. Graves was a smooth dance partner and Violette had no difficulty following his lead while she found her gaze sweeping over the crowds on the sidelines in search of Captain Carrick.

“Are you all right, my dear?” Graves asked.

Her gut clenched and she looked straight at him. She hated the way he called her my dear, as if they’d known each other forever, instead of a mere few weeks. There was just something so bad about him. She could not put her finger on it, the same way she couldn’t name the desirable quality she sensed in the captain.

Graves smiled, his steely blue eyes raking over her face. “You seem distracted.”

She forced a smile. “Non, I’m fine.”

He chuckled. “I love the way you slip those little words of French into your English,” he went on. “I can’t wait to hear what will slip from you in…more intimate venues.”

Violette’s face burned what she knew was an embarrassing shade of scarlet. Had she not possessed a large degree of self-control, she would have pulled away from him and slapped him. But escape was, for her, life or death and she wasn’t about to do anything to jeopardize her chance. She worked her lips into a smile. “Nor can I.”

He swung her around.

She caught sight of Captain Carrick.

Her breath hitched lightly in her throat. He radiated presence. She forced back the overwhelming need to run to him. Something in her instincts told her he’d protect her.

But what if she was wrong?

She shook away the train of thought her mind had taken and focused her attention on Graves and getting through the rest of the evening. Her mind went briefly to her satchel and travel dress, ready and waiting in the armoire.

The sooner this evening was done with, the sooner she could escape.