Page 58 of Presenting Miss Letitia (Once a Wallflower 1)

“What do you think of Almack’s?” he asked.

“It’s very elegant.”

He grinned. “But not the food, I fear, stale bread and dry cake, and only tea and lemonade to drink.”

“One does not come to Almack’s for the food,” she scolded.

He raised an eyebrow. “Oh? What does one come for?”

“To see, and be seen.”

“By whom? Men like Delridge?”

“And other handsome gentlemen,” she said, beginning to enjoy herself. “To dance,” she added breathlessly as he reversed her swiftly, his hand tightening at her waist.

“I agree, the dancing makes it well worth it,” Brandon said, his voice low and seductive. His gaze took her in from head to foot.

Against all reason, she was filled with a strange inner excitement, her pulse racing. She ran a tongue over her lips, and found him watching her. Only he could tease her senses in this way. Whenever she was with him, she wanted to draw closer, to rest her head against his shoulder, to breathe in his familiar, reassuring male smell. She longed to throw her arms around his neck and press her lips to his.

But Brandon appeared to have mastered his emotions, for he now held her at a polite distance and guided her over the floor at a more sedate pace. She must content herself, it seemed, with the warmth of his hands through the gloves he wore. His hand at her waist seemed to burn through her muslin dress. Could he not sense what she felt, what she longed for him to say? She raised her chin and met his smoldering blue eyes, willing him to beg her to stay in London. He did not. He had accepted their paths would take them in different directions.

While the expression in his eyes revealed some deep emotion, he talked of pleasantries, and when the dance ended, he escorted her back to Mrs. Willard.

“My, Mr. Cartwright, you and Miss Bromley dance very well together, I must say,” Mrs. Willard wickedly observed. She had expressed the view at breakfast that Letty and Brandon were perfectly suited, and tossed her head at Mr. Willard when he scolded her for making mischief.

Brandon’s lips rose in a wry smile. “If I trod on Miss Bromley’s toes, she is far too nice to mention it.”

It was nonsense. He was far too good a dancer for that. Letty bit her lip. Why was he being so formal? But she knew the answer. He was seeking to protect her reputation, and perhaps his own? Didn’t Arietta once say that Brandon would take care not to become compromised? And with his mission in France soon to begin, he would be eager to depart.

He stayed for a few moments in conversation and then took his leave, promising to call on them before she left London.

She watched him shoulder his way politely through the crowd, and all her pleasure and enjoyment of the evening went with him.

A day later, Letty received her summons from Uncle Alford. A prompt letter by special post ordering her home. In a few lines, her uncle had managed to convey his fear that Letty was at the mercy of the scoundrels who inhabited that immoral city. He would not take a calm breath until she was again under his roof and in his care.

Brandon, calling that afternoon to see how she fared, insisted on escorting her to the mail coach the following day.

It was a cool day, the weather insistently overcast, which matched Letty’s mood, as they stood together outside the Peacock Inn in the busy Islington street while the mail coach was loaded up for the journey north.

Brandon’s eyes darkened. “I’m sorry it’s worked out like this. You should have enjoyed your time in London, and I regret the part I played in ruining it.”

“I can hardly blame you for that,” she said with a forced smile. She’d been cheerful on the way here in his curricle, having decided whilst lying awake during the night to hide the awful hollowness she suffered at leaving him. “Please thank the Willards again for me, especially Mrs. Willard who was such a dear.”

While emotional farewells went on in the crowd all around them, he slipped his arms around her waist, which quite destroyed her plan to leave him composed and seemingly unmoved. The very thought that she would never see him again sent a bolt of ice straight to her heart. Hot tears scaled her eyes, and she blinked them away.

His hand moved softly over her back. “After all we’ve been through together, let us not part as polite strangers,” he murmured. He kissed her cheek, then, with a sharp intake of breath, his lips found hers, soft, and firm, sending fire dancing along her veins. She feared she would crumple in his arms, but he drew away, his eyes betraying his emotion, if his words did not. “I wish you a wonderful life, Letty.”

“Don’t be too brave in Paris,” she said urgently.

“I won’t.” His eyes darkened. “I’ll be dueling with words, Letty, not swords.”

“Yes,” she whispered, not believing him. “You did say it was a diplomatic posting.”

“Don’t compromise on your dreams, Letty. Remember Aunt Lydia,” he urged.

Before more could be said, she was called to the coach by the driver.

As she took her seat beside an elderly gentleman, she turned to the window for a last glimpse of Brandon where he stood on the pavement with a hand raised in farewell. The imprint of Brandon’s mouth lingered on her lips long after the coach had turned a corner. She ran a tongue over her bottom lip. Brandon cared for her, maybe even loved her. But not enough to give up his way of life. And had he asked her to marry him, she would have feared for their future together. The pain of losing her father and mother had never left her, and to suffer the loss of a beloved husband would destroy her peace forever. She tamped down a sigh, becoming aware of the scrutiny of the three people sharing the coach.

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