one of the others would have been wrestling with their conscience. Not one of them would have had any qualms about laying siege to Miss Hutton’s heart, or conquering it, and then, when she’d served her purpose, walking away from her without a backward glance.
He scowled across the ballroom at the few other couples milling about as he gave her arm a squeeze. His conscience with regard to Miss Hutton might be smarting a bit, but he was fully committed to seeing this mission through to the bitter end. Therefore he had to persuade Miss Hutton that he was a genuine suitor. A suitor so smitten that he would not be able to part from her when the time came for her to leave Bath. By then, hopefully, he would have wormed his way into her affections to the extent that she would extend an invitation to spend Christmas with her and her family in Lesser Peeving. From which vantage point he would be able to continue the investigations Archie had been conducting in that area. Investigations which had resulted in his death.
He swallowed as he glanced down at the crown of Lizzie’s head, the droop of her shoulders. He’d felt sorry for her before even meeting her, because of the plan to deceive her into believing she’d captured his heart. But now he had met her...well, she was so utterly defenceless against him that when she had placed her trembling hand upon his sleeve, just now, revealing her dread at the prospect of having so many spectators mocking the way she danced, he experienced a bizarre sensation of wishing he could somehow protect her.
When he was the one she needed protecting from.
He ground his teeth. He’d always hated seeing anyone take advantage of those weaker than themselves. But he hadn’t felt such a strong surge of indignation on anyone’s behalf since the day he’d come across Tom Kellet cowering behind the buttress in the fives court. Back then, he’d been able to wade straight in and dispatch the beefy bullies who’d been taunting him. And assure the lad, who’d later gained the nickname of Archie, that he was no longer alone, that he, Harry, would always stand by him. Back then, his actions had given him a sense of self-worth he’d never known before. He’d discovered that he was not a ‘good-for-nothing’ after all.
Right now, Miss Hutton looked as though she could do with having someone to stand by her, too. Even if it was the very man who was responsible for luring her out on to the dance floor where she was afraid she was about to make a spectacle of herself.
Which didn’t surprise him actually, not when he recalled the way she’d knocked his cup of water from his hand at their first meeting. The way she’d very nearly sent her companion flying when executing the most awkward curtsy he’d ever seen, outside the theatre. It just went to confirm Lady Rawcliffe’s description of her as an awkward giantess. He’d dismissed her evaluation, up ’til then, because Lady Rawcliffe was one of those tiny, dainty, fairy-like females who always got a crick in their necks when attempting to look him in the face. The kind who always made him afraid he’d accidentally crush them if he turned round too quickly without first taking note of exactly where they were standing. But now he saw that Miss Hutton herself believed all those things Lady Rawcliffe had said of her. To the extent that she was discernibly trembling at the prospect of stepping out on to the dance floor, when other females would have been looking on it with anticipation.
Just as he was sweating with his own nerves. Which gave him an uncanny sense of kinship with her. He knew what it felt like to be robbed of the kind of pleasure most people took for granted, right enough. It had happened first in his childhood, when his family had fallen apart. And then when he’d been taken out of school just as he’d begun to find his feet. And again when the French had taken him prisoner. Each time he’d hated that feeling of being weak and helpless in the face of cruel fate and no longer able to partake in the activities others enjoyed almost by right.
She darted him a glance that was half-trepidation, half-despair as they took their places in the set. He heard the murmurs going through the assembled crowd of onlookers. Saw people nudging each other and looking in their direction. And probably speculating on the likely outcome of having two giants attempting to weave in and out of the band of pygmies who formed the rest of their set.
He wanted to tell her she wasn’t going to have to face it alone. That he would protect her from the stares, the gossip, the sniggers. But how could he? It was his fault she was going to have to endure it all.
But one thing he could do. He could show her that though they were not cut from the same cloth as most people, that didn’t mean they had no right to enjoy themselves. For the next half-hour he would do his level best to provide Miss Hutton with the fun that seemed so sadly lacking in her life, from what he’d both learned and observed of her so far.
‘You know,’ he remarked casually, ‘when at sea, it is a general principle that the smaller, nippier craft treat the larger, ocean-going vessels with respect.’
‘Respect?’ She cast a doubtful look round the others who’d come on to the dance floor before them and who could now not retreat without looking craven.
‘Yes. If they don’t want to get broadsided, then they take jolly good care to keep out of the way.’
‘That is a nautical principle, is it?’
‘Yes. An eminently sensible one. And one which ought to hold true on the dance floor.’
‘Are you trying to say that if you step on my toes, it will be my own fault?’
Before he could deny he’d meant anything so unchivalrous, the musicians were striking up the opening chords and everyone was curtsying or bowing to the other members of the set.
‘No,’ he just had time to say, ‘I was referring to the others.’
And then they were off.
And he soon discovered that Miss Hutton was nowhere near as bad at dancing as she’d led him to believe. She did appear a bit reserved at first, a little awkward about the way she moved her limbs, but to make up for it, she had a very good ear for music. She stepped out firmly on the beat, never missing a step. Which meant he didn’t have to worry that she might not be in the place he expected her to be at any given moment. True, her steps were a bit longer than those of the other ladies in the set, and most of the men, too, but they matched his. What was more, when he took her hand in the turns, she returned his grip with such strength that he soon lost his usual dread that he might accidentally snap one of her fingers. He could also swing her round without worrying about the risk of whirling her right off her feet and out through one of the windows.
After a while, he noticed that she was starting to look much less nervous. And by the time it was their turn to gallop down the inside of the set, hand in hand, she was actually smiling.
‘You were right,’ she said as they waited for the next couple in the set to gallop down the centre. ‘About the smaller craft giving the larger ones a wide berth.’
‘And they have ample space to do so tonight, since this is the only set in a room designed to hold several, by the looks of it.’
‘Yes, not many people come to Bath for anything other than to play cards and drink the waters, these days. Oh, and gossip. And reminisce about how much more fun it used to be when they were younger.’
They stepped smartly sideways as the next couple in line reached the head of the set and began their skip down the middle of the room.
‘It must be very dull for you,’ he observed.
She shrugged. Darted him a shy glance. ‘Not tonight.’
And then she bit her lower lip, her face turning
