Captain's Bride Read Online Free Page A

thinly, barely lifting one comer of his
mouth.
    “I believe this dance is ours, Glory,” Eric said,
drawing her toward the floor.
    Nicholas stepped between them. “I’m sure, Mr. Dixon,
since you spend so much time with Miss Summerfield, you won’t mind
giving up a dance for an old friend of the family.” He emphasized
the word “old,” and Glory secretly fumed. The man wasn’t much older
than Eric, who was twenty-seven, though the captain had a
worldliness it took most men years to acquire.
    Before Glory could protest, Nicholas Blackwell had
gripped her wrist and led her onto the floor. His other hand
settled on her waist with a casual possessiveness Glory found
infuriating. It was all she could do to control her temper as he
stepped into the strains of the waltz and whirled her unerringly
around the dance floor.
    “You’re beautiful when you’re angry,” he said, “but
then, you were just as lovely before.”
    “Surely, Captain, you can come up with something more
original than that.”
    “Temper, temper,” he baited. “You wouldn’t want one
of your lapdogs to think I’ve insulted you. He might call me out
and wind up getting himself killed.”
    Remembering whispered gossip about the captain’s
skill with the pistol, Glory stiffened and tried to pull away, but
Nicholas only tightened his hold.
    “My father may find you a paragon of virtue, Captain
Blackwell, but I heard you were a rake and a rogue. I just didn’t
expect you to prove it so quickly.”
    “And I heard, Miss Summerfield, you were pampered and
spoiled and in need of a man who could take you down a peg or
two.”
    If he hadn’t been holding her, Glory might have
stumbled. It was all she could do to suppress the murderous glint
in her bright blue eyes.
    “Smile,” he said. “Remember your lapdogs.”
    “Let me go,” she said through gritted teeth. “How
Father could be so fond of you is beyond me.”
    “We’ll finish the dance, Miss Summerfield; then I’ll
escort you back to your . . . friends.”
    “You are the most despicable . . .”
    For the first time Nicholas Blackwell allowed himself
a genuine smile. “You and I are going to get along just fine,” he
said. A wave of relief swept over him, as wel-come as an early
spring rain. He had been drawn to the young woman from the first
moment he saw her, even more so now that he had held her in his
arms. If she had warmed to him in the least, he would have been
hard pressed to stay away from her. Though he tried his best to
keep them at bay, thoughts of the graceful blonde warming his bed
still danced at the edge of his mind.
    The girl was Julian Summerfield’s daughter. The only
way Nicholas could bed her would be to marry her—and that he would
not consider. It was better she loathe him, stay as far away from
him as possible.
    The dance ended and Nicholas returned Glory to Eric
Dixon’s care. Her cheeks glowed with anger, but her demeanor
remained courteous. She had taken his warning to heart. At least
she wasn’t quite the unfeeling tease she appeared.
    “Thank you for the dance, Miss Summerfield,” Nicholas
said with a hint of sarcasm.
    “My pleasure, Captain Blackwell,” she replied with an
equal lack of sincerity.
    With a last appreciative glance, Nicholas turned on
his heel and strode toward the gentlemen’s bar. The syrupy voice of
Lavinia Bond trailed him across the room.
    “Good Lord, Glory, who was that man?” Miriam
All-stor, Glory’s best friend, hurried up beside her. Glory checked
her appearance in the gilt-framed mirror in her chamber and pinned
back a stray curl that had tumbled loose during a schottische she
had danced in the arms of Jack Flanagan, another of her
suitors.
    “That’s Captain Blackwell, father’s friend.”
    “My, God! No wonder they say he’s a rogue.”
    “He’s also an arrogant jackass,” Glory said, her
temper heating up again. “The man is no gentleman, I can tell you
that.”
    “He made advances to you! Oh, Glory, how