Lisa Plumley Read Online Free Page B

of...desperation about you. I know it sounds strange, but—”
    He stumbled. For an instant, they both lost the cadence of the dance. Then his hand closed more securely around hers, they both recaptured the necessary steps, and Violet reconsidered.
    Undoubtedly, Cade Foster had never been desperate for anything in his life. He seemed the sort of man for whom everything fell into place, lickety-split. Still, during those first few moments, she had definitely felt... something from him.
    Something, if not desperate, then very, very needful.
    “You move very well, Miss Benson.” Cade Foster presented her with his flawless profile. If he noticed the avid stares and gossipy whispers directed their way, he gave no sign of it. “The men in town must be bereft that you threw away your dance card.”
    She gawked at him, all thoughts of his potential desperation forgotten. “You saw that? You saw...me?”
    “Of course I did.” Mr. Foster glanced sideways. He frowned. “Why did you do it? Why did you throw away your dance card?”
    Still enraptured with the notion that she might move well, as he’d said, Violet felt a shiver race through her. He was the one who moved well—the one who danced with effortless poise. Cade Foster’s skill was to make his partner seem equally adept.
    Doubtless he possessed several similar talents...all of which would be scintillating and assured and unlikely to be shared with Violet beyond this night and this dance. Maybe that’s why she let herself fling her usual caution to the wind.
    “Why did I throw away my dance card? The answer to that question, Mr. Foster, will cost you another dance.”
    He smiled, seeming impressed. “You’re bold. I wouldn’t have expected that from a self-confessed do-gooder.”
    “I prefer ‘aid worker.’ And a straight answer.”
    Mr. Foster laughed. “And bolder still.” He twirled her as the last flourish of music played. He glanced sideways, then muttered a swearword under his breath. “But I have to refuse.”
    “Why?” Violet kept her tone light. “Are you afraid I might save you with a dose of well-placed charity work?”
    “No.” Inexplicably, he paled. “I’m beyond redemption.”
    His voice sounded fraught. Troubled, Violet dared to touch his shoulder. “I’m sorry. I was being flippant. I didn’t mean—”
    “Take this.” As the next dance began, Mr. Foster gave her something: a dance card. Her dance card. “You’ll be needing it.”
    Violet boggled at it. How had he come to possess her dance card? “I don’t need it. There was a reason it was empty.”
    He didn’t seem to hear her. “Thank you for the dance.”
    “We could have another. I still haven’t answered your—”
    “Your father is headed to the mescal booth to celebrate his recent win at cards.” Mr. Foster nodded. “I’m guessing you’ll want to intercept him before he gets two fistfuls and a snort.”
    Her father? Winning and drinking? But how could Mr. Foster possibly have identified both the Reverend Benson and his worst foibles, all in a single glance? Confused, Violet turned.
    It was true, she saw. However unaccountably, Cade Foster had summed up the situation. Papa did appear to have won.
    He also appeared to be intent on memorializing his victory at the gambling table by pickling himself in locally brewed liquor. Her father, although devout and bookish by nature, had never refused a whiskey. He considered it a fair restorative.
    “Next time I see you, you’ll be overrun with suitors.” With another beguiling smile and a touch of her hand, Cade Foster bowed to Violet. He didn’t seem to realize how preposterous his statement really was. “I’m happy to have danced with you first.”
    Violet didn’t have time to elucidate matters to him. Nor did she want to. Cade Foster had enjoyed dancing with her! Why should she spoil that by telling him that she typically spent more time decorating for parties than dancing at them?
    “Thank you very much. I’m