Chapter Four #2
Captain Seaton’s face had gone rigid at the correction but had softened at the explanation, and now she was glaring at him—him!—as though he had done her a mortal injury.
Which was ridiculous!
“Mrs. Seaton, my mother, the Viscountess Pernrith,” Michael said—more than a mite sullenly, in truth.
“How—How pleasant to make your acquaintance, your ladyship,” said Captain Seaton, rallying magnificently, even Michael had to admit.
She really was marvelous. Capable, and beautiful, and resilient—
Damn it, stop thinking about her!
“And how do you know my son?” his mother was saying lightly, as though this were light small talk, and not a scandal in the making.
Michael caught the captain’s eye and silently begged her not to embarrass him. Surely, she… Surely, she would not actually reveal—
“We met in an alleyway, your ladyship,” said Captain Seaton happily.
Michael groaned.
“‘An—An alleyway’?” As expected, the viscountess did not look amused. In fact, she looked startled, her large, round eyes blinking noticeably.
“He was attempting to help me pick up some paper I had dropped,” Captain Seaton said smoothly, catching Michael’s eye, her face rosy in a way that made his stomach flip over. “Mostly by stepping on it, truth be told.”
His mother laughed, and Michael did his best to smile and not grimace.
Fine, fine, you’ve had your laugh. Now you can drop it…
“And then he came to see me at my office.”
Michael’s laughter died in his throat as he froze in horror.
No. No, she isn’t about to… Surely, she isn’t going to—
“Oh, your—your ‘office’?” The viscountess was still smiling, but Michael could see that it was the sort of strained smile one had when one was utterly lost in a conversation.
And Michael knew why. In his mother’s world, women did not work. Not in the same way that men did, anyway.
“Yes.” Captain Seaton smiled sweetly, looking between mother and son. “He had a proposition for me, and I must say, I was delighted to—”
“Would you honor me with a dance, Mrs. Seaton?” Michael said swiftly, trying his best not to frown but finding it a tad difficult.
The absolute minx. She truly thought that she was going to ruin his life, and certainly shock his mother, by telling her about…but surely, she was not actually going to go through with such a conversational topic. Surely not.
It appeared Captain Seaton had not expected such a question, for she blinked then stammered, “‘D-Dance’?”
“You do know how to dance, I presume,” Michael said sweetly, nodding sweetly at his mother as though nothing untoward had occurred in his entire life. “A waltz is next, I believe, and I would be delighted if you would accept my hand.”
His mother did not speak. He knew it was his duty to dance with unmarried ladies only, and she’d introduced herself as a misses—though that had to have been to obscure her relationship with Michael.
Perhaps his mother assumed she was a young widow, an eligible match.
Though not of Society, maybe she was a widow. He barely knew her, really.
She had better not be an actual wife. He could not bear it if he’d done that to a currently married lady… Woman. Captain. What have you.
The captain had gained her equilibrium, or at least some of it, for Captain Seaton managed to say with a hint within her tones, “After your tongue delighted me so much at our last meeting—your son is an excellent conversationalist, my lady—I am excited to see how your hand will do.”
Oh, dear God.
Doing absolutely everything he could to keep his expression calm and his voice level, Michael said evenly, “Yes. Right. Well. Come on, then, Mrs. Seaton.”
It was not exactly delicately, the manner in which he took her hand, but it did not need to be. Captain Seaton had already proven that she was not going to play fair, after all.
Michael pulled the minx forward and ignored the grin from Gwen as he passed her, reaching the dancing couples far sooner than he would have wished and making sure not to think as he pulled ‘Mrs.’ Seaton into his arms.
And almost fell over.
Oh, this was—this was even headier than when his head had been under her skirts. Captain Seaton in his arms was quite another proposition, indeed, and it was overwhelming.
The softness of her skin. The warmth of her, the way he could somehow smell salt, as though she took a part of the sea with her wherever she went.
Michael swallowed as he held out her hand in the accepted position to start a waltz.
“Losing your nerve, Mr. Chance?” Captain Phylis Seaton asked with a twisting smile.
His resolve returned. “Never,” he said lightly, with all the calm of the gentleman that he was.
Oh, he might have been the son and heir to the most junior of the Chance family branches, but he would be a viscount one day—hopefully not someday soon—and he had been born and raised by one of the most refined ladies of Society.
He was not about to be bested by a woman parading as a captain who had clearly come here to intimidate him!
Holding his head high and absolutely not meeting Gwen’s eye, Michael stepped forward and entered the waltz.
He had presumed, clearly incorrectly, that there was not much call for formal waltzing on sea vessels.
As it turned out, ‘Mrs.’ Seaton—such a ridiculous pretense; at least, he assumed it was one—was conveniently adept.
She followed his lead easily, no tripping over her skirts, no fumbling the steps… It was most provoking.
Still, it left Michael free to hiss, “What the devil do you think you’re doing?”
Captain Seaton’s chin jutted forward. “I couldn’t possibly even guess to what you refer, Mr. Chance. Or is it Lord Chance? You were very circumspect, keeping your parentage out of our conversation.”
He could not help but smile at that as they turned a corner of the row of dancers. “I do not recall you wanting much information, ‘Mrs.’ Seaton.”
“Touché.” And there was indeed a slight flush in the woman’s cheeks, as though she had transgressed in some way. “Though you’ll find I have been Mrs. Seaton for years, just as I have been Captain Seaton for years. And you are Lord Chance, aren’t you?”
“Children of viscounts don’t have titles.
Not really,” Michael said with a smile that was taut but well-practiced.
Oh, it had injured him when he had been a child, that all his cousins were lords and ladies, but he and his siblings…
No, the Pernrith children were just mister and misses.
And that didn’t bother him now. Not in the slightest. He knew, by all rights, his father shouldn’t have been a viscount to begin with, as estates usually offered all of its titles to the eldest sons only.
But the Chances were eccentric. “I’m an Honorable on legal documents, but not much more. ”
A light in her eyes, a sparkle in her smile. “And are you? Honorable, I mean?”
Michael was concentrating so hard on not thinking about the way he had kissed this woman—and not on the mouth—that he almost tripped over her skirts as they twirled. “Damn it, woman, what do you want from me?”
“Nothing,” Captain Seaton said lightly. “It is not a crime to attend Almack’s, is it?”
“It should be. The place is a disgrace,” muttered Michael, careful not to speak too loudly as they passed the rather agile older lady, Lady Romeril, one of the patronesses of the place and a fearsome woman to behold.
It appeared that Captain Seaton was not afraid of her, however—that, or she had absolutely no idea whom she was in danger of offending. “It is rather dreary, isn’t it? But then I thought, that nice Mr. Chance, he’s bound to be there. And I know full well how…diverting you can be.”
Heat was billowing through him, making his cravat too tight along with his shoes, but what the devil was Michael supposed to do?
“And your family is taking the news well.”
Michael almost froze in his steps, but the blasted woman propelled him along, the momentum of the dance strong enough to supply the forward motion she would have lacked.