A Night to Surrender (Spindle Cove #1)(67)

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“However”—she cocked her weapon—“her mother is now set on removing her daughters from Spindle Cove. There’s a new spa in Kent, you see. She’s heard they do remarkable things with leeches and mercury.”

Susanna turned, leveled her pistol at the distant target, and shot. A whisper of smoke wafted from the gun barrel. He could have sworn he glimpsed smoke emanating from her ears, as well.

Bram muttered an oath. “I’ll send my cousin to call on them, too. I’m told he can be very charming and persuasive with the ladies.”

“In all honesty, my lord, I’m not sure which has the greater toxic potential. Your cousin’s charm, or the mercury.” She lowered her weapon and her voice. “Mrs. Highwood is all but packing her trunks. Miss Winterbottom and Mrs. Lange are speaking of leaving, too. If they leave, others will doubtless follow. If the general concern reaches Society at large, our reputation as a safe haven will be destroyed. All the families will call their daughters and wards home. Everything will come to an end. And for what? This absurd militia is doomed to fail. The men are hopeless.”

Never mind the weapons, or the dozen ladies looking on. Bram longed to pull her into his arms, hold her just as close and tight as he had beneath that willow tree.

“Susanna, look at me.”

He waited until those clear, iris-blue eyes met his.

“I will mend this,” he said. “I know I let you down last night, but it won’t happen again. My cousin and I will convince the ladies it’s safe to stay. Until the midsummer fair, I will keep the men tightly reined and out of your way. And someway, somehow, over the course of the next fortnight, I will drill them into an elite, precise militia to impress your father’s guests.”

She made a sound of disbelief.

“I will,” he repeated. “Because that’s an officer’s duty. To make unlikely men into soldiers, and to ensure they turn up trained and prepared, wherever and whenever they’re needed. It’s what I do, and I’m good at it.”

She released a breath. “I know. I’m sure you’re a very capable commander, when you don’t have to contend with teacakes and poetry and cudgel-wielding bluestockings.”

“I have been distracted. But that’s all to do with you, Miss Finch.”

Her lips curved a little. A tiny fishhook of a smile that had his heart instantly snagged.

But then it faded, and she turned from him, looking off to the distance, toward the village. Her spine was straight; her shoulders, bravely squared. But the fear was there, in the tiny quiver of her bottom lip and the gooseflesh dotting the graceful curve of her shoulder. She felt responsible for the place, and she was scared.

He couldn’t let her feel that way. Not when he had the perfect opportunity and every honorable reason to make her problems his own. To make Susanna his own. Right now, this very morning. He’d been thinking on the possibility all night, but now the decision simply clicked within him. Crisp and clear as the sound of a pistol being cocked.

“Don’t worry. About anything.” He stepped back a pace, heading in the direction of the house. “I’m going to leave my cousin here to grovel before your ladies. Make him fall on his knees, if you would. I’m off to have a talk with your father.”

“Wait,” she said, turning back to him. “You promised not to involve my father. You gave me your word.”

“Oh, don’t worry.” He turned away. “I’m not talking to him about the militia. This is strictly to do with you and me.”

Susanna watched him as he walked toward the house, wondering if she’d understood him correctly. Did he just say he meant to speak with her father? About the two of them?

If he intended that the way it sounded . . .

“Oh drat.” She picked up her skirts and gave chase.

She caught up to him just as he reached the house’s side entrance. “What do you mean,” she asked, panting, “that you’re going to speak to my father? About us? Surely you can’t mean that the way it sounds.”

“Certainly I can.”

A footman opened the door for him, and he walked through. Leaving her on the threshold with no further explanation. Teasing, cryptic man.

“Wait just a minute,” she called, chasing him down the corridor. “Are you referring to”—she dropped her voice to a scandalized whisper—“marriage? And if that’s the case, shouldn’t you be talking to me first?”

“What we did last night renders that conversation rather irrelevant, don’t you agree?”

“No. No, I don’t agree.” Panic struck her in the breastbone. She put a hand on his arm, arresting his progress. “You’re going to tell my father. About last night.”

“Not in so many words. But when I offer for you so abruptly, I wager he’s going to gather the reason why.”

“Precisely. And if my father gathers the reason why, everyone will. All the ladies. The whole village. Bram, you can’t.”

“Susanna, I must.” His jade-green gaze captured hers. “It’s the only decent thing to do.”

She threw up her hands. “Since when do you care about decent behavior?”

He didn’t answer, only turned and walked on. This time, there was no stopping him until he’d turned down the rear corridor and halted in the entry of her father’s workshop.