A Hero for Lady Abigail Dallen, Maggie (essential books to read .txt) 📖

thanking his stars he wasn’t at the front anymore. Thanked God and the heavens above that he’d lived and that he had the chance to return home and start a real life.

In that moment he’d made several promises to himself: he’d marry some lovely girl who brought kindness and serenity to his life after years of pain and chaos, and he’d have children—a whole bunch of them.

He’d take his earnings as a soldier and his pension and he’d use them to buy a quaint little cottage with gardens, and hedges, and a picket fence.

Funny that he should think of all that now. That her eyes should remind him of that lake. That the blue of them should be the same color as the Lake of Saint Croix, that they should sparkle just as that water had. Because if he weren’t mistaken, this woman was the exact opposite of everything he was searching for.

But opposite or not, this woman was still standing here. And she was staring right back at him. She was waiting for a response. Apparently silence alone would not deter her. Her last words came back to him and nearly made him laugh. Did she truly believe she was saving him?

“I can assure you that I don’t need saving.” To be fair, he might actually need a bit of rescuing. He was tired. Worn down. But what he searched for was a nice quiet life, and nothing about the woman in front of him seemed sedate or subdued. “I find this evening neither tedious nor dull so I excuse you from any duty you might feel to help me.”

For a moment a look of panic flitted across her features. Her eyes widened before they slid to the side and he heard a light chuckle come from his right. A group of men stood nearby, some of them he recognized, though they looked far older, and frankly, far more portly than they had ten years ago when he’d left for military service.

Titled lords all of them, secure in their positions of wealth and not in need of a profession or the money it would bring. But a life of leisure had not been kind to most of their waistlines. And as they snickered louder, he assumed it hadn’t done much for their personalities either.

She looked over at the men again, her wide eyes slanting in slits as she squared her shoulders.

Alex had to confess that he admired her grit in the face of their mockery.

 When she looked back at Alex, she gave him a large smile. “Well, in that case. You can save me.”

He couldn’t deny that she needed aid in this moment. Why were they laughing? Was one of those men bothering her? Was that why she’d pretended an acquaintance with Alex? He hated to leave a woman in distress. As a soldier, or former soldier, he took his duty to protect seriously. But then again, his eyes slid to the woman he’d been attempting to meet. Miss Charlotte Ainsworth. Quiet and pretty in an approachable way, she was the exact sort of woman he’d been planning to court. The kind he could settle with into a nice, predictable life. He’d watched her over several parties and tonight he was determined to gain an introduction.

But as another gentleman approached Charlotte’s mother, he watched his opportunity wane. He’d attempt to find another chance, of course, but he’d hoped to spend as little time at this party as possible. Participating in society was not something he considered entertaining.

As the nephew of an earl and a reported war hero, he received plenty of invitations, but he’d have rejected them all if he weren’t trying to make a match. With a sigh, he held out his hand to the beauty before him. “Shall we?”

Her return smile was glowing, pulling at her full, shell-pink lips. Her brows arched perfectly and if it were possible, her eyes sparkled even more. “Let’s.”

He led her onto the dance floor, taking her small waist in his hand as the dance began. “To what do I owe this honor, Lady Abigail?”

Her smile grew warm and her eyes glittered with mischief that made his muscles tense. Sedate and serene? Definitely not. “Ah,” she said with a satisfied grin. “So you do remember me.”

She was in jest, surely. Who could forget making the acquaintance of the Duke of Gorem’s only daughter? The young lady had been the center of every social circle at Max’s house party last spring and had even threatened to steal the attention at his friend’s wedding this past Christmas. They might not have spoken much, but it would have been impossible not to notice her. What was more curious was that she had remembered him.

“We were first introduced at the Marquess of Arundel’s house party last spring,” he said. “But I do not recall having had the honor of a dance before.” Her answering smile was still blindingly beautiful, but alarm bells rang in the back of his mind at the laughter he saw there in her eyes. This laughter was at his expense, he’d bet his quaint little cottage on it.

Also, she refused to take the bait, such as it was. “Did we not?” she asked lightly.

He stifled a huff of exasperation. This woman didn’t need saving. No man would dare to touch the daughter of such a powerful man. He’d been hoodwinked. Tricked into a dance he’d never requested. But why?

His mouth pressed into a firm line. Clearly subtlety would not work with this minx.  “Perhaps you can explain why we are dancing?”

She furrowed her brows as though the question perplexed her. “Why not dance?”

He held in an irritated breath. “Most ladies give a gentleman the opportunity to ask.”

She sniffed, her nose lifting in the air. “I’m not most ladies.”

“I’m aware of that,” he said, his own mouth turning down. He might not know her well, but he definitely knew her type. Beautiful, rich, entitled, shallow, and full of herself. Despite her beauty, she