A Warrior for Christmas Read Online Free PDF Page A

But she smiled at him encouragingly. Her chest fluttered madly when he smiled back.
    Mister Johnson bent his round figure in a bow and said to Corwin, “We begin with these courtesies to our partner.”
    Corwin bowed his sinewy length at Dimity. Heart racing, she curtsied to him.
    Mister Johnson’s sister, a well-padded genial woman of uncertain years, plucked away at the keys of the pianoforte. A rush of excitement flooded Dimity upon detecting the vibrations of music. As long as Miss Johnson played, she could hear, in a fashion. Was there anything grander in the world than to be here with Corwin amid this wondrous sound?
    The dance began under Mister Johnson’s direction. Dimity relished the strong feel of Colin’s hand on hers, the warmth of his arm penetrating her sleeve when they linked arms. Clapping, circling in and out of the formation, and kicking up her heels before promenading with him again, was far livelier and glorious than the minuet.
    Mister Johnson stepped alongside them to guide Corwin. The panting gentleman paused now and then to blot his flushed face with a handkerchief. But Dimity barely heeded him. She knew the steps by heart, and hers beat for Corwin.
    He discarded his coat over a chair and wore only a striped waistcoat, giving Dimity an even better view of his muscular form. His white shirt contrasted with his sun-browned skin. For all his protest at learning to dance, he soon mastered the movements, and his eyes smiled even if he didn’t. Now and then, his twitching lips gave away his enjoyment.
    All else faded and there was only Corwin, his melting eyes, vital spirit, him…she could dance all afternoon and into the evening. Even fly.
    Mister Johnson disrupted her dreamy state. His wig slightly askew, he paused again to catch his breath and mop his glistening brow.
    Her guardian also drew up. “Perhaps some refreshment and a short rest?”
    Mister Johnson wagged his head. “Yes indeed. That would be most welcome, thank you.”
    Mistress Stokes rang for refreshments. The efficient housekeeper must have left instructions. Two footmen appeared with a pitcher of cider, pewter mugs, a china platter laden with gingerbread cakes, snowy napkins and small plates. The repast was set out on the tea table and the cider poured. Everyone helped him or herself and sat in the chairs pushed along the wall at the far side of the room.
    Dimity sat in an armchair and washed the cold cider over her dry throat then bit into the spicy gingerbread powdered with sugar. Corwin settled in the chair at her side and ate with evident appreciation.
    What did he normally have in the way of fare, she wondered? She knew so little of his former life.
    Mister Johnson chewed and drank with absorption then dabbed his lips on a napkin. “Perfectly delicious, Mistress Stokes. Whitfield Place is all the richer for your meticulous hand in its keeping.”
    She brightened and looked almost pleasant.
    He turned to Dimity. “Miss Scott, I declare I’ve never seen you in better form. Might this have to do with the present company?” Mirth twinkled in his magnified eyes.
    “Indeed,” Miss Johnson chortled, her generous figure jiggling.
    Mister Whitfield smiled. “I can attest to my nephew never having appeared in better form either.”
    Corwin exchanged looks with Dimity. “That is quite probable, sir, but then you have never seen me in all my forms.”
    An image of Corwin in a tan hunting shirt, leggings and high-top moccasins, a musket in his able hands, flashed through Dimity’s mind. Her cheeks heated. Had he noticed?
    He flicked a wink at her, indiscernible to others, but she almost gaped at him.
    Dropping her gaze from his amusement, she glanced around at his light tap on her arm. “Our guests,” he said so she could see his lips, and gave a nod across the room.
    In her beguilement, she’d missed the announcement of Mister and Miss Owens’ arrival. The young couple emerged side by side through the double doors.
    “Quite