A Warrior for Christmas Read Online Free PDF Page B

that my ward is unable to attend to your conversation unless she sees your face.”
    Miss Owen stared at him blankly. Whether as a result of the unusual tidings about Corwin or Dimity, Corwin couldn’t tell. The news seemed to come as no surprise to her brother.
    “Now, Hortense, my dear,” Mister Johnson gently remonstrated, “I did write you of young Mister Whitfield’s circumstances and Miss Scott’s infirmity.”
    Clearly, Dimity caught this last bit because she appeared uncomfortable.
    The addled young woman considered Corwin as though he wore an Indian headdress then shifted her attention to Dimity. “Forgive me,” she said, and leaned in near Dimity’s face, mouthing exaggeratedly and raising her voice so the servants in the kitchen could have heard. “I’m such a goose sometimes. I forgot Uncle said you were afflicted with deafness. How dreadful for you. And to think I thought your parents killed by savages too.”
    Corwin was so annoyed he could’ve taken the woman by the shoulders to shake some sense into her, though it seemed more likely he’d shake out what little she had.
    Mister Owen looked down his nose at his sister. “Let us not keep these good people from their refreshment.”
    “Of course. So sorry!” she shouted at Dimity, who took a step back.
    “We are finished eating,” she attempted, her words nearly lost in the nervous giggles escaping Miss Owen.
    She’d be a far sight more nervous if Corwin hissed a threat in her ear, but that was beneath him.
    Mister Owen took his sister by the arm. “Hortense, be so good as to regale us on the pianoforte.”
    “Oh yes, well, all right, if you think I should,” she fumbled, casting uncertain glances at Corwin.
    “Please do,” her uncle urged. “You may accompany us and give your aunt a rest.”
    Mister Owen walked his sister across the room. He seated her before the musical instrument and returned to the gathering. She struck up an unexpectedly beautiful song and a smile touched Dimity’s lips. Whether she could detect the melody or only the rhythm of the music, Corwin didn’t know. But if Miss Hortense wished to make amends, this was the means to do it. He would willingly tie her to the seat to keep her in place.
    Mister Johnson clapped his hands and signaled his niece. She paused for his instruction. “Shall we resume our practice? I thought perhaps we might rehearse the minuet. A simpler variation,” he amended.
    Corwin wasn’t certain how simple it would be. He’d just caught onto the last dance, aided by distant memory. He wasn’t keen to learn a dance he had no recollection of. But as this affair was for his benefit, he supposed he should enter into the gaiety. Dimity seemed to delight in each step.
    She glanced searchingly at him and he gave a nod. How could he do otherwise? No wonder his uncle conceded to her every whim. It was amazing she wasn’t spoiled beyond all endurance.
    Again that little bantam of a dance master spoke out. “Rigorous practice is required to gain proficiency, but we must make a start, mustn’t we?” he said, looking at Corwin.
    In this event, we meant him.
    “Perhaps a demonstration?” Mister Johnson suggested. “Geoffrey, if you would be so good as to partner Miss Scott while we observe? Attend closely, young Mister Whitfield.”
    Corwin had no intention of doing otherwise as that wolf stalked to the center of the room with Dimity on his arm.
    ****
    Dimity hardly knew what to think, but sensed the power in this lean man as Geoffrey Owen led her out onto the floor. All others watched. Mister Johnson seemed bursting with pride, and Corwin particularly absorbed. Was he intent on mastering the minuet, or something more?
    After curtsying to the assembly and to Mister Owen, who made similar honors to their onlookers and to her, Dimity turned to the side. They faced each other at an angle. His slanted eyes bored right through her. Unlike most gentlemen, he saw beyond her infirmity to the woman she was,