south.” She exhaled guilt but returned her attention to Sean. “But I don’t think I would call him an idiot.” She sounded defensive, even to herself.
“Well, he looks like one. Doesn’t even know how ta dance. Did ya notice?”
He certainly knew how to waltz, Mary thought, nibbling her lower lip. Daring another quick peek at the darkly brooding Mr. Alexander, his hands at his hips, his gaze never wavering from her, Mary wished some other girl would catch his fancy and release her from the stress of his focus.
It was not to be. As soon as the last musical note ended, Mr. Alexander physically urged her from Sean. And so it went for the better part of an hour. Mary danced one after another, but thankfully, she had little trouble resisting Mr. Alexander’s charm, which deteriorated with any native tune.
“I am winded, sir,” she finally admitted to Mr. Alexander in the middle of a dance.
A boyish smile confirmed that he was relieved to hear it. Turning, Mary intended to hunt down Sean. The night was nearly over, and she had not gotten his commitment to court yet.
“No,” Mr. Alexander barked as if he read her thoughts. He cleared his throat and weaved a hand through his hair. “That is, I hoped you would allow us a moment of conversation.” He pointed toward a warped wooden bench beneath the shadow of a tree—the same bench she had hoped to share with Sean.
Dread tightened her shoulders. Don’t risk it, Mary Smyth. You’re no match for the likes of him.
“I don’t bite, Miss Smyth.”
His expression, pleading and teasing at the same time, gave her the oddest urge to laugh. Not wanting to be rude, Mary resigned herself to one short moment of conversation. “I would be most pleased with a cool drink, sir.” She could only hope Sean would stop talking long enough to attend to her before Mr. Alexander worked his magic, she thought as he led her toward the bench but then paused and glanced back at Sean.
“I agree that a drink may be refreshing, but I fear some other lad will take my place while I retrieve the beverage.” He crouched onto his haunches so that his eyes met hers. “Do I have your promise to be here when I return?”
Just then, Mary saw Sean emerge from a group of men and wave to her.
~ 5 ~
“To see so many Orangemen
all willing for to fight…”
Upon his departure from Dublin yesterday morning, Alec knew with certainty that he possessed intelligence, wit, and, according to the many women who begged his company, persuasive…charm.
Even this very afternoon—bathing, dressing too formally, pacing, changing his mind, and redressing in casual clothes—he was assured that those aforementioned abilities would provide him easy access to Mary Smyth and thus an exciting diversion for the evening.
As he rolled his neck against bunched muscles, every part of his aching, highly frustrated body seemed too tight. Standing here in line for refreshment, he realized all his aforementioned confidence had been shattered by a deceptive little sprite who stole his thoughts and turned his tongue to mush!
He’d spent hours watching her, waiting—like a puppy begging for a scratch on the ear—while a dirty farmer collected all her smiles and laughter.
Groveling…pathetic.
Yet he stayed.
Closing his eyes, Alec exhaled and released frustration. By all that was merciful, why did he continue to punish himself when he could be spending the evening relaxing, enjoying his family’s company, perhaps a drink at the pub?
Alec cast an impatient glance down the very long drink line that refused to move forward. Mumbling beneath his breath, he noted a group of men disregarding the needs of those behind them, entertaining each other with some apparently hilarious conversation.
If this were a ballroom, he would strut forward and loudly reprimand the men. I say, rude sirs, please remove yourselves from the line so that others may go forward!
But he held his tongue. These dangerous urges to speak
“Well, he looks like one. Doesn’t even know how ta dance. Did ya notice?”
He certainly knew how to waltz, Mary thought, nibbling her lower lip. Daring another quick peek at the darkly brooding Mr. Alexander, his hands at his hips, his gaze never wavering from her, Mary wished some other girl would catch his fancy and release her from the stress of his focus.
It was not to be. As soon as the last musical note ended, Mr. Alexander physically urged her from Sean. And so it went for the better part of an hour. Mary danced one after another, but thankfully, she had little trouble resisting Mr. Alexander’s charm, which deteriorated with any native tune.
“I am winded, sir,” she finally admitted to Mr. Alexander in the middle of a dance.
A boyish smile confirmed that he was relieved to hear it. Turning, Mary intended to hunt down Sean. The night was nearly over, and she had not gotten his commitment to court yet.
“No,” Mr. Alexander barked as if he read her thoughts. He cleared his throat and weaved a hand through his hair. “That is, I hoped you would allow us a moment of conversation.” He pointed toward a warped wooden bench beneath the shadow of a tree—the same bench she had hoped to share with Sean.
Dread tightened her shoulders. Don’t risk it, Mary Smyth. You’re no match for the likes of him.
“I don’t bite, Miss Smyth.”
His expression, pleading and teasing at the same time, gave her the oddest urge to laugh. Not wanting to be rude, Mary resigned herself to one short moment of conversation. “I would be most pleased with a cool drink, sir.” She could only hope Sean would stop talking long enough to attend to her before Mr. Alexander worked his magic, she thought as he led her toward the bench but then paused and glanced back at Sean.
“I agree that a drink may be refreshing, but I fear some other lad will take my place while I retrieve the beverage.” He crouched onto his haunches so that his eyes met hers. “Do I have your promise to be here when I return?”
Just then, Mary saw Sean emerge from a group of men and wave to her.
~ 5 ~
“To see so many Orangemen
all willing for to fight…”
Upon his departure from Dublin yesterday morning, Alec knew with certainty that he possessed intelligence, wit, and, according to the many women who begged his company, persuasive…charm.
Even this very afternoon—bathing, dressing too formally, pacing, changing his mind, and redressing in casual clothes—he was assured that those aforementioned abilities would provide him easy access to Mary Smyth and thus an exciting diversion for the evening.
As he rolled his neck against bunched muscles, every part of his aching, highly frustrated body seemed too tight. Standing here in line for refreshment, he realized all his aforementioned confidence had been shattered by a deceptive little sprite who stole his thoughts and turned his tongue to mush!
He’d spent hours watching her, waiting—like a puppy begging for a scratch on the ear—while a dirty farmer collected all her smiles and laughter.
Groveling…pathetic.
Yet he stayed.
Closing his eyes, Alec exhaled and released frustration. By all that was merciful, why did he continue to punish himself when he could be spending the evening relaxing, enjoying his family’s company, perhaps a drink at the pub?
Alec cast an impatient glance down the very long drink line that refused to move forward. Mumbling beneath his breath, he noted a group of men disregarding the needs of those behind them, entertaining each other with some apparently hilarious conversation.
If this were a ballroom, he would strut forward and loudly reprimand the men. I say, rude sirs, please remove yourselves from the line so that others may go forward!
But he held his tongue. These dangerous urges to speak
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