Regency Christmas Gifts: Scarlet Ribbons / Christmas Promise / A Little Christmas. Lyn Stone
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well, that was to be expected. He wouldn’t be garnering any expressions of interest as long as he sat in the blasted Bath chair. It bothered him more than he wished to admit. Women usually displayed some wee spark of curiosity, at the very least, if only due to his great size. A prurient interest, to be certain, but he was not averse to it all the same. He had grown spoiled to being noticed in such a way, he reckoned. Of course, this one was a lady and such thoughts were usually bred right out of her kind.
He watched Michael lean down to kiss the beauty on her rose-tinted cheek and take her hand. She looked up from beneath her long lashes, offered a smile and a soft, “Welcome home at last.”
“Thank you, Amalie.” He turned to Alex. “This is Captain Napier who saved my life. He’s consented to a visit with us. Could I impose on you to entertain him for a few moments? I would like to speak with Father alone and regain his good graces.”
“As you should,” she said, sounding less than enthusiastic about it.
Together he and the lady watched the door close, sealing them inside the library alone. Alex braced his elbows on the chair arms and clasped his fingers together. “Your brother is a fine young man,” he offered in an attempt at conversation.
“He’s a fine young idiot and nearly broke my father’s heart,” she replied succinctly, thumbing rapidly through the book in her lap. “If he had died, I would never have forgiven him. I suppose I must thank you for preventing that.”
Alex cleared his throat, uncertain what to say next. She had a sharp tongue, this one. “Then I suppose I must say that you’re welcome.”
She flicked one hand toward the wheels of his chair. “How long are you condemned to that?”
He concealed his surprise. The minx was straightforward if nothing else. “Until I find crutches to fit me.”
“And how long on the crutches?” she asked brusquely.
Damn the woman. People rarely asked such a thing of a person in his fix. But he answered her rudeness honestly. “Until I can walk without them.”
She blew out an impatient breath. “You know very well what I mean. What do the doctors say?”
“That I’ll never walk,” he admitted. “But they’re wrong.”
Her sudden smile was wry and humorless. “They say I will. And they’re also wrong.”
His gaze flew to her legs which were well concealed, of course, by the soft red wool of her skirts. The toes of her small matching leather slippers peeked out from beneath the hem. Side by side, her feet perched motionless on a green velvet pillow with gold tassels.
“Riding accident,” she explained with a sigh.
His heart sank inside his chest. “I’m so sorry,” he said sincerely.
She nodded and gave a small shrug. “Well, what happened to you?”
“Bullet caught me just above the knee at Salamanca back in July. They set the bone, but the muscles were damaged. Infection set in. Almost lost the whole thing ten days after they set it, but your brother persuaded the surgeon to take time to treat it instead of lopping it off. Bribed him, too, I believe, though he won’t admit to that.”
She inclined her pretty head and pursed her lips as if studying him for a while. “Do you know why he brought you here?”
Alex shrugged. “He has some strange notion he owes me. I think it bothers him, so I thought I would humor him for a few weeks.”
She closed her eyes, sighed and shook her head. “No, no, no, that’s not it.”
“What other reason could he have?”
“He brought you for me,” she said wearily, then quickly added, “but he won’t admit to that, either, so you needn’t bother to protest to him.”
Alex smiled at her outrageous assumption. “And why would any man in his right mind even think to protest?”
She didn’t seem at all offended by his sarcasm. “I can see that you don’t believe me,” she said, a hint of dry humor in her voice. “But I know my meddling little brother better than he knows himself. I recognized that look in his eyes when he left us in here alone.”
“You have a delightfully warped imagination,” he told her politely.
She wriggled uncomfortably, then settled herself. “Well, I suppose you would doubt he’s capable of such a thing. However, I must confide to you that Michael spent the better part of his school years dragging home friends and attempting to match me up.”
Alex frowned down at her legs. “How long ago did this happen to you? He never mentioned it to me.”
She brushed her hands over her skirts, then clamped her fingers around her book as if to still them. “A scant two months before Michael left us. That would make it eight months, two weeks and four days ago, but who’s counting?”
“You are, obviously. So this matchmaking of his is not a result of…” Meaningfully, he glanced at her legs again.
She scoffed. “No. You have the dubious distinction of being the first nonambulatory candidate he has presented. I will concede he has always attempted to choose carefully.”
“So, should we tie the knot and roll through life together in our Bath chairs?”
Her eyes flew wide.
“A jest,” he assured her with a grin. “Don’t you ever laugh? How else have you borne that brother of yours?”
She did laugh then, and Alex joined her. That was how her father and brother found them.
Alex was ready to kill Michael the next time he got within reach. But for now he hid his frown and winked at Amalie. The sight of her dimples provided his reward for enduring this farce.
“Well!” Michael crowed. “You two certainly are getting on famously! Somehow I knew you would.” He looked to his father, probably for his approval.
The baron frowned from Alex to his daughter and back again, distinctly uncomfortable and at an obvious loss for words. Worried, was he?
Alex wondered how the man would tactfully explain to Michael in their presence that this would be a match from hell? His only daughter and a crippled ex-soldier who was a Scot to boot? It should prove interesting.
Alex wondered if the hired coach was still outside resting the team and whether he could get to the damned thing without a push. There was no place on earth he’d rather not be right now, save a battlefield or the presence of his mother-in-law.
Chapter Two
Amalie had recovered from her mirth enough to notice the muscle ticking in the Scottish captain’s jaw. He played well at hiding his anger and kept his wits about him. Knowing firsthand how difficult that was, she admired it enormously.
He was a handsome fellow. More than that, really. He seemed imbued with strength of character, if she was not mistaken, and was certainly blessed with a ready sense of humor. He had remained congenial even though she had purposely offended him with her questions to see how he would react. She had seen compassion and understanding, rather than pity, in those deep green eyes of his. Of course, he would know what pity was like and must hate it, too.
If she could enlist his aid, she meant to teach that misguided brother of hers a lesson or two. Didn’t she have enough to endure without putting up with Michael’s machinations?
Feigning a short fit of coughing, she motioned across the room to where decanters were set out with brandy and sherry. As she knew he would, Michael dashed over to pour her a glass. Her father followed to get one of his own, another predictable occurrence.
While they were occupied, Amalie leaned closer to the captain, her hand hiding a whisper. “Play this out with me. Father will have