A Hero for Lady Abigail (A Wallflower's Wish #5) - Maggie Dallen Page 0,21

he imagined all of that? Was he painting her with the colors he wished to see rather than the ones that were already there?

But why would he do that? He didn’t want Abigail at all.

His body disagreed, his muscles tightening as he pictured her.

But perhaps he merely enjoyed stepping in and saving a beautiful woman in need. He did have a tendency toward playing the hero.

If they were at a different party, one where Abigail was the toast of London rather than the outcast, would he be as enamored?

The word rang in his head. Enamored? He glanced back at her, Abigail’s gaze still trained on him. Who wouldn’t be enamored? Tall and striking, she was a force of nature.

Then again, in moments like that dance, she seemed less a force and more a delicate flower with a slender stem. The beauty was there, fragile and promising to be even more stunning if only it was given the chance to bloom.

But that was the question with Abigail, wasn’t it? Would she bloom into the sort of woman who had real depth and character, or would she remain just another vapid darling of the ton?

The need to save her rose up again. He could help her.

Not with finding a husband. His gaze locked on those preening peacocks clustered together and a rumbling of dissent clogged his throat. He’d not help her attract one of those buffoons. But he could aid her in discovering the sort of woman she had the potential to be. A true rare beauty who had looks as well as heart.

His chest swelled at the very idea of the woman she could become. He was so lost in his thoughts that he nearly passed by Miss Charlotte and her mother.

“Major,” the matron called, interrupting his musings and halting his feet. “There you are, Major Mayfield. We’ve been looking for you all evening.”

He quickly disguised his grimace and tried his best to give a genuine smile. “Apologies. I was delayed in my arrival.” Now he sounded more like Abigail. The truth was, he’d been sitting in his room, attempting to sift through his thoughts and convince himself he was on the right path.

In his mind, he’d tried to return to that lake and remember why he’d so desperately needed serenity. Why he’d promised himself a life of sedate pleasure.

Because at some point over the last several months, he’d stopped craving that vision quite so much, he just hadn’t realized it. Or perhaps he hadn’t wanted to admit it.

Was he forgetting or healing?

He wasn’t the fickle sort, but it was becoming abundantly clear that he’d been clinging to the wrong dream.

“We’re glad you’re here now. I had hoped we’d dance before tonight, but we never had the opportunity.” Charlotte gave him a coquettish smile, the look in her eyes assessing. She flicked her dance card, a clear indication that she expected him to ask her to dance.

But what she’d said didn’t ring true. There had been plenty of chances for them to dance together. To become acquainted and to get to know one another. But she’d never shown the slightest interest. Not until Abigail had shown mock interest.

He didn’t respond immediately, and she repeated the gesture, her finger tapping the card.

How had he missed those subtle gestures before tonight? Her chin tipped down, hiding the calculating expression on her face.

Her quiet nature supplemented with manipulative moves.

His frown deepened as he looked at the card. He didn’t like this sort of behavior at all. Man or woman, he didn’t appreciate a person who was disingenuous. And if Charlotte had wished to dance with him before tonight, she’d had every opportunity. She had been the one who’d been difficult to catch.

Despite what everyone thought of Abigail, she’d been perfectly honest with him from the start. And while he may not have liked all of her motives, at least he knew them for what they were because she was forthright with her thoughts and feelings.

“Had you hoped we’d dance? I’m surprised, Miss Charlotte. We seemed to miss each other at every gathering.” Had that been intentional? Abigail had been right. Charlotte’s sudden interest coincided too perfectly with Abigail’s attentions. And it made him wonder if perhaps Abigail had been correct in her assessment of Miss Charlotte all along.

Her nose wrinkled. “Had we?” Then she gave him another sickly sweet smile. “Well, regardless, we’re here now.” And she flicked the card again.

He sighed, holding out his hand. He’d come here to do this very thing—dance