Page 9
Look away, you beef-witted numbskull.
Two young ladies entered the balcony, and Miss Brockman and Mrs. Brockman turned in their direction. Breathing a sigh of relief, Caspian sent a covert glance around, hoping no one had noticed his gaping.
People had, including Brockman.
Brockman cocked a derisive brow but tactfully refrained from pointing out the obvious.
Caspian had been staring at Miss Brockman like a wet-behind-the-ears milksop. He did not gape at women. Especially young marriage-minded misses who bloodied men’s noses.
He’d meant to seek out that coveted quiet spot until supper but instead, after excusing himself from his highly amused hostess, went searching for Brockman.
What prompted Caspian to do so, he refused to examine.
Certainly not a desire to wangle an introduction to his friend’s sister.
He opened his mouth to tell Brockman of the incident with Parnell-Calloway, then thought better of it. If Miss Corinna Brockman wanted her brother to know she popped a fellow’s cork, she’d tell him. Caspian would seem a tattlemonger should he spread the tale, and he didn’t want her thinking ill of him.
Why?
She’d soon learn of his reputation—the dark accusation that he’d killed his family for the title. There was not a whit of truth in the speculation, but fabricated twaddle was far more titillating than reality.
“You wanted to say something, Strathmore?” Brockman took a sip of his champagne.
“I… Umm, I…” Caspian swore inwardly. He was making a hash of this, stuttering like an imbecile. “I would like to ask your sister to dance but need an introduction first.”
Brockman gave him a long, measured look before finishing off his champagne and relinquishing the flute to a passing footman. “May I ask why?”
Why?
Caspian didn’t know why.
Because Corinna Brockman intrigued him?
She hadn’t averted her gaze from his scar?
She dared give a churl a facer for being too forward?
Because just now, she had met his gaze unflinching but not wantonly?
Pinching his nose for a second, Caspian gave a sheepish grin. “Because not many women are willing to partner me. I supposed your sister might be molded from the same character as you and wouldn’t pass judgment without knowing all of the facts.”
Brockman’s features softened, and he slapped Caspian’s shoulders. “Be warned, my friend. Corinna is not your typical miss. She’s unique, headstrong, and has an unswayable sense of justice. She’s endured much criticism and ridicule for her independent ways and thinking.”
The esteem Brockman held for his sister colored his voice and softened his features.
“Yet you admire her for those very things?” From the corner of his eye, Caspian caught three stuffy gentlemen observing him. None wore polite or welcoming expressions.
They regarded him as an intruder—someone unfit for their prestigious company. Well, they could kiss his… erm. They could take their self-righteousness and choke on it.
God knew the truth. Brockman and a few others did too.
That was enough for Caspian.
“I do admire Corinna’s intrepidness.” Brockman nodded and scratched his chin. “I confess, however, I don’t always agree with her methods.”
Perhaps, as an outsider herself, Miss Brockman might empathize with Caspian’s plight. Maybe that was why he’d sensed an immediate connection with her.
“Don’t do anything I’ll make you regret.” Though Brockman’s tenor was friendly, an unmistakable thread of flint edged his words and the contours of his face hardened.
