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Samantha had to admit he was a handsome devil—tall and broad-shouldered, with jet black hair, and his deep voice was almost musical. She’d bet he was a good singer. In uniform, he probably looked distinguished. A peculiar thrill stole up her spine and settled in a very private place.
Fanning herself, their mother blushed profusely. “Adela Hindley, Sergeant,” she replied. “I haven’t seen you here before. Are you new?”
Samantha rolled her eyes at her mother’s gauche inquiry, but the man didn’t seem offended.
“Yes. Transferred from Bristol.”
“I suppose you see more crime there. We’re very law-abiding here in Aust.”
Cullen pursed his lips in reply.
Samantha felt obliged to intervene since it seemed her mother had forgotten about introducing them. “Samantha Hindley, sir,” she said, “and my sister, Grace.”
“Samantha,” he replied in the seductive voice that echoed in her belly. He then nodded to her sister. “Grace.”
Heat rose in her face. He’d definitely said their names differently, but she could detect no hint of lechery in his mesmerizing blue eyes. She should be relieved not to be seated with a philanderer, but perhaps he didn’t find her attractive.
When her father returned to the table with their glasses of punch, Sgt. Cullen offered his hand and introduced himself again.
“Bill Hindley,” her father replied, accepting the handshake. “I see you’ve already met my wife and daughters.”
“Yes. You’re lucky to have so many beautiful females in your family.”
Had his gaze rested on Samantha for the briefest moment? She dragged her eyes away from his stunning good looks. She was an engaged woman, for heaven’s sake. What would Brock think of her behavior?
She snorted involuntarily, drawing her mother’s censorious eye. “Sorry,” she whispered, hoping Sgt. Cullen hadn’t heard the unladylike noise. He probably thought she was an immature child, so she fluttered her left hand over the pearls at her neck so he couldn’t fail to notice the sapphire engagement ring. Such as it was. Brock had explained that a young barrister couldn’t afford diamonds.
If Cullen noticed the ring, his bored expression didn’t change, but she was strangely sorry she’d flaunted it.
The village band announced an English country dance. Samantha sighed. In the nearby cities of Gloucester and Bristol, men and women would be partnering in the waltz. But in Aust, they were to gad about doing the Barley Mow.
Her father stood and helped his wife to her feet. “Come on, girls.”
Samantha didn’t relish the thought of barn dancing in her crinoline, but it was better than sitting all evening. “Will you join the dance?” she asked the policeman when he made no move to rise.
“I don’t dance, Samantha,” he replied.
She allowed her father to pull her along, unsettled by Cullen's reply. The use of her given name was rather forward, but she sensed a note of regret in his voice.
It was a pity. Being twirled around a dance floor in Sgt. Cullen's arms would be exhilarating.
“Ouch,” Grace exclaimed when Samantha stepped on her foot.
* * *
Parker inhaled deeply as he watched Miss Samantha Hindley. He couldn’t explain the thrill of hope that had shot through him when he’d first set eyes on her. It wasn’t as if she were the prettiest girl in the place, nor the most fashionably dressed, but there was something about those intriguing eyes—so dark a brown they might almost be black. A potent combination with the blonde hair, not to mention perfect breasts that strained against the confines of the modest dress.
An insistent voice kept telling him she was the one, but another, saner voice pointed out she was engaged to another man, a fact she’d made sure he was aware of. Was it a sign of his desperate loneliness that he was jealous of a man he’d never met?
If he could dance…
He snorted at his own folly. He’d likely lose his balance and crash into one of the other dancers. He envisioned the whole ensemble tumbling like a house of cards.
On the other hand, if it was a waltz, he could draw Miss Samantha Hindley’s body closer to his and…
He clenched his fists. Do what? Ask her to help him stay upright? Coming to the ball had been a bad idea, but it was as well to stay in the chief constable’s good books. Another ludicrous notion—there was no future with a small constabulary in the middle of nowhere.
He’d be an inspector by now if he’d stayed in Bristol instead of being invalided out to the sticks. A bad leg didn’t mean his brain had stopped functioning. Her Glorious Majesty might be alive thanks to him but he’d been buried in Aust. It was fortunate his uncle had taken a house here for the duration of the bridge project, but once that was over…not that Judson Cullen was much company on the rare occasions they saw each other.
