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“Today?” His eagerness nourished her own, but one of them must use sense. She placed a hand to his chest and pushed him away, failing to keep a grin from her mouth or her voice. “We haven’t time. Tomorrow is soon enough, and even then we will not have waited for banns to be read.”
Determined, hungry, playful, he kept his eyes on her. “There is plenty of time.”
“Nay, there is not.”
He reached for her. “There is.”
She backed away, hand outstretched as she laughed. “Nay.” Joseph lunged for her, and she batted his hand away. “Joseph!”
“Miss Young?”
All the air evaporated, and she whirled at the sound of her name to see Stockton standing inside the parlor. His set jaw and hard eyes made her stomach turn. How much had he seen?
She could feel the blood retreating from her head. Her hands went clammy, and she wiped them against her skirt. “Aye, sir?”
His expression morphed to a scowl as only his eyes went past her to Joseph, who stood behind. “Is everything all right?”
Clearing her throat, she moved toward Stockton, hoping he would take her approach as a boon to his ego. “I am glad to see you, sir. May I get you some breakfast?”
Stare unmoving like an aimed weapon, he answered her. “Nay, I thank you.” Finally his eyes went to her. “But I’m in need of your help. I’ve a letter to dictate.”
“Of course.” Not looking back, she went straight to the desk, her side vision taking in the lancing glare that Stockton threw to Joseph.
Joseph spoke from the kitchen. “I shall see to the work in the foundry.”
Silent, Stockton didn’t move until Joseph exited and the kitchen door closed. “Miss Young, you look flushed. Are you sure you are well?”
She placed a hand at her cheek. Aye, she was flushed. More from panic than from anything else, though perhaps she could use this to her advantage. “Oh…” Sighing with a quick look over her shoulder, she shrugged. “I’m only overtired, I suppose.”
The writing desk beckoned her to take refuge at its station, and she obliged, sitting quickly.
“The ball is this evening.” Stockton stood directly behind her. “I should hate for you to be unable to attend.”
There was too much truth in his words. Hannah twisted in her seat, feigning weariness. “My faculties will rally, I am sure.”
He shook his head. “After this, I insist upon you resting.”
“But, sir, the day has only just begun—”
“No arguments.” His words edged with demand, his eyes with dominance. Had she missed that before? Nay, ’twas now only more clear because of what Joseph had told her last eve. Her spine cinched when he commanded the rest. “You will retire to your room the remainder of the day.” He tried to ease the rising tension with a
light sigh. “Besides, I know women take their toilette for fancy affairs as quite a ritual. I would not wish you to think I expect my clothes laundered on such a day.”
She looked away, pulling a slip of paper from the drawer. “You are generous, Major.”
“I am selfish.” He chuckled to make light of words that she knew to be true. “I wish the woman on my arm to be at her best, for I daresay there shall be none in the room to match you.”
Selfish indeed.
Leaping over the comment with naught but a civil glance across her shoulder, she dipped her quill in the inkwell. “Shall we begin?”
“Aye.” He turned his back to her, his typical haughty stance pulling him rigid, his arms behind his back. “General Howe, I have received your report and concur with your assessment of the men, but must advise against your suggested advance on Dorchester Heights. Unless it can be done swiftly and before Washington is able to secure it, I believe such would likely be an inevitable and futile repeat of the disaster at Bunker Hill.”
He stopped there, and she knew he peered at her from the way his shoes shifted over the floor. She scrambled to finish the rest, her heart thrashing behind her ribs. Dorchester Heights?
“Have you got it?”
She quickly scrolled the rest and dipped her quill again with a nod. “Aye, sir.”
