Rescuing Mr. Gracey by Eileen K. Barnes Read Free Book Online Page A

ridiculous. Bewildered.
    Vulnerable.
    “How ’bout a dance, Miss Mary?”
    Relief washed over all other thoughts as Mary shifted to Sean. Mr. Alexander could take care of himself. She must be about her future.
    Remembering all the written instructions from her sister, Mary allowed her lashes to sweep down, then up again while displaying a well-practiced smile that was both sensual and mysterious.
    Sean’s face blushed. His own smile broadened.
    Look at that. Bridget knew what she was talking about. Batting her lashes, she said in a soft voice, “I would love to dance, Sean.”
    “Ya look mighty fine this night, Miss Mary,” he said, extending his hand to escort her to the floor. Admiring eyes lingered on her hair. “Ya rarely have yar hair down. ’Tis pleasin’ ta the eye.”
    “ I thank you, Sean. I was hoping you would like it.” Keep going, Mary Smyth. You can do this. “You look grand yourself.” Was she trying too hard? The arrival of Mr. Alexander forced boldness.
    Sean’s smile expanded as he escorted her to the dance area, then placed a strong, firm hand upon her waist. Mary felt very satisfied that Sean, unlike the stranger, knew exactly how to spin and twirl, and inside his arms, she felt comfortable and natural. Even his smaller, more compact size soothed her previously rattled nerves. Who needed someone who towered with height, stunned with a smile, and intimidated with his masculine appeal? Sean did none of that, but he was perfect for her.
    As they made their last swirl, Sean joked about a dancer who looked as if he were stuck in a muddy field. She laughed, but worried that he was referring to Mr. Alexander. Just then, she was bumped in her back. Turning to accept the mumbled apology, she froze.
    The crowd faded; the night disappeared. Sean’s attributes melted inside the vortex of Mr. Alexander’s intense blue eyes.
    “Will you go round again, Miss Mary?”
    Mr. Alexander simultaneously asked, “May I claim the next dance?”
    Swallowing, she clutched the arm of her friend. Be about your courtship, Mary Smyth. “I am sorry, sir, I promised another round to Mr. Dennison.”
    Sean smiled and tugged her into the middle of the floor. The next set was a long dance of skips and hops where the couple never parted hands, perfect for conversation and flirtation. Ever more intent on getting a courtship from her farmer, she concentrated on every tool given her by Bridget. When he joked, she laughed. Each admiring comment or glance he gave, she rewarded with fluttery lashes. Any bit of conversation or topic he brought up, she asked questions and probed with interest.
    The dance set ended, and Mary, hopeful that he might lead her toward the bench beneath the tree for quiet conversation, smiled patiently. As if he had been away too long from his friends, Sean turned and waved to a group of farmers. “Excuse me, Miss Mary. I needed to talk with William.”
    Her jaw dropped, and Mary watched Sean stride away without so much as a glance back at her.
    Wait until I tell Bridget her tricks are worthless, Mary thought, folding her arms tight against her chest. Pressing her lips together, she was trying to recall if she had missed some important instruction from her sister when a strong hand curled about her elbow and urged her toward the dance floor.
    “Sir. Excuse me,” she said, trying to dig her heels against the powerful forward momentum.
    “Madam, you must know that I am here for one reason, and I am determined to pursue that purpose.” Mr. Alexander leaned near, his voice just a whisper. “You have nothing to fear from me, Miss Smyth, unless you refuse me this dance.”
    The fiddle began the slow, pulsing bars. A waltz? Her traitorous body reacted immediately with thumping heart and trembling hands.
    His one-sided smile teased her. “I’ve arranged with the band to play a song with which I am familiar, and I hope to recover a bit of pride.”
    She was stiff as a soldier facing a firing squad, her