The Quaker and the Rebel by Mary Ellis Page A

voice?” she whispered.
    He furrowed his eyebrows. “Are you afraid I will mention you went riding in a completely inappropriate costume with your petticoats showing?”
    Emily bit the inside of her cheek. “No. I simply don’t want Mrs.Bennington to know I had…wandered so far off-track from Martinsburg.”
    “You were definitely beyond the reach of a casual ride. Some might be curious as to what you were doing. But since the girls are in Paris, I imagine you have much free time on your hands when Aunt Augusta rests.” Again he laughed as though greatly amused.
    The sound was starting to grate on her nerves. She offered her sternest, most schoolmarmish scowl.
    “Don’t worry, Miss Harrison. Your secret is safe with me. I’ll never tell a soul you left Martinsburg for the afternoon and somehow ended up in Berryville.” Then he added, more to the potted hibiscus than to her, “My uncle said you were a fireball.”
    “I shouldn’t keep you from your other guests and, frankly, I’ve grown weary of this conversation.” She scrunched her nose, sniffed, and turned away.
    But he was too quick for her. Alexander trapped her against a pillar behind her with his palms flat on both sides of her head.
    “Do I vex you, Miss Harrison? Or maybe I tempt you to do something spontaneous?”
    “No, Mr. Hunt, you do not. I like my actions to be well thought out,” she snapped, trying not to breathe in his heady scent. Matthew had smelled no different than any other farmer, not like this exotic blend of spicy shaving balm and pomade. She slipped down the pillar and prayed her knees wouldn’t buckle from anxiety. “Does this method usually work for you? Do women usually find this kind of effrontery charming?”
    “I daresay, more often than not they do.”
    “Then I shall be a new experience for you.” Emily ducked under his arm to escape.
    “Wait, please,” he begged. “Let me at least sign your dance card. You cannot refuse your host.”
    “I have no dance card, sir. I don’t plan to indulge in dancing.”
    “Because due to your Quaker religious convictions you never learned how?”
    “I didn’t say that. Miss Turner taught me the basics, but I choose not to participate in ridiculous frivolity.” She picked up her voluminous skirt, but he wouldn’t be put off so easily.
    He took her arm with a gentle but firm grasp. “My aunt will be crushed when she learns you treated your host with such unwarranted hostility. Were you raised by a pack of wolves, Miss Harrison?”
    That was the last straw. Emily rose up on tiptoes to almost be on eye level with him. “My mother raised me to have manners no different than any of these silly Virginia belles.”
    “Is that so? But a lady would indulge her host in his simple request…”
    “Fine, we shall dance,” said Emily through gritted teeth. Taking his arm with a gloved hand, she allowed herself to be led into the crowd. Once on the floor, however, she couldn’t keep up as he tried to guide her through a reel. She found herself taking extra steps which threw off their rhythm. It was as if her legs were a yard too short or she’d grown a third foot.
    When she glanced down at her feet for the fourth time, Alexander put a finger under her chin and lifted her face. “You’re too tense and stiff. I know you can dance, so allow yourself to relax. I promise not to bite you.” His voice was gentle, his smile no longer mocking.
    Emily grew transfixed by his deeply set gray eyes, mesmerized by their fathomless depth. A woman would kill to be blessed with lashes like those. But with a strong jaw, high cheekbones, and sharp aquiline nose, his face held no softness. His features had a hawklike appearance, softened only by his hair falling lazily over his forehead. Matthew would roar with laughter at his dandified clothing. All he needs is a walking stick to be the perfect fop.
    “A penny for your thoughts, Miss Harrison.”
    “I was just…admiring your attire, Mr.