Red Clover Inn

Next to them, dancing with her new husband, Samantha laughed. “She has no idea, Greg. She doesn’t watch much television.”

Neither did he. Finally something they had in common, even if he had heard of Dancing with the Stars.

The harpsichord music or whatever it was ended and switched to rock—or something. It wasn’t loud, but Greg could make out a beat and that worked for him. He didn’t recognize the song playing but Charlotte looked as if she didn’t, either.

“I love to dance,” she said. “I don’t get much opportunity. I’ve never had a lesson. I really might step on your feet.”

“Just follow my lead,” he said.

“You’ve had lessons?”

“My grandmother insisted. I did lessons at Lady Bella’s Ballroom Dancing School when I was twelve.”

“Torture?”

“Getting shot was nothing in comparison.”

He felt her stiffen. “Don’t make jokes about such a thing.”

“Only way to get through it. For me, anyway.”

And that was all they had a chance to say. He had to concentrate or he’d bump into someone or trip over his own feet trying to avoid hers, and the music, the atmosphere—everything was great. Pretty, uptight Charlotte Bennett didn’t exactly loosen up, but she was smart and fit and seemed to enjoy herself.

“Woo-hoo,” Brody, hopelessly obnoxious, shouted from his table. “Go, Greg.”

Charlotte flushed, whether from the attention or exertion, Greg couldn’t tell. “Ignore him,” he said in a low voice.

But the Bennetts noticed she was dancing and gave way, creating a semicircle around her and Greg. In another moment, they had the dance floor to themselves. Samantha was clapping. “You go, Charlotte!”

“Families” was all she said, with a slight smile.

It took some work but Greg, remembering his instructions from back in the day, took a firm lead, getting her to focus on him and not their audience. He had no trouble focusing on her. Nothing to do with dance lessons, either.

When the song ended, everyone clapped. Charlotte laughed, waving to her family, taking a slight bow. “Thank Greg for keeping me on my feet.”

“Thank you, Greg,” the young Bennett cousins chimed in unison.

He kissed Charlotte on the cheek. “Dancing with the Stars is next for you. Look it up.”

Another song started, and she smiled. “One dance was plenty for me in these shoes.”

“Told you to kick them off.”

“I will should I ever dance again in this lifetime. It was fun. Was it fun for you, too?”

“More fun than a 10K run in the desert for sure. I resisted looking down your dress and patting your butt, seeing how your family was watching.”

She sighed. “Good of you.”

“I know deep down you’re disappointed. Rest assured that I was tempted, but I’m a man of great discipline and control.”

“As evidenced last night when you passed out in the pub.”

“I fell asleep. There’s a difference. More fun to dance than to explore sunken wrecks?”

“That’s my work.”

“And your work is your life, isn’t it?”

She didn’t answer and instead excused herself to go in search of strawberries and chocolate. Greg headed back to his table. Brody didn’t make a smart remark, even without Heather having a hand over his mouth to keep it shut. “Nice job,” he said when Greg sat down. “Top agent and a top dancer.”

“You’re always full of surprises,” Heather said. “Samantha mentioned that Charlotte’s heading home to the US for a bit and plans to stay at the old inn my family is renovating. Justin and Samantha are in the process of moving in from the cabin where they’ve been staying. It’ll be good to have someone look after the place while they’re on their honeymoon. Charlotte will be on her own. A good chunk of my family’s staying in England to see the sights, but I’m sure she’ll find ways to amuse herself. I gather she’s been working nonstop for months.”

Brody’s eyes narrowed on Greg. “Have you backed out of going?”

“Nope. Knights Bridge sounds good. Better and better.”

His friend’s gaze darkened. “Greg...”

“Relax. I’ll behave.”

Heather frowned. “What are you two talking about? Did I miss something?”

“Not a thing,” Greg said.

“I’ll explain later,” Brody said. “Let’s go find your nephews before they tear up the place.”

Greg wandered to the outdoor bar. He was ordering a beer when two buff men in their midthirties arrived. They weren’t wedding guests. They greeted Samantha and Justin, apparently wishing them well, and then spoke for a few minutes with Malcolm and Francesca Bennett, Samantha’s parents. As they started out, the taller one, a serious stud of a guy, shot Charlotte a scathing look. She went deadly pale. Ten seconds ago, Greg would have said it was impossible. The Bennetts were all watching her and the guy, as if they were holding their breath for something to erupt between them.

Then it was over. The two men left without incident.

Greg, trained to observe a crowd, wasn’t sure how many people noticed the tension between Charlotte and the drop-ins. Brody Hancock and Eric Sloan probably would have if they’d been paying attention.

Pint in hand, Greg eased next to Isaac, the Amherst-bound Bennett. “The swaggering studs,” Greg said. “Who were they?”

Isaac grinned. “They did swagger, didn’t they? They’re contract divers. They did a few dives on the submarine project with Uncle Malcolm and Aunt Francesca. The tall one with the dark hair is Tommy Ferguson. I don’t know the other guy’s name.”

“How do you know Ferguson?”

“He’s the SOB who left Charlotte at the altar. No, wait. It’s the other way around. She left him at the altar.”

“When was this?” Greg asked.

“Last spring. I think it was spring. I was still in school. My junior year. So it’s over a year ago now.”

Greg took a drink of his beer. Well, this was interesting. “Our boy Tommy was in his tux, waiting for his bride-to-be to walk down the aisle, and she bolted?”

“She never showed up. It’s okay. They both say it wasn’t meant to be. Tommy’s over it.”