Chapter Twenty-One
The room spun,but they hadn’t yet begun to dance. Graham set his hand on her lower back, and she placed one hand on his shoulder, the muscles shifting under her fingers.
Their other hands were clasped together, and the tension rose as they waited for the first steps to begin. With her weight on her toes in anticipation of that first step, she could not look at him, not right now. She knew her cheeks were flushed, her pulse racing like a hare, and he would notice these things, but she could not look him in the eye, so she stared at his throat. He had three freckles that dotted the right side of his neck. He had a superb jaw line, cut like a Roman god, and she could see the stubble of his hair just under his skin. All things she’d never noticed before. Such ordinary things, but they seemed to smooth the edges he’d used so bluntly on her over the years. She had molded him into such a monstrous figure in her mind—a cold, unfeeling block of stone—and yet there was something so human about those freckles, that beard stubble. He’d be quite hairy if he didn’t shave. What would he look like with a beard?
The music began, and he stepped forward. Caught off guard, Amelia nearly stumbled, but he tugged her close, lifting heragainst him just enough to catch her feet once more as they went into a turn.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“Yes, I was just taken by surprise. I was thinking.”
“About what?”
She hesitantly peered up at him. “What you’d look like with a beard.”
He half-smiled. “A beard? Like my father, I suppose.”
“Your father has a beard?”
“He grew it this last year. My mother hates it.”
Amelia bit her lip. He danced so easily, without effort, and so lightly that they floated across the floor.
“You dance exceptionally well,” she admitted.
“Alston danced with you when you were learning, correct?”
“Yes,” she smiled, the fond memories stirring her joy.
“It was the same with Daisy and me. I had to stand in for many lessons. Mother said it was for my improvement, as well.”
“Ah, so my brother’s excellent dancing skills are thanks to me. I’ll remind him of that.”
Graham smiled, but it slipped away. A heavy cloud of melancholy fell over them both as they turned. At that moment, Amelia guessed they were both thinking of Sam. He wouldn’t want them to do so. If he were there he’d say something ridiculous to bring levity to the moment.
“Can you imagine what he would say if he saw us now?”
Graham’s smile returned, and he laughed. “He’d swear we were up to some scheme concocted by you, and you were blackmailing me to go along with it.”
“Blackmailing you? With what?” Amelia asked eagerly. “What could you possibly have done? Chip a teacup?”
His gaze caught hers, shining with amusement. “Think of something. What could I do that’s worth blackmail?”
Amelia couldn’t stop herself from smiling. This was fun. She was having fun with Graham, and they were dancing. Something extra must have been in the champagne. “I’ll have to think about that. It must be something diabolical.”
He laughed again.
“I’ve got it. You’re an elusive art thief, wanted in every country.”
He raised a skeptical brow. “An art thief?”
“Would you prefer jewels?”
“Perhaps. Easier to lug around than a painting.”
“Very well, jewels it is. At every party you attend something goes missing. Being the observant person I am, I see you pocket the duchess’s diamond brooch. I search your cloak while you’re in the study with Sam, not going over ledgers like you say, but drinking yourselves silly, and find a stash of gems. When I confront you, I demand you spend an evening with me, beingnice.”
“Nice? Is that all?”
