“Don’t be ludicrous. The auction hasn’t even begun yet.” Charity picked up the candelabra as if her brother required tangible evidence and, after waving it about, gently replaced it. “Besides, it appears whatever you said to Mr. Parker has caused him to flee. Can we not enjoy the rest of the evening?”
“I will enjoy nothing until I know you are safe.” He reached for her arm. “Now come along.”
Charity flashed Juliet a wide-eyed plea to do something.
But what?
On impulse alone, Juliet sidestepped between the two, staring directly into Henry’s eyes. “Dance with me.”
The bold request dangled in the air between them, too preposterous to ignore. She might as well have asked him to perform a minuet across a graveyard. He blinked, lips parting as if to reply, yet nothing came out.
And no wonder. She couldn’t have said anything more herself if the King commanded it. What had possessed her to suggest such a thing? He was her employer, not some lovesick beau.
“I …” He cleared his throat. Whatever he’d intended to say died an inglorious death on his lips, the look on his face completely inscrutable.
“Go on, Henry.” Charity’s fingers shooed him away over Juliet’s shoulder. “I shall find Clara and be well tended. Put your mind on something else.”
He stared at Juliet, a slight downturn to his mouth, as if he could not believe he’d been put in such an impossible situation. She ought not even be here pretending to be a lady of status—and they both knew it. But then, surprisingly, the hard line of his jaw softened slightly, as did the intensity of the green in his eyes, though he still said nothing. He was too much of a gentleman to refuse her outright.
Juliet forced her mouth into a smile, though it probably looked more like a grimace. “If you would rather not, I shall be happy to—”
Before she could finish tossing him a verbal lifeline, he pivoted with grace, his elbow crooking. “Would you do me the honour of taking a turn with me on the dance floor, Miss Finch?”
His voice was deeper than usual, more of a rumble. All in all, it was a proper invitation, but one coerced by her own rash tongue. She ought to politely decline and release him from any obligation he might feel. And she would have, were it not for the nudge from Charity causing her to stumble forwards.
Reluctantly, she perched her fingers atop his sleeve, and the moment she did so, he strode off with long steps as if to war.She double-timed to keep up with him, tension radiating off him in waves. His arm was a steel beam beneath her touch. Either her suggestion to dance had irritated him beyond measure, or he was still wound tightly from his conversation with Mr. Parker. Judging by the way he scanned the ballroom with a razor-sharp gaze, it was likely the latter.
The first strains of a waltz filled the air. Couples gathered, ladies’ gowns floating across the expanse like flower petals caught in a swirl of water. Henry stopped just past the ring of onlookers, so preoccupied she doubted he even registered the scene—or her.
She squeezed his arm, hoping to draw him out of his dark thoughts. “Be at ease. Mr. Parker is gone.”
“Maybe so.” His eyes narrowed as he swept the room for a final time before returning his attention to her. “But his threats linger.”
Without warning, he grabbed her hand, his other arm snaking around her back, then pulled her into position as if she were a dragon to wrestle. His first pivot swung her wildly around, his grip relentless as he guided her through the turn.
She frowned up at him, fighting to keep her balance. “Do you always dance like a barbarian?”
He peered down the length of his nose at her, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. “You think me a philistine, do you?”
In this moment, absolutely, and she almost recanted of her earlier wish to be the recipient of his passion. But it wasn’t her who had incited such harsh behaviour.
“I think”—she paused as he turned her once again—“that you bear the world on your shoulders when it is not yours to carry.”
His steps slowed slightly, his palm pressing a little lighter against hers as their alternate arms rose, framing an arch over their heads. “My world holds precious cargo I would not seedamaged.” His voice was husky with emotion that surely came from a very deep well.
Her breath tangled someplace between her ribs and her heart. Oh, to be the one who inspired such devotion. “Your sister is a lucky woman.”
“I do not speak of only her.”
Her heart raced at the way he looked at her.
He bent nearer and whispered, “I lied, you know.”
“About what?” Oomph. Was that squeak really her voice?
“When I said I would enjoy nothing until I knew Charity was safe.” His breath feathered against her neck, spreading a wildfire through her veins. “I am enjoying this immensely.”
A softhumphsnorted out of her. “I bet you say that to all the poachers.”
