Brandon stopped her, cupping his palms on her elbows. He stared at her oddly, his dark eyes narrowing slightly. “Are you refusing to dance with me?” he asked.
“N-no,” she stammered. It was not her place to refuse.
Brandon divined her thoughts. “You may if you wish.”
Shannon shook her head but kept her eyes level with his chest. She stood very still. The touch of his hands on her arms burned her.
Gently, as if she were infinitely fragile, Brandon’s hands slid down her forearms until they clasped her hands lightly. “Look at me,” he said. When she lifted her face, he continued. “I would not harm you or have you harmed. Do you believe me?”
She nodded.
Brandon swallowed hard at Shannon’s uncertain, somehow hopeful smile. He squeezed her hands, afraid that she might elude his grasp. He made an elegant leg and led her through the intricate patterns of a popular country dance while Cody’s rich tenor provided the melody.
Shannon’s heart beat erratically as she tried to ignore Brandon’s touch and concentrate on the unfamiliar steps. She did not know when her feet ceased to be a concern and the magic took over, but she embraced the moment. Her natural grace asserted itself and she flowed through the movements under the tentative pressure of his hands guiding her.
Brandon intercepted Shannon’s sidelong glance and in holding it, found himself held. He was captivated by the shy violet eyes and the fan of dark lashes framing them. Her face was beautifully flushed and her mouth parted in an invitation she did not realize she had issued.
Prisms of light from the setting sun glinted off the river, and the very air seemed to sparkle and shimmer. Brandon drew her toward him in a natural progression of the dance until only a moment separated their bodies. He held her there, one arm raised, and their movements ceased. He stared at her mouth as the tip of her pink tongue came out to nervously wet her upper lip. A mouth made for kissing, he thought, wanting to touch his own to it. He was vaguely aware that Cody was no longer singing, that Clara was very quiet, and that Shannon’s breath was uneven. He blinked; a muscle worked in his cheek. With a low, tortured groan he dropped Shannon’s hand and turned on his heels, striding off the verandah in search of privacy and a long, cold soak in the James River.
Chapter 6
Shannon tugged the lavender ribbon at the end of her braid and threaded her fingers through her hair to loosen it. When she was finished she leaned back on her elbows and gave her head a little toss, lifting her face to the sun as her hair fanned her shoulders and back. Water lapped at the foot of the grassy incline where she lay. She thought about inching forward down the bank and dipping her bare feet in the river, then lazily dismissed it as not worth the effort. A bead of perspiration trickled between her breasts. Another fell down her back, tracing the length of her spine. Shannon closed her eyes. She felt as if her entire body were defined by the heavy, humid air around it. If she lived in Virginia a lifetime, she didn’t think she would ever get used to the summer heat.
She moved restlessly and then lay back. The sun seemed to burn through her closed lids. Red-orange lights danced in front of her until she flung a forearm across her eyes to shield them.
Shannon was glad Martha had suggested taking her midday meal to the riverbank. Even though the heat was oppressive, being outdoors was a relief after spending two days nursing Clara’s summer cold.
Shannon was exhausted from her efforts to amuse her charge. Clara’s even-tempered, playful disposition had vanished with the onset of the cold and the slight fever that accompanied it. She was cranky, miserable, and nothing satisfied her. Shannon held her patience with Clara but had none for anyone else. She snapped at Cody when he interrupted Clara’s nap and at Addie when she was late with Clara’s meal. She even found the courage to glare at Brandon when he warned his recalcitrant daughter in no uncertain terms that being sick was no excuse for bad manners. That was when Martha had intervened, sensing that Shannon was about to take exception to Brandon’s remarks, and practically escorted Shannon out of the nursery and pointed her in the direction of the river.
Shannon’s food lay untouched at the edge of her blanket. She fingered the edge of the basket, entertained the idea of eating, and then realized the only hunger she had was for uninterrupted sleep. Turning on her side, she gave in to her simple desire.
Brandon sat beneath the sweeping canopy of a willow, his back against the trunk, his three cornered hat pulled at an angle over his forehead. He gave the appearance of sleep, but the reality was far different. The hat shaded watchful eyes. In his stillness he was alert to the very cadence of Shannon’s breathing.
He was a self-appointed sentinel, guarding Shannon’s privacy from any invasion but his own. For nearly thirty minutes he had been watching her, and while she was undisturbed, the same could not be said of Brandon. His dark eyes had traced the slender curve of her arm, relearned the shape of her shoulder. He could have closed his eyes and formed from memory the arch of her cheekbones and the delicately pared line of her nose. Her bare throat was dewy from the heat, and a damp tendril of hair lay near her slightly parted lips. In sleep her posture was abandoned, bearing no resemblance to the shy hesitancy or correctness of manner that was part of her waking expression. One arm cushioned her cheek; the other was flung wide, palm up, a certain vulnerability in the unconscious gesture. One leg was nudged upward, taking the hem of her dove gray skirt with it and revealing the naked, finely curved line of the other. The spine she tried to keep ramrod stiff when he approached was relaxed, and her body had taken on a suppleness that Brandon wanted to explore with his palms and mold to his liking.
He shifted uncomfortably and looked away from Shannon, resting his gaze on the river. What he wanted was becoming more urgent by the minute, but he refused to let desire control him. He did not like the idea of anyone, least of all Shannon, to suspect how much he wanted her. It was torture having her at the folly, but he had learned to live with the dull pain of screws turning daily. It was nothing less than he had expected when he discovered she was not Aurora. But living, really living, without her? That was another matter entirely.
There was a stirring in the stillness of the air, and Brandon, his thoughtful gaze elsewhere, knew the slight disturbance was Shannon waking. He turned his head slowly, and then remained unmoving, waiting for her to see him first.
Shannon stretched sleepily, arching as she rolled onto her back. Her arms reached backward, above her head, and her fingers curled and uncurled. Sensation shuddered through her from the tips of her tapered fingers to the tender soles of her feet. Sitting up, she lifted her hair and rolled her neck from side to side. At last she opened her eyes. And closed them immediately.
No! She told herself she had imagined him. He was merely an apparition, and she had encouraged his existence by neglecting to eat. The solution presented itself that simply. Reaching blindly for the basket, Shannon fingered its contents and came out with a peach. She bit into it, laughing as sweet juice trickled over her lips. She licked it away unself-consciously and opened her eyes defiantly.
He was still there, smiling in that amused way of his, one corner of his mouth lifted enigmatically. She hoped her groan was not audible.
“Is it Clara?” she asked. “Is something wrong?”
Brandon stood, shook out the stiffness in his legs, and walked to the edge of Shannon’s blanket. “Clara is fine. You know, you’d be more comfortable in the shade,” he said solicitously. “Especially since you’re not used to this heat.” He leaned down and picked up her basket and started toward the willow, giving Shannon no choice but to follow if she wanted her lunch. Stunned into silence by his high-handedness, Shannon gathered her shoes, stockings, and the blanket. Brandon set the basket down and took the blanket from her hands, snapping it smoothly to the ground. Not waiting for an invitation, he sat down tailor fashion. “Do you know,” he said conversationally as Shannon knelt carefully on the edge of the blanket, “that you are like a bear with one of her cubs when it comes to protecting Clara?”
Shannon gave a little sniff, uncertain if she had been insulted. She took another bite of her peach, then wished she hadn’t because it drew Brandon’s attention to her mouth.
“It wasn’t a criticism,” he said. “Merely an observation.” He began investigating the contents of the basket. As if suddenly remembering his manners, he looked sheepishly at Shannon. “Do you mind?” At her negative reply he withdrew a chicken leg and began eating. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you raise your voice to her.”
“I’ve never found it necessary.” As an afterthought she added a shade defensively, “I’m not spoiling her.”
“If I thought you were, I’d put a stop to it. No, you deal with her admirably; still, I want you to know that your position here is not in danger if you should choose to correct her.”
“I do correct her.” She hesitated. “But I could never—”
