Instead, he lifted his hand and touched Margaret’s chin lightly, guiding her face toward his as though adjusting her line of sight. The movement was unhurried, and her breath caught, barely audible beneath the fading rain. He leaned closer, so much so that their foreheads nearly touched.
“What are you doing?” she murmured.
“What I please,” he replied quietly.
Her lips curved faintly.
“You are relentless. There will be scandal.”
“They are all otherwise occupied, believe me.”
The couple passed, their conversation lowering as they moved beyond the tree. Nathaniel did not immediately withdraw his hand. He was aware of everything now; the damp air, the faint warmth of her skin beneath his fingertips, the narrowing space between them. Her eyes searched his, and her hand rose as though to steady herself against the trunk of the oak, but instead it rested lightly against his sleeve.
He felt the contact more sharply than he expected.
The garden beyond them had quieted. Guests were returning to their positions, prepared to act as though nothing had happened at all. Still, neither moved.
“If you continue,” she said under her breath, “they will assume more than courtship.”
“Would that trouble you?”
She hesitated.
“No,” she said. “But the trouble that it would cause certainly would.”
“Then we should not linger too long.”
“And yet,” she replied, not moving, “you have not stepped back.”
“Nor have you.”
A drop of water fell from the leaves above, tracing a cool path along her temple. Without thinking, he brushed it away. His thumb paused near her cheek. The rain had stopped entirely now, and the world waited.
He became aware that if he leaned even slightly forward, there would be no ambiguity left to the moment, no plausible pretense. She knew it too, and he knew it by the way her breathing had slowed rather than quickened.
“We should return,” she said quietly.
“Yes.”
Nathaniel let his hand fall first. The absence of contact felt abrupt. Margaret straightened, smoothing the front of her gown as though nothing unusual had occurred. Composure returned to her features with impressive speed. He admired that. They stepped out from beneath the oak together.
Conversations reignited around them. A footman hurried past with fresh linens, and the scent of damp grass rose into the clearing air. As they rejoined the path, Margaret glanced at him once.
“That was unnecessary,” she said.
“Yes.”
She held his gaze for a fraction longer than politeness required.
“Dangerously so,” she added.
He allowed himself the faintest smile.
“I am aware. Did you dislike it?”
She did not answer, which in itself was a response, and the one he wanted to receive at that. They resumed their measured pace through the garden, once again visible, once again composed, and as the sun began to break through the clouds, Nathaniel found himself reluctant to surrender the privacy the rain had given them.
Normalcy had returned, but he was not entirely certain he wished it had.
