His hand shifted slightly at her waist, though he did not step back. She lifted her eyes to his, gesturing to the both of them in an attempt to tell him what she meant.
“Say what you mean,” he requested. “I do not quite understand.”
“I stand beside you in crowded rooms, and I hear my name spoken differently now. I feel the weight of expectation, and so much of my life has changed, and though you know everything about my situation, there are still parts of your life that remain closed to me.”
His expression did not harden.
“You should know that I do not cast judgment over your family.”
“In the same way that I would not cast it over you, and yet…”
There was quiet for a moment, the sound from the ballroom a low hum against the crickets outside.
“I went to your house,” she continued. “You were absent. And when you were there, a name was spoken as though I should know it. I was left to wonder what I do not know. I do not require every detail of your day, but I do require assurance that I am not being positioned without understanding the ground beneath me.”
His thumb moved unconsciously against the curve of her waist, as though he had forgotten his hand still rested there.
“I have never meant to place you in uncertainty,” he said, his voice having lowered further. “What remains unsaid will be said.”
“When?”
“Soon.”
She searched his face, looking for evasion. She did not find it.
“That is not what troubles me most,” she said, surprising herself.
“Then tell me.”
“I mind that I care.”
The words hung in the air between them.
“I mind that your absence unsettled me. I mind that I watched the door tonight.”
The honesty left her breath uneven. He did not smile, nor did he look triumphant. His expression shifted into something far more dangerous. His hand rose from her waist then, slowly, deliberately, as though giving her every opportunity to step away. She did not. His fingers brushed her cheek.
“Do you believe you stand alone in that feeling?” he asked, voice roughened at the edges.
“I do not know what you feel,” she answered. “That is my issue.”
His thumb traced lightly along her cheekbone, and she shuddered. It was difficulty to hold firm when she was melting beneath his touch.
“I have never watched a door before,” he said. “I must say, I find it most endearing that you did.”
The night seemed to narrow around them. Her fingers moved before she considered them, curling instinctively into the fabric of his sleeve. The contact grounded her even as it unsteadied her. The music inside swelled into another set. Laughter rose and fell beyond the doors.
His forehead lowered slightly, almost touching hers; close enough that she felt the warmth of his breath. Neither moved away. Her pulse thundered in her ears. His hand remained at her face, thumb resting just below her eye. She could feel the steadiness he tried to maintain. If she lifted her chin a fraction…
He paused, searching her expression for refusal. There was none. The space between them thinned to almost nothing, but then–
Footsteps sounded against the stone just beyond the terrace doors. A pair of guests drifted into view, laughing as they stepped outside for air. Nathaniel’s hand fell away at once. Margaret released his sleeve.
But it was already too late.
She felt it before she saw it– the shift in the air, the sharp stillness that came so suddenly. The terrace doors stood open behind them. Several guests had stepped out seeking air.
They had stopped, frozen. Nathaniel’s hand still rested against her waist. Her body stood close enough to his that any explanation would sound absurd. The intimacy between them was unmistakable, not to mention the clear possession it suggested.
