Do not think that word in the same sentence as him, you ninny. Not when the man’s legs are…bare.
The man’s wearing a dress.
A kilt. A kilt which showed off his knees, and occasionally, she’d noticed, his thighs. His bare thighs, nude…
Oh dear.
His hand was on her back in a completely acceptable position, so why did it feel as if her entire being were centered there, slightly below her shoulder blades, the warmth of his touch?—
Oh! Now he had her hand.
And then they were dancing, and she was trying to make her brain shut up.
Impossible.
“Olive, I’d like to apologize for offending ye.” His voice was low, intimate.Gentle. “It’d be easier if I kenned what I’d done wrong.”
Well, that was reasonable, she supposed.
Luckily, the waltz was the only dance she knew effortlessly—really, it was simple enough a trained hedgehog could do it—so she didn’t have to concentrate on her steps.
No, you can concentrate on what it feels like to beheldby him.
“You are a charming and handsome man, as I am sure you know, Mr. Oliphant.” She attempted to keep her tone blunt, cool. “But you would do better with the truth.”
When he frowned, she saw the confusion in his hazel eyes. “I dinnae lie to ladies.”
“Mr. Oliphant?—”
“Phineas,” he corrected her, as he spun her about. “Please?”
“Mr. Oliphant,” she repeated firmly, trying to remind her traitorous desire he was a fraud, “we are not all fluffer-headed idiots who will pretend to be impressed.”
“Olive, I’ve never lied to a lady.” He paused, pressed his lips together, then shrugged. “Except to Athena when she was sixteen and I told her orange was a marvelous color for her complexion.”
Oh, her heart. He teased his little sister about something so innocuous?
What are you doing? You’re angry at him, remember?
“You are lying even now,” she gently coaxed, trying to get him to confess. “I know you lied about your exploits at dinner. Your sister has told me you are a bit of a scholar, which I admire and would impress me as is.”
There, that was simple enough. She’d let him know he’dhadhis chance to impress her but had squandered it with lies.
He was quiet as he spun her through another turn, his hand strong on her back, keeping her safe and close. Perhaps it wasn’t the fact she knew the dance, but his leadership, which made this feel so effortless?
Finally, he asked quietly, “Ye think I lied about my adventures? Ye dinnae think I’ve been to southeast Asia?”
It was the wounded air to his question which had her sniffing in defense. “Perhaps you have, sir, but the tale you told me was straight from episode twelve of Aberdeen Jones’sAdventures.”
The man stumbled, likely in shock.
She gentled her tone. “You see, sadly for you at least, I am an admirer of Aberdeen Jones as well. I would have much rather discussed our mutual admiration for the man’s exploits than have you lie to me.”
Instead of answering, Phineas swung her out of the crush of dancing couples, into the lee of a potted palm. It didn’t offer privacy from the rest of the room, but at least she could peer up at him without all that twirling around.
Instead of releasing her, he took both her hands in his and stood before her with his head bowed, as if studying their clasped hands. As if working out what he wanted to say.
Finally, without looking up, he asked quietly. “Ye’ve read Aberdeen Jones’sAdventures?”
