“Right,” I said.
“Your hand, please.”
I took a calming breath, then exhaled slowly. Where had Peter gotten this idea anyway? Palmistry was even more ridiculous than a woman tying a man’s cravat. I held out my right hand, palm up, looking away to the dark window across the room.
Before he’d even touched me, I felt a tingling in my skin. Was that why Peter had taken such steady breaths through his nose? Because he felt the same way? This dizzy, this excited, this ... affected?
His warm hand took mine, and immediately my senses came alive. This was unlike the time we’d held hands in the stalls, or even in the pasture. The way his fingers brushed against my skin as they felt every groove in my palm was mesmerizing. I felt the sensation all the way to my toes.
“And?” I said in an effort to hurry him.
“This is most interesting, Miss Moore. Most interesting, indeed.” Peter pulled my hand closer, and I leaned in. “You have a very square hand,” he said, pressing my hand between both of his, as though measuring its size. “That tells me you are a practical thinker. Stubborn, perhaps, and strong-willed.”
I squinted at Peter. “Tread carefully, Mr. Wood.”
He pressed his lips together, staring at my palm. “This line here”—he drew his pointer finger along the center of my palm—“is long, indicating that you are an inward thinker. Smart and sensible, but perhaps not as good at sharing?”
“Has he studied this art?” Clara asked from behind me. The answer was no, but Peter had apparently been studying me.
“Both hands, if you will, Miss Moore.” I lifted my left hand, and Peter held them side by side, searching.
“Ah, here it is. The love line.”
My eyes widened. “The what?”
“Your future, of course. It all begins with marriage, does it not?”
Someone snorted, and a man blew out a laugh.
Peter brushed his fingers across my palms, circling, tracing, and likely formulating more ridiculous things to say. Watching his resolve crack under pressure was worth my embarrassment. He would not last, I was sure of it.
He sniffed, looking up at me and feigning serious concern. “You will be disappointed, I’m afraid. As I know you are anything but a romantic.”
I nearly pulled my hands away, but he caught them, lifting them higher.
“This line here”—he traced a curvy, longer line—“is strong and determined. Just like the man in your future. I see happiness here and prosperity. And a very clever, very handsome man to share it with.” Peter looked up at me. “That stubborn, practical side of you will not stand a chance against his charms.”
I bit down on my tongue hard, making my eyes water. He was teasing me. And it hurt so bad not to smile. I had to say something. Anything. “And how will I know when I’ve met him?”
Peter scrunched his nose. “I am a palmist, Miss Moore, not Cupid. But I might suggest encouraging him when you find him. So he knows his intentions will be well-received.”
“Men do not need encouragement,” I argued.
“Oh, yes. Especially when the lady is particularly wonderful and intimidating.” He raised his eyebrows playfully. “It does not have to be a grand gesture. Just enough to prove your affection matches his. That is, if you wish for his proposal.”
Something was coming. I knew he prepared to humiliate me in some form. I needed to take control, so I said, “I shall need a demonstration.”
The men behind him were shaking with silent laughter.
“Oh, there are many ways to encourage a man, Miss Moore. You could flutter your lashes, for example.” Peter’s cheeks dimpled but not with a full smile. He batted his lashes up at me.
I pressed my lips hard together. My chin was quivering, but so was his. “That is not enough. I’d want him to really know.” My voice was shaking, eyes filling with tears at holding it all in.
“Then after you’ve fluttered your lashes at him, warmed him up, so to speak, you should ...” Peter cleared his throat. “You should wink at him, so he knows how dearly you wish for his proposal.”
“Wink at him?” I repeated in astonishment, nearly on a laugh. “That is the worst advice I have ever been given. You are a terrible fortune-teller.”
“Try it.” He folded his arms and stood. “You will have every man in this room at your feet.”
