Neither of us said much as we found our place in the line. He offered a kind smile and a nod to those gathering around us. Graham stood down the line with Miss Ryan as his companion, but before I could react, the music started, and Mr. Cross took my hands.
Around and around we danced, and I forgot everything but the steps. Mr. Cross moved effortlessly, his motions graceful and practiced, thoughtful and sure. Until the dance separated us, and our eyes met only with every few spins.
Halfway through, I caught sight of Graham moving closer up the line. He danced with focus, giving attention to each partner he joined. I thought I saw him miss a step, and I laughed to myself as he recovered.
Closer, closer, and my belly knotted with anticipation to meet with him; each step, each turn brought us closer. But as nervous as I felt to dance with him, there was something else that stirred my heart. A feeling of being reunited with an old friend whose face you’d forgotten you’d memorized. The snug fit of a perfectly tailored coat. Climbing into bed with fresh sheets and a bed warmer at your feet after dancing all night.
Moments passed, then, finally, Graham stood adjacent to me. I hardly registered his partner at my side.
Graham’s brown eyes, flecked with green and gold, wereso familiar they took my breath away. And I realized as he grasped my hands—it felt so obvious, I almost wanted to cry—that I hadn’t needed to pretend with Graham since that day on the beach with Tabs. Even when Mr. Lennox had surprised me and those women had spoken so harshly, he’d let me fall apart. He’d listened and he’d stayed by my side until I’d settled. He asked after me without judgment. Then he’d distracted me in exactly the way I needed. I’d never felt more myself, more understood and cared for, with anyone.
“Have we ever danced together?” he breathed.
I turned, suddenly shy to meet him again in the middle. “I cannot remember if we have. Though,” I turned again, my heart stuttering wildly, “this is hardly dancingtogether, Mr. Everett, as you did not ask me.” Formality, of course, in mixed company.
“Shall we remedy that with the next set?” Graham asked.
I bit my lip to keep from grinning. A strange sensation paired with my already breathless lungs and heated my neck and into my cheeks.
He came back round. “I hear the next is Wilson’s waltz.” He winked, and we laughed. The same dance I’d taught Tabs in the drawing room.
“A waltz, then,” I agreed before grabbing the hands of my next waiting partner.
I danced down the line, around Ginny and Mr. Anderson, with Mr. Ryan, and over again, until the music ended. The second song in the set went by in a blur and a hundred stammering heartbeats. I thanked Mr. Cross and curtseyed.
I did not have to look for Graham. He was already there, beside me, hand outstretched and waiting.
ChapterTwenty
Graham
Finally.I’d about gone mad watching Anna in conversation with Cross. I’d tried with painful determination to find an interesting spot around the room while she’d danced with him. To train my ear to whatever Miss Ryan was on about. But all evening I’d wanted only Anna. Anna’s attention, Anna’s smile, Anna’s hand in mine.
Lud, that dress. Her neck, and the swoop of her collarbone. My mouth went dry merely at the sight of her, and I pinched the back of my hand hard to refocus.
“The waltz, Miss Lane?” I reached out my hand.
She looked up with an instant grin that sent teeming waves of astonishment all through me. Her delicate, silk-gloved hand fit perfectly in mine.
“Have you danced the waltz in public before?” she asked with the faintest blush blooming upon her cheeks.
Something in me came alive at the sight; I wanted her to blush like that every time she looked at me.
I took a few unhurried steps backward, my thoughts hardly coherent as I led her away from the crush, and she followed, eyes still laughing into mine.
“Yes,” I answered, lowering my chin, which only servedto ignite her humor further. “We’ve been in the same ballrooms together on more than one occasion.”
There were more than a dozen couples spread out, waiting, and I positioned us in the far corner. Private, intimate. Perhaps people would talk, and for once, some part of me hoped they would. To have my name linked with Anna’s even once.
“I suppose I did not pay close enough attention,” she said.
We’d stilled as the musicians shifted their papers. Anna held fast to my hand, and I studied the dusting of freckles over her small, perfectly rounded nose. “You were always surrounded by suitors and friends.”
She tilted her head, a string of ringlets bouncing along the frame of her smooth cheek. I wanted to touch one, spiral it around my finger. Bring it to my lips.
“There are a few girls I would consider my friends, though not close enough to tell themeverything, you understand,” Anna said. She curled her fingers into mine, and my stomach clenched. “And as far as gentlemen ... At present, you are the only man I’d consider a true friend.”
Me? I was in a trance, enveloped by scents of jasmine and cherry blossoms, warm with wine and the feel of Anna’s fingers in mine. She was looking at me intently, searching my face with an increasingly furrowed brow.
