Chapter Seven #2
“I assume, then, Mr. Peterbrook didn’t hold your hand during your drive,” Harry said.
“He didn’t even hold my interest.”
Harry chuckled quietly. In the dim light of the theater Athena felt Harry’s hand slip beneath her own, his fingers wrapping gently around hers.
It was unexpected and, truth be told, not entirely appropriate.
If he had been anyone other than Harry, whom she considered a very dear friend and, therefore, entirely safe, she would have quite vocally objected.
“What are you doing, Harry?” she asked, even laughing a little in her surprise.
“I am only holding your hand, Athena,” he answered with a tone of indifference she didn’t at all trust. He’d used that tone before, usually when he was amused by something but didn’t intend to let her in on the joke right away. “It is perfectly harmless. Or so you have claimed.”
Athena was about to offer a joking rejoinder but realized Harry’s attention had shifted back to the stage. He had not, however, released her hand. She shrugged and shifted her eyes back to the actors plodding through their roles.
A moment passed before Athena realized Harry wasn’t merely holding her hand.
His thumb was slowly, softly stroking the back of her hand, as if he did so without realizing it.
The movement was unexpectedly distracting.
Try as she might, Athena found herself struggling to pay attention to the unfolding plot on the stage.
His thumb continued tracing languid circles along her hand, shifting to travel the length of each finger.
It was the most peculiar sensation. He was, after all, doing nothing more than holding her hand.
Yet he was doing so much more than that.
She slid through conflicting reactions. Part of her wished to snatch her hand back; the way his touch was making her pulse speed and her lungs catch was unnerving.
But another equally insistent part of her was almost desperate for him to continue doing whatever it was he was doing.
His touch made her skin tingle, even through her gloves.
That had never happened before. Her mind continually insisted, “This is Harry.” Harry was a surrogate brother.
He was her replacement for Evander. Wasn’t he?
She was keenly aware of the fact that Evander had never made her heart pound in her neck the way it was in that moment.
It was entirely confusing.
The halfhearted applause began, which was customary at the theater from an audience who paid very little attention to the production, signaling the end of the first act.
With the tiniest squeeze of her fingers, Harry released Athena’s hand.
He turned on his chair, his gaze resting on Adam and Persephone behind them.
“Are you pleased that Persephone talked you into joining us this evening?” Harry asked Adam, mischief sparkling in his eyes.
Athena glanced briefly at her sister and brother-in-law and was surprised at the high color displayed on Persephone’s cheeks. Surprise was quickly supplanted by alarm. Were her own cheeks equally as pink? She thoroughly hoped not but was not at all confident they were not.
They were joined in the next moment by a gentleman, probably about Harry’s and Adam’s age. Not quite Harry’s height, but with the same light brown hair. There were similarities, though Harry showed to far greater advantage.
“Ah, Handley,” Harry said, rising with his usual casual grace. “Wondered if you might stop in for a bit.”
“I—” But the gentleman stopped rather abruptly, his eyes wide as they fell on Adam’s rigid posture. “Your Grace.” He bowed, his voice showing his strained nerves.
“He won’t bite, Handley,” Harry said, chuckling lightly. “Now, you are already acquainted with the duke and duchess.”
“Yes,” was the reply, accompanied by another bow. “A little acquainted.”
Harry indicated Athena, still seated and holding her breath. This must have been the Mr. Jonas Handley of whom Harry had spoken earlier. He had sounded like the sort of gentleman she was hoping to meet.
“Miss Lancaster,” Harry began the usual introduction, “might I introduce to you Mr. Jonas Handley. Handley, this lovely young lady is Miss Lancaster.”
Mr. Handley bowed prettily over her fingers.
His touch was not nearly as unnerving as Harry’s had been.
But then, Mr. Handley kept his fingers still, something she was quickly deciding had been the real culprit in the tingling incident.
Mr. Handley’s touch was also very brief.
Something else Harry’s touch had not been.
“Are you enjoying your stay in Town, Miss Lancaster?” Mr. Handley asked, smiling politely.
“Indeed, I am,” Athena replied, returning the gesture.
“Has this evening’s offering been to your liking?”
“I was wondering precisely the same thing,” Harry said, giving Athena a look of barely concealed amusement accompanied by the lifting of that one communicative eyebrow.
“More to the point, I have been pondering which part of the evening, thus far, has been your favorite? Or, rather, which part are you likely to find yourself reflecting on later?”
Suddenly, Athena was fighting down another blush.
Pulling her dignity around herself, Athena raised her chin a fraction and met Harry’s gaze with one of her own.
“Nothing about the show has, as of yet, struck me as particularly memorable. Indeed, I daresay I shall look back on this evening and be unable to differentiate it from any other evening I have spent or will spend at the theater.”
Harry seemed unaffected. There was no indication that he took her barb at all to heart. “Except, of course, for the fact that this will be remembered as the evening you made Mr. Handley’s acquaintance,” Harry said.
Athena felt her blush deepen. She had inadvertently insulted her new acquaintance. “I, naturally, was speaking only of the time spent during the performance. Those tedious moments will most certainly be almost immediately forgotten. The intermission, however, has already proven enjoyable.”
Mr. Handley smiled at that. But Harry, Athena noticed with a secret surge of triumph, simply raised that eyebrow of his once more.
“Tell us, Handley,” Harry said abruptly. “How do you feel about trees?”