Chapter 7 #3
If they’d grown up in the same neighborhood, she might have been his babysitter!
Depending on his birthday, they might not have even gone to the same secondary school.
She couldn’t picture Quinn as anything other than the virile man who stood before her, and almost laughed thinking about him in her old school’s uniform.
Well, here she was about to reinforce her advanced age by chastising him.
“They won’t be pleased with you,” she said, glancing over at the losers who continued to glare at him. “Have a care where you walk at nights.”
“I’ve had more and worse try to do me harm,” he said with a careless shrug. She could see it wasn’t a boast and felt a bit sad and protective of him that he’d had a tough lot of it, up in the wilds.
“Still,” she said, not backing away when she knew she should. “Best not to underestimate them based on their accents, aye?”
“Aye,” he agreed, his smile growing wider, her knees growing weaker. “Wise advice.”
“Well, here’s some more,” she said. “Quit gaming for this evening. Let them keep what’s left of their riches just for tonight.”
He leaned in even closer and she felt herself being pulled into him, as if he had his own gravity. Dear God, she was likening him to the sun again. She tried to shame herself into lowering her gaze, stop being taken in by his engaging expression.
“What shall I do instead?” he asked. His hand brushed her sleeve and she felt the lace rustle against her wrist, or perhaps it was his fingertips.
“There’s a buffet,” she said weakly, staring at the velvet of his waistcoat, then looking up into his eyes.
He shook his head and took her hand. “Dance with me, Miss Burnet,” he said, already leading her toward the dance floor.
She stopped, digging in her heels. “We shouldn’t,” she said, quickly clarifying, “I shouldn’t.
” She continued to look at him head on, despite her burning cheeks.
“It wouldn’t be proper. But please, you’ll find no lack of partners here.
Especially with your new riches.” She tried to make a joke, but her voice was flat as she looked out at the dance floor, all the lovely ladies and gentleman twirling and bowing.
“Ye’re the only partner I desire,” he said gruffly, pulling her in the opposite direction and out into the dimly lit back courtyard.
They stood just outside the doors and could still faintly hear the music. He stepped close and held out his hand.
“This is worse,” she cried, unable to stifle a nervous laugh. He was going to ruin her, but she so wanted to dance.
He raised a challenging brow and looked down at his outstretched hand. Closing her eyes and sighing, she stepped forward and took it.
Quinn was better than her, since she’d never actually had a chance to do any of the steps of this time with a partner, but she’d taken years of ballet and tap and quickly caught on.
The current tune was lively and he whirled her about, dipping her back on his forearm and lifting her with the music.
She was certain he was making up some of the moves, but she didn’t care and when the music stopped, he pulled her in close, her chest heaving from exertion and from pressing against him.
A moment later a slower piece started and he swayed in time, still holding her against him.
She rested her cheek against his chest and wrapped her arms around his waist and let her feet follow his in time.
For about twelve seconds. Her senses came rushing back to her then, and she leaned back, pushing out of his warm grip.
“Thank you, sir,” she said breathlessly, even though she’d recovered from the lively dancing. Her inability to catch her breath was one hundred percent due to proximity to Quinn.
“Dinna call me sir,” he said softly. His hands still rested lightly at her waist and even through the layers of clothes, she could swear she felt the warmth of his fingertips. “Lizzie,” he said.
It was the first time he called her by her first name, not Miss Burnet.
She never cared one way or another about her name, had tried to go by Eliza for a while because she thought it sounded posh, but it never stuck.
She was always Lizzie, a serviceable, sturdy name.
But from Quinn it sounded like a lullaby, like the ocean in the early morning, like strumming a harp.
She wanted him to say it again, closer to her ear, so she could feel his breath ruffle her hair.
Her eyes drifted shut as she leaned against him.
A clatter by the door made her tear away. A young man had stumbled over a decorative urn, several of his drunken mates close at his heels. They hadn’t yet noticed her and Quinn and she quickly ducked back into the house as soon as the boys were further down the courtyard.
Quinn followed and took her hand. Spinning around to face him, she blinked at his confusion, but quickly steeled herself against the feelings she couldn’t afford to have.
“Thank you for the dance,” she said, hating the unnatural sound of her voice. The easy ability to be herself around him was too dangerous. To lose control of her carefully crafted persona frightened her too much.
She shook him off and continued further into the safety of the crowded room, trying to find Catie. She saw Lady Amberly searching through the people, her face drawn with fatigue and anxiety. It was late, time to go home.