Page 21 of Pretending to Love a Lyon (The Lyon’s Den Connected World)

T he room spun, but they hadn’t yet begun to dance. Graham set his hand on her lower back, and she placed one hand on his shoulder, the muscles shifting under her fingers.

Their other hands were clasped together, and the tension rose as they waited for the first steps to begin. With her weight on her toes in anticipation of that first step, she could not look at him, not right now. She knew her cheeks were flushed, her pulse racing like a hare, and he would notice these things, but she could not look him in the eye, so she stared at his throat. He had three freckles that dotted the right side of his neck. He had a superb jaw line, cut like a Roman god, and she could see the stubble of his hair just under his skin. All things she’d never noticed before. Such ordinary things, but they seemed to smooth the edges he’d used so bluntly on her over the years. She had molded him into such a monstrous figure in her mind—a cold, unfeeling block of stone—and yet there was something so human about those freckles, that beard stubble. He’d be quite hairy if he didn’t shave. What would he look like with a beard?

The music began, and he stepped forward. Caught off guard, Amelia nearly stumbled, but he tugged her close, lifting her against him just enough to catch her feet once more as they went into a turn.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“Yes, I was just taken by surprise. I was thinking.”

“About what?”

She hesitantly peered up at him. “What you’d look like with a beard.”

He half-smiled. “A beard? Like my father, I suppose.”

“Your father has a beard?”

“He grew it this last year. My mother hates it.”

Amelia bit her lip. He danced so easily, without effort, and so lightly that they floated across the floor.

“You dance exceptionally well,” she admitted.

“Alston danced with you when you were learning, correct?”

“Yes,” she smiled, the fond memories stirring her joy.

“It was the same with Daisy and me. I had to stand in for many lessons. Mother said it was for my improvement, as well.”

“Ah, so my brother’s excellent dancing skills are thanks to me. I’ll remind him of that.”

Graham smiled, but it slipped away. A heavy cloud of melancholy fell over them both as they turned. At that moment, Amelia guessed they were both thinking of Sam. He wouldn’t want them to do so. If he were there he’d say something ridiculous to bring levity to the moment.

“Can you imagine what he would say if he saw us now?”

Graham’s smile returned, and he laughed. “He’d swear we were up to some scheme concocted by you, and you were blackmailing me to go along with it.”

“Blackmailing you? With what?” Amelia asked eagerly. “What could you possibly have done? Chip a teacup?”

His gaze caught hers, shining with amusement. “Think of something. What could I do that’s worth blackmail?”

Amelia couldn’t stop herself from smiling. This was fun. She was having fun with Graham, and they were dancing. Something extra must have been in the champagne. “I’ll have to think about that. It must be something diabolical.”

He laughed again.

“I’ve got it. You’re an elusive art thief, wanted in every country.”

He raised a skeptical brow. “An art thief?”

“Would you prefer jewels?”

“Perhaps. Easier to lug around than a painting.”

“Very well, jewels it is. At every party you attend something goes missing. Being the observant person I am, I see you pocket the duchess’s diamond brooch. I search your cloak while you’re in the study with Sam, not going over ledgers like you say, but drinking yourselves silly, and find a stash of gems. When I confront you, I demand you spend an evening with me, being nice.”

“Nice? Is that all?”

“Yes, it’s quite the feat for you, and Sam would—”

“Am I truly never kind to you?” he asked in a serious tone.

Amelia bit her lip. “Are you going to keep interrupting me? That’s not very nice.”

He half-smiled. “But am I?”

“If I’m being honest, we’re not nice to each other . It’s not just you. I do things to irritate you on purpose.”

“Why is that?”

“Because it forces you do human things like scowl and bicker with me. You can’t be a faultless, perfect marble statue when you’re berating me for leading a goat into the drawing room to sketch it sitting on the settee.”

“That goat destroyed my hat. And you didn’t have to clean up after the goat. Do you never consider the work your larks create for others?”

“Yes, I do. And yes, I did.”

“Did what?”

“I took care of the cleaning myself. My brother dragged you away, and I made my quick little sketch, and then I swept up goat droppings.”

“ You ?”

“You believe me so delicate I cannot sully myself by performing a menial task?”

“I suppose I did. Not delicate, but rather... spoiled. I forget sometimes that you don’t have everything I have. Things I likely take for granted. You and your brother have both done a remarkable job making it this far together, considering all things.”

Amelia rolled her eyes but smiled. “Yes, I could be much worse.”

He chuckled. “Much, much. I can only imagine.”

“So where were we?”

He spun her one final time, and the dance was over.

“You’ve discovered I’m a jewel thief,” he said quietly as he led her off the floor.

Her next partner approached, but Amelia wanted to hide. She wasn’t ready to end her time with Graham—something that had never happened before.

“What will you do during the next dance? Pickpocket the other guests?”

He smirked. “I will dance as well.”

“With whom?” A burst of jealousy soured her tongue.

He peered around. “Miss Flemings seems rather bored there, against the wall.”

Amelia peered over at Miranda Flemings, dressed in a gown two seasons old and trying her best to be invisible. Graham would be kind to her. He really was a bloody saint.

“Just remember, you’re already engaged. Don’t let her steal you from me.”

His smile broadened. “I’ll do my best.”

Amelia’s heart skipped as he strolled away, and she fisted her hands. This was getting ridiculous.