On one hand, Edward liked the spontaneity with which Fiona had taken him by the hand. Such an act was not generally seen in a ballroom – or anywhere else for that matter – which was probably why they met with so many frowns of disapproval as they made their way through the crowd. But on the other hand, a part of him felt compelled to pull his hand away and deny himself the harrowing bliss he found from such simple contact. Both were wearing gloves, yet he could feel not only the warmth of her body permeating the thin fabric but the beat of her pulse whenever their wrists happened to meet, the strength of her fingers wound around his.

She did not want to dance with him, that much was clear. Her reluctance when he’d made the suggestion could not have been plainer. The question was why. When he’d tried to broach her averseness, she’d quickly denied it while doing her best to look as agreeable as possible. The act hadn’t fooled him for a second, but it had torn at his heart.

Trying to conjure some explanation for her response, the only thing he could think was that she might have guessed how he felt about her – that perhaps, somehow, no matter how careful he’d been, he’d given himself away – and that now she was trying to add some distance in the hope he might withdraw his affection. He could never do so. A heart was not so easily ordered about. But maybe he could do better at this game of pretense he’d been playing ever since she’d made her lack of interest known. He drew a deep breath as they came to a halt before Lord and Lady Oakland and greeted them both in turn.

“Chadwick has asked me to dance the waltz with him,” Fiona blurted. Ordinarily, her lack of finesse would have made him laugh – it always had – but tonight it pushed at the wound covering his soul.

“Fiona thought it proper for us to obtain your permission first,” Chadwick explained when Lord Oakland directed a pair of raised eyebrows at him. “I quite agree.”

“Well, I…er…hmmm…” Lady Oakland waved her fan with rapid beats. “I certainly have no objection to it.”

Fiona stared. “But—”

“Nor do I,” Lord Oakland muttered, much to Edward’s surprise. After the last reprimand, he would have expected some argument at least. Instead, the earl now seemed positively determined. His jaw was set, and his eyes held a gleam to them as if to say, “Well, what are you going to do about this?”

“Mama,” Fiona’s voice had shrunk to a tiny whisper.

“You are like family, Chadwick. I hardly think it would be any worse than if she were to dance that particular dance with one of her brothers.” There was something about Lady Oakland’s mouth as she spoke – something telling – like a smile that was being forced back.

Edward stared at the people who had been like a second set of parents for him growing up. “Excellent,” he managed to say, and then, to test his rising suspicions… “Might I also take her for a walk in the garden afterward? With the sun out today, much of the snow will have melted.”

Fiona spun toward him faster than a weathervane changing direction in a storm.

“As long as she takes a shawl with her, I see no issue,” Lady Oakland said. Her smile finally rose to the surface.

“I agree with my wife,” Lord Oakland said, and then he winked.

Edward could not have been more stunned if the man had hit him over the head with a mallet, because something had suddenly been made quite clear – the earl and countess had given Edward their blessing to pursue their daughter with the prospect of marrying her. They did, after all, know him well enough not to worry about him ever casting her aside after a kiss. He would do right by her, and their expressions bore testament to that.

If only Fiona were equally agreeable. Instead, she appeared as rigid as a rock where she stood. Her lips were slightly parted while she stared at her parents with what could only be deemed complete and utter horror. Well, if there was a way for him to have his confidence stripped away completely, she’d certainly found the means to do it.

He offered her his arm. “Shall we?”

She gave him a dutiful nod – the sort that made him want to shake her until she returned to being the young and carefree woman he’d fallen in love with. Especially because he knew she cared for him, and while it might not be in the way he hoped, dancing with him could surely not be so bad as to make her react like this. Could it?

Deciding to broach the issue again, he quietly asked while they walked away from her parents, “Have I done something to upset you in any way?”

Her head tipped up at him in surprise. “No. Of course not. Why would you think that?”

“Because it appears you would rather be anywhere else but in my company. At the very least, you don’t seem to care for waltzing with me.”

“Oh.” She bit her lip in that adorable way she always did whenever she felt chastised. They arrived at the dance floor where a reel was still underway. “I am sorry,” she whispered, so low he scarcely heard her. “I…I have not felt quite like myself lately.”

“Since coming here?” Bored with watching the reel, he dropped a look in her direction. “Or more precisely, since our snowball fight?” He noticed she’d gone completely still, which was unusual in its own way since Fiona was always so animated, even when doing nothing but standing upright. There was always a gentle sway to her or a tapping foot or fidgeting fingers. Right now, there was nothing. It was as if a gust of arctic air had blown into the ballroom and frozen her in place. “Fiona?”

Carefully, as though she feared she might break if she moved too quickly, she finally turned to meet his gaze. Edward stared at the stormy emotions swirling in the depths of her dark green eyes. He couldn’t discern their meaning, but he knew it was far more important than she was letting on – that there was more to this strange distance between them than her not feeling like herself lately.

“I feel as though something is changing between us, Edward.”

His chest tightened, both from the implication of her words and from the familiar use of his name. One made him feel as though he was falling away from her while the other seemed to anchor him in place. “You have grown up, Fiona,” he told her simply, or as simply as he could without letting her know how aware he was of the fact. “We cannot continue to play as we once did when you were a young girl with braided hair and grass-stained skirts.”

Chuckling, she nudged his shoulder in a way that reminded him of warm summer days and the greenest grass he’d ever seen set against vivid displays of flowers and golden sunshine. Damn, how he missed those days – how he wished he’d cherished them more. They had all passed by in the blink of an eye, and now he was here, in love with the woman the girl had become and still missing the girl in some sentimental muck-up that seemed impossible for him to untangle.

“I was quite the brat, as I recall.” There was a hint of mischief in her voice that instantly warmed his heart.

“All you ever wanted was to be challenged.” He spoke the words without even thinking, proving how well he knew her. Because when he considered what he’d said, he became increasingly aware of how perfectly those words defined her.

The reel ended and a new tune started up – the waltz, this time. Offering Fiona his arm, Edward led her out onto the floor and carefully turned her toward him. One hand clasped hers while the other settled gently against her lower back. And just like that, he found himself incapable of speech. Because it took every ounce of concentration he possessed to refrain from displaying the elemental need that surged through his veins in response to such simple contact. But oh, there was nothing simple about it, was there? She wanted nothing more than for them to go back to the way things had been when they’d climbed trees together and gotten their feet muddy in puddles. He, on the other hand, wished to move forward, to explore something more, something she probably didn’t even know could exist between a man and a woman.

So he gritted his teeth and began counting backward even when the waltz moved them forward. Perhaps he should have listened when she’d tried to avoid this particular dance. But he’d been stubbornly determined to have at least this, if nothing else. He’d wanted to know what it might be like to hold her close and pretend for a while – before he forced himself to walk away from her forever. Well, perhaps not forever, but for as long as he’d need in order to forget how much he loved her and how much it would pain him to see her with someone else. Wincing, he spun her around the edge of the dance floor. Forever would not grant him enough time for such a feat. Nothing would.

“Did I step on your toes?”

He did his best to adjust his brain to the time and place he was presently in. “What?”

“You winced, so I thought perhaps..?” A question loomed in her eyes.

“No.” He forced a smile from somewhere deep down inside, one founded on a memory of her in a field of clover two summers ago. A group of swallows had been chasing each other across the sky, and the sight of it had brought so much joy to Fiona, it had been impossible for him not to feel joy as well. It was one of the things he loved about her – her infectious good cheer. “In fact,” he said, “you are managing the dance perfectly.”

Breathing a visible sigh of relief, she relaxed in his arms. “Thank goodness,” she said with a twinkle to her eyes. “I would hate to botch up my first public attempt at it.”

“You could never manage that. Not with me as your partner.” He winked and twirled them both in a wide arc. “I simply wouldn’t allow it.”

“How gallant of you, my lord.” She spoke with an exaggeratedly pompous note that immediately made him laugh.

Slowing their pace a bit, he quietly murmured, “Gallantry is one of my best qualities, Fiona.” He deliberately waggled his eyebrows, which in turn made her laugh as well. Good. The gap that had formed between them these past few days was growing narrower. So he decided to aim for a bit of amicable conversation while they glided along among all the other couples. “The discovery Lamont and Laura made yesterday is interesting, don’t you think?”

“Do you mean the letters or each other?”

A rumble of mirth rose up inside him. It shook his shoulders. “Fiona!”

“What? It is a logical question considering the awkward position in which the two were discovered.”

“And what would you know about that?” He really shouldn’t be asking.

“Enough.”

That was all she said, but it was sufficient to make his mind wander and his body react. Christ. He had to stay focused. So he cleared his throat. “I meant the letters, of course.”

She blushed then – a deep and delightful hue that made him realize she’d only then become aware of how her previous statement might have sounded and to what it could have alluded. . “Yes. Naturally…” She drew a breath, expelled it again, and then paused for a second. “They obviously refer to the Cardinals.”

“And they were written in exactly the same order as the ones we found carved into one of the stones in the passageway we went exploring that same afternoon.”

She frowned in response to his statement. “What are you suggesting?”

“That maybe it was deliberate?”

She fell silent for a full rotation of the dance floor. Eventually she shook her head. “After what happened to Emily, I think it might be best if we stop searching for the treasure. No family heirloom or art collection is worth any of us dying over.”

“I agree, although I do regret that it has to be like that.” Tightening his hand against hers, he told her sincerely, “I know how much it meant for you to find those jewels.”

“Not because of the worth.” She looked away. “But it is all my family has left of my great-aunt and now, after discovering the sacrifices she made in order to help people, I really wanted her box to arrive at its designated destination, even if it were to arrive several decades later than intended.”

Sympathizing with her, Edward drew her closer – so close their chests almost touched. He allowed his cheek to brush against hers in a daring way that was sure to elicit a few raised eyebrows and whispers from those who happened to see. But he didn’t care. The only thing on his mind right now, besides offering comfort, was the sharp little gasp with which Fiona responded.

It made him want to do things – reckless things – things no young lady would even know were possible. Somehow he managed to hold himself in check while capturing the feel of her back against the palm of his hand, the sound of her breaths whispering past his ear. Inhaling deeply, he drew in her scent – wild citrus enriched with honey. He almost shuddered in response to the heady aroma. It coursed through his body, tightening each of his muscles until dancing with fluid movements became a cumbersome chore.

“Edward.”

Unfortunately, she did not speak his name with breathless abandon or as though she longed for him to do all the things he dreamed of doing. With her. Together. Rather, her voice carried an admonishing note she’d only ever used before when she found him particularly annoying.

Drawing back, he looked her straight in the eyes. “Yes?”

“You’re hurting my wrist.”

Shifting, he glanced at his hand. Beneath him, his feet still managed to move in time to the rhythm by some miraculous force of habit drilled into him by the dance instructor he’d had as a child. It had always made it possible for him to think about anything he wished to besides the actual act of dancing without ever losing one step.

Until now, when he saw how hard his hand was clenching her.

He’d made the silk glove she wore twist and pucker beneath his white knuckles. Which resulted in the sole of his shoe coming down faster and harder than it was meant to as he hastily loosened his grip, and actually tripped. “Oh, Fee…” What explanation could he possible give? He’d behaved like a cad, allowing the fear of what could not be to affect a perfectly lovely dance. “Forgive me.” He deliberately slowed his steps.

“Fee?” Her eyes grew large, as though everything else – the fact he’d caused her pain – meant nothing when compared to his unintentional slip of the tongue. “You’ve never called me that before,” she pressed.

He shrugged as best as he could while trying to salvage what remained of their dance. “It’s nothing – just the short form of your name.”

“Of course.” She frowned while focusing all her attention on some distant spot beyond his left shoulder.

He’d never felt like more of an ass. Except perhaps when he’d hurt her wrist while thinking the most lascivious things and then proceeding to stumble on top of it all. Right. He had to regain his composure.

The music finally faded – thank God – and he managed to execute a proper bow and then offer his arm without incident. Good. Things were returning to normal, except for the part where he wanted to throw her over his shoulder and run off to the nearest available bedroom. Or parlor. Really, at this point, any room with a horizontal surface would do. Except for the slight detail that she had no interest in that sort of thing. At least not with him. Which made him want to curse fate for making him want her so much he ached.

“I’ve often thought it,” he said, drawing her toward the refreshment table.

She glanced at him with obvious surprise. “Thought what?”

“Of your name as Fee rather than Fiona.” Her closed-off expression when he’d dismissed the endearment as ‘nothing’ had prompted him to explain. Even though he risked endangering his heart even more with this new confession. “It has a sprite-like connotation to it. I’ve always believed it suited your temperament.”