Page 41 of To Love a Beast

He was Everett Griffin, for pity's sake. The American Adonis, charmer of women, and stealer of hearts. He'd lost count of how many ladies he'd captivated over the years. Yet, he'd never cared for any of them the way he cared for Callista. And he wasn't that shallow charmer any longer, nor did he wish to be. Not when he finally understood the power of genuine respect and ardent affection.

Callista was a priceless treasure, and not simply because she possessed the ability to see past his scars to the man beneath. She'd beguiled him with kindness, courage, faithfulness, and artistic sensitivity. Should her face ever be marred by tragedy—heaven forbid—his love for her would not dim, for Callista's true beauty emanated from her soul.

He extended his hand, and she fit her palm to his without hesitation or question.

"I have one final gift for you this evening," he said as he helped her to her feet. "If you'll return with me to the parlor?"

"Another gift? You've given me far too much already."

Yet he wanted to give her more. He wanted to give her everything.

Everett tucked her hand into the crook of his arm as they rounded the dining table and exited into the hall. "No money was spent in the procurement of this final gift, I promise. It falls well within the bounds of your birthday rules."

"Well, in that case . . ." She squeezed his arm and smiled up at him in a way that set his pulse to thrumming.

Timens stood in front of the closed parlor door and sketched a brief bow before opening the door with a flourish and ushering them inside. Callista's indrawn breath brought his attention to her face as she took in the changes that his men had wrought. Furniture had been moved to the edges of the room, rugs had been rolled up, and dozens of candles had been lit and positioned around the periphery. A warm glow filled the room, and hope unfurled in his breast.

"Will you dance with me, Callista?"

Chapter 19

Had she somehow fallen into one of her books? Callista slid her hand from Everett's arm and took a few steps into the room, soaking in the magical atmosphere of the parlor-turned-ballroom. The candlelight, the gleaming floorboards, the crystal vases refracting shimmering diamonds into the air, making it easy to pretend that pixies fluttered among them. She spun in a slow circle, taking in each delightful detail as dreams from her girlhood—dreams of fairy tales and handsome princes and happy endings—surged back to life within her breast.

"Will you dance with me, Callista?"

Everett's voice—deep, compelling, and a tad uncertain—drew her attention. His gloved hand extended toward her as he dipped in a slight bow. The hope shining in the vibrant blue of his uncovered eye beckoned her to his side, but a touch of reality dimmed the magic as she slid her fingers into his.

"I would love nothing more than to dance with you, Everett, but I'm afraid I don't know how. All I know of dancing is what I learned standing on my father's feet when I was eight years old."

His gaze warmed. "I know enough for both of us. All you have to do is trust me."

Callista's heart pulsed with new fervor as she squeezed his hand. "I do."

As if it had been pre-arranged, Timens crossed the room to a decorative cabinet that had been scooted away from the wall. A curved box sat atop the cabinet, a small crank handle extending from its right side. Timens cranked it as far as it would go, then gently opened the lid. Music spilled into the room as if Thumbelina herself conducted a tiny orchestra from inside the box.

"Oh, it's wonderful!" Enchanted by the music box, Callista tugged a chuckling Everett toward the contraption to investigate. "How does it work?"

Timens pointed to the metal arm extending from the center of the spinning disc. "The crank starts the motor, which spins the disc," the butler explained in the same authoritative tone he used when discussing the merits of Renaissance architecture. "See the tiny projections on the disc?"

She leaned closer. "Mmm hmm."

"Those pluck the pins on the musical comb—the wand extending from the center. Each of the pins is tuned to a specific pitch . . . which . . . ah . . . yes, well . . . I'd be happy to explain more about it another time."

Callista glanced up from the music box in time to catch the butler tugging on his collar.

"I believe Mrs. Potter requires my assistance in the kitchen. If you'll excuse me?" He strode from the room with enough haste to almost be considered a scurry.

"Well, that was odd." She turned her attention to Everett, who looked far too innocent not to raise Callista's suspicions. She raised a brow. "Did you send him away?"

He held up his hands. "I didn't say a single word."

"Uh huh." She wagged a finger at him. "You gave him one of your scary glares, didn't you?"

"Maybe. But only because the man has a tendency to explain things in far too much detail."

"I happen to like details."

Everett's gaze heated several degrees as he stepped closer and reclaimed her hand. "I happen to like you and would prefer dancing over an educational lecture on the mechanics of music boxes."