Page 14 of A Rogue at Stonecliffe

“Judy.” Nathan scowled. “There’s something wrong with that woman. She does not act like a normal maid. Some of the things she says...”

“Grandmother says she’s too ‘saucy.’ But I think she actually rather likes Judy.”

“Peas in a pod. Judy watches me like she thinks I’m about to pocket one of Lady Lockwood’s figurines. Come to think of it, maybe your grandmother told her to do just that.”

“You just don’t like her because she doesn’t make eyes at you like all the other maids.”

“Not true,” Nathan protested. “Do they really?”

Annabeth laughed. “Come on. They’re starting up the quadrille.”

They took their place in the dance, and Annabeth was able to push away all bothersome thoughts. She danced with Nathan again later in the evening. Nor did she lack for partners the rest of the time. She might be thoroughly on the shelf, but she was pretty and pleasant and a safe partner whom a gentleman could take out on the dance floor without being subjected to marriage-minded lasses and their mothers.

Later, flushed from exertion, she strolled out onto the small terrace behind the house to get a breath of air. She stood for a moment, relishing the cool air and the silence, and the rare chance in the city to be utterly alone.

Something moved in the shadows at the edge of the terrace. Annabeth turned, unalarmed. Somehow she knew it was him. “Sloane. What are you doing here?”

“Waiting for you to come outside.”

“That seems a bit haphazard. How could you know I’d come onto the terrace?”

“I know you.”

SHE WAS BEAUTIFUL here on the terrace, washed by the faint light from the ballroom. She was beautiful anywhere. Sloane knew that most would say that Noelle was the foremost beauty in the church today, but when Sloane stepped inside and saw Annabeth standing at the altar, it had struck him like a blow to the chest, and he had no eyes for the bride or anyone else. At the end of the ceremony, it had taken a force of will to turn around and leave the church without going to her.

“You always dance until you’re hot and breathless,” he said as he strolled toward her. “Then you want to escape the stuffy ballroom. Revel a bit in the quiet and solitude.” Sloane stopped a few feet away. It would be dangerous to get too close. “Remember those dances at the Assembly Hall? How we’d meet on the terrace to escape all the eyes? So we could talk and—”

“I am well aware of what we did,” Annabeth interrupted sharply.

Of course she remembered. The heat, the urgency, the stolen kisses, hanging on to their control by the thinnest of threads. Sloane shoved his hands into his pockets to keep himself from reaching out to touch her.

He took a step forward. Inside the ballroom, a waltz started. Annabeth looked away, but not before Sloane could see the way her face changed, remembered pleasure and regret mingling in her eyes. It was an old song, and they had danced to it often.

“Remember how you taught me to waltz?” He moved closer. “You would hum this song.”

Annabeth still kept her gaze away from him, but she nodded slightly.

He pulled his hands from his pockets—those were clearly not restraint enough; perhaps with Annabeth, he required manacles—and held them out to her. “Dance with me, Anna? Just once. For old times’ sake.”

She looked up at him then. Unshed tears glimmered in her eyes, making his heart squeeze within his chest. She put her hand in his, and he swept her into the waltz. They circled the terrace, alone in the hushed night, moving as if in a world apart, a moment filled with sweetness and regret and the beauty of a time long gone. It would never return, but for now, this was enough to fill the emptiness.

All too soon, the music wound to a halt. They turned one last time and stopped. They were only inches apart; Sloane could feel the heat of Annabeth’s body, see nothing but her. The scent of perfume filled his nostrils, sweet and intoxicating. He lowered his head toward hers, leaning in, and she began to stretch her body upward toward him.

Annabeth drew in a sharp little breath and whirled away, putting several feet between them. “What do you want from me? Why are you here, Sloane? Why do you keep popping up everywhere I go like some overgrown jack-in-the-box?”

She was right, of course. She always had been—ever the more cautious, reasonable one. Looking before she leaped. He had let his head overrule his heart only once. He forced himself to stay where he was, though everything in him told him to follow her and sweep her back in his arms.

“I beg your pardon,” Sloane said stiffly. “That was wrong of me.” If only his body would agree. “I came here because I think you could be in danger.”

Annabeth’s jaw dropped. “In danger? Of what? If you’re going to tell me that I shouldn’t marry Nathan, I—”

“No.” He brushed the idea aside. “You’re in no danger from Nathan...except perhaps being bored to death.”

“Sloane...” Annabeth crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing.

“I’m saying that someone might hurt you. Kidnap you. You’re in danger. You and Lady Lockwood need to leave for a while, at least the next fortnight. You could go to Bath, say. Lady Lockwood would like that.”

“I have no interest in going to Bath.”