“How so?”
“If a man’s intentions are improper,” she spoke thoughtfully, “his body betrays him.”
They turned again.
“In what way?” he murmured.
She scanned the dancers—partly to prove her point, mostly to avoid his eyes.
Gideon.
Dash’s friend. Familiar. Safe.
He had held her hand before—many times, in fact—but only in the careless way of childhood. Pulling her upright. Brushing dirt from her palms.
This—was not that.
“There,” she said quietly, inclining her head toward a young couple not far from them. “Mr. Knightly.”
The gentleman in question could not have been more than two and twenty. His posture was upright but uncertain, his grip careful—fingers placed precisely where instruction demanded.
“He keeps space between them,” she continued. “His palm does not settle lower. His thumb does not… explore. He blinks too often. Wide-eyed. He is watching the steps, not her mouth.”
Gideon followed her gaze.
“True.”
“He is more concerned with not embarrassing himself than with persuading her of anything.”
Another turn and butterflies took flight in her stomach again.
Ridiculous.
Her heart beat with unnecessary force, and his hand at her waist felt impossibly warm, the pressure of his fingers sending a faint, wicked tingling beneath her skin.
“I see,” he said mildly. “But how does a lady distinguish genuine affection from persuasion?”
There was no teasing in it now. Only interest.
“Persuasion tests boundaries,” she replied, sounding more breathless than the exertion required. “The hand reaches low. The body is tense. But the eyes are the true giveaway. He is not watching her adoringly. He is measuring her tolerance.”
She felt the shift in him then. Subtle. The line of his jaw tightening.
She had said too much.
“How the devil do you know all this?” he asked. No. It was closer to a demand.
“From observation,” she answered at once—too brightly.
His hand tightened at her waist.
“You will tell me,” he said quietly, “if a particular gentleman attempts to measure your… tolerance?”
The fierceness in his voice caught her unprepared.
“Of course,” she said quickly.
But she wouldn’t. She would not need to.
