“I am aware,” he said.
But he did not move. For a brief, suspended moment, neither of them did. Then, slowly, as if reluctant to acknowledge the change in distance, he released her waist. His other handlingered on her back for a fraction longer than necessary before finally dropping away.
Anne stepped back, adjusting her footing carefully.
“Thank you,” she said.
“They come in threes,” he replied. “You have slipped twice now, so you would do well to be careful.”
“Your concern regarding the inconvenience is well noted,” she said dryly.
That coaxed a faint smile from him. Though in all honesty, he would not have minded catching her several times over. It made him feel useful, as though she needed him.
Soon afterward, she returned to the house.
That evening, the rain had softened into a drizzle, leaving the air cool. Anne stood in her chamber preparing for dinner, the fire behind her casting warm light over the room while she adjusted the neckline of her gown. Dorian watched as she did it, wondering why she had not sent for a maid.
A necklace lay on the dressing table, a new one that he had purchased for her. She lifted it carefully, turning it over in her hands before reaching behind her neck to fasten it. The clasp resisted, and she could not quite make it open correctly.
“You are doing it incorrectly,” Dorian said from the doorway, causing her to jump.
Anne turned slightly, seeming surprised to find him there.
“I am fine,” she replied.
He stepped into the room without waiting for an invitation, closing the door behind him.
“You are struggling,” he chuckled. “I saw you.”
“I am not,” she insisted.
“Turn around. Let me help you.”
“I do not need?—”
“Turn around,” he repeated, this time quieter.
Anne hesitated, then complied, turning so that her back faced him.
For a moment, he did not move, then his hands lifted, carefully taking the necklace from her fingers. He stood close enough behind her that he could feel her warmth as he leaned in to see the clasp properly.
“I am perfectly capable of?—”
“I know,” he interrupted.
His fingers brushed the back of her neck as he worked, adjusting the clasp. The contact was brief, barely intentional, but it was more intimate than anything he had ever known.
Anne fell quiet, as did he. The room seemed to narrow in that instant, and his fingers hovered near her skin a fraction longer than necessary, rather than dropping away.
“There,” he said.
Anne swallowed. “Yes. Thank you.”
Still, neither of them moved.
Then, remembering himself, Dorian stepped back. The space returned between them too quickly for his liking.
“You should be ready for dinner,” he said.
