In lieu of an answer, Nigel merely shifted his seat. He scooted his posterior across the floor, angling his hips until they were aligned with hers, his legs folded to one side. His head was still awkwardly bent, but he scarcely felt aware of that discomfort. His heart pounded, his blood raced, and it took all his powers of control to keep his breath from coming in ragged gasps.
He reached out his right hand. Took hold of her cold, slender fingers. Then his other hand slipped slowly, tentatively around her waist. And suddenly he was holding her. Right there, in that dark little space, shrouded by tablecloth, shielded from the eyes of all those wedding guests and the world at large. Observed only by shy violets, who blushed at his boldness and hid behind their leaves.
Luna’s face was very close to his, her nose only an inch or two away. Her head was slightly turned, and her gaze seemed to be fixed on the strap of his apron stretched over his shoulder. But when he began to sway gently in time with the music, she swayed with him. After a moment, she brought her other hand up to rest on his shoulder.
“I’m not sure this quite counts asdancing,” she murmured.
“Probably not,” he acknowledged.
But he didn’t let go. Neither did she. They continued to sway, while he studied the lovely dusting of freckles across her cheekbones and nose. And Nigel knew that he had never in his life felt this truly, completely, beyond all hope or help or expectation,happy.
Then Luna leaned forward suddenly and rested her head against his shoulder. She uttered a little sigh, and his heart hitched, his breath caught, and the joy in his soul soared to heights hitherto unimagined. Nigel adjusted his hand at her waist, drawing her ever-so-slightly closer, and wished that he had distilled Dire Matter enough left over to pull them both outside of time right here, right now. Possibly never to return.
“Do you think this is it, Mr. Grimm?” Luna asked suddenly, her voice very soft beneath the ongoing sighing of the band and the voice of the crooner. “Is this the best anyone can hope for?”
“The best . . . what?” Nigel asked in return.
“Happily For Now,” she said. “Do you think little stolen moments are enough? To make . . . to make all the pain worth it?”
He couldn’t answer. Not right away. Not with the scent of her—that new, heady scent of vanilla and honeysuckle—filling his nostrils. It was so sweet, so delicate, and awakened such a hunger deep in his core.
“Perhaps it is thehopethat matters more than anything,” he spoke at last. His voice was oddly husky, hardly sounded as though it belonged to him. “Hope which keeps the soul striving, keeps the heart beating, whatever the odds. The dream of your Happily Ever After, however unattainable it may be.” He closed his eyes, inclining his head so that his cheek could rest against her hair. “What is life, after all, but the striving after impossible dreams, day after day?”
She lifted her head from his shoulder, drawing back slightly so that their noses just brushed. Her dark eyes sought his, gazing deep with a seeking sort of need he longed to fulfill. “Do you know, Mr. Grimm,” she whispered, “you may have hit on something there.”
Her lashes dropped then, her gaze concentrating on the knot of his tie. He didn’t like that. He didn’t like not being able to see her eyes beneath those veiling lashes.
“Miss Talbot,” he said.
She looked up at him again. “Yes?”
But he had nothing to say. He only wanted her to look at him and to go on looking at him. To give him a chance to study the dark depths of those pools, to gauge their secrets, the beautifulenigma of her being. His blood heated in his veins, and his breath caught tight in his thickened throat.
“Miss Talbot,” he said again, very softly.
Then, despite every dictate of good sense and reason and reserve screaming at him to keep himself in check, he began to lean in, his mouth seeking hers. It was an impulse, an instinct, without thought. Driven purely by want. For just a moment, he felt her breath against his lips, could almost feel the softness of her touch, could almost taste her sweetness.
Thunk.
Something hit the table directly above.
“Oi! This one ain’t taken!” a voice, heavily slurred with alcohol, shouted from directly overhead. “Over here, Suzette! I’ve found us a spot!”
A loud scape of chair legs on parquet, and a pair of shiny shoes appeared under the table, followed by a pair of knees which hit Nigel solidly in the side. With a grunt, he fell off-balance, landing heavily on his shoulder and dragging Luna down on top of him. She uttered a little bleat of surprise, her hand splayed across his breast.
“What was that?” a lady’s voice, dripping with affrontery, demanded.
“What was what?”
“I thought I heard something.Underneaththe table.”
“I didn’t hear nuffin.”
“Well,Imost certainlydid.”
“Hmmph. Maybe s’ghosts?”
“Don’t be a lout.”
