Page 58 of A Lady of Conscience

“I must caution you,” James said. “A compliment is forthcoming.”

She was surprised into a laugh.

He stared down at her steadily. His gray eyes were warm. “Last time, you requested adequate warning.”

Her cheeks heated under the weight of his gaze. “Very well. If you insist.”

“You look beautiful this evening,” he said.

Her smile of amusement faded. For all his absurdity, he was heart-meltingly serious.

He led her into another turn. Her silk skirts swirled about his legs. He was holding her so very close. “I don’t often see you in blue,” he said. “You’re more often in some shade of pink or rose.”

Hannah clutched his shoulder as he turned her again, temporarily rendered speechless. She was as amazed that he’d noticed her color preferences as she had been when he’d remembered the names of her dogs. “Do you not like shades of pink?” she asked when she at last found her voice.

“On the contrary,” he said. “They suit you. Just as this shade does. I can’t think of any color that wouldn’t, lovely as you are.”

Her eyes dropped to his chest as a wave of shyness engulfed her. “You are very generous with your compliments this evening.”

“If it wouldn’t make you uncomfortable, I would compliment you more lavishly still.”

“It would make me uncomfortable,” she said hastily, raising an anxious gaze back to his.

His hand curved around her waist, firm and strong, effortlessly guiding her through the crowd of dancers. “Then I’ll keep my thoughts to myself,” he said. “For now.”

By the time the waltz came to a close, Hannah’ nerve endings were quivering like a cat’s whiskers, attuned to his every look and every touch.

Perhaps it had been dangerous to allow him to court her?

She might have known he would be magnificent at it. From his attentiveness and protectiveness, to the way he danced—the way he kissed. The way he had stepped in to rescue the donkey, for heaven’s sake.

She was losing her heart to him.

Indeed, she very much feared she was falling in love with him.

And it was a fear, for despite her changing feelings for him, the obstacles that separated them were unchanged.

“Shall we step outside for some air?” he asked her.

They were near the line of French doors that led onto the Teesdales’ stone terrace.

Hannah cast a quick look about the ballroom for her brother. She couldn’t find him. Still, she didn’t think Charles would object. “Yes,” she said. “Let’s.”

* * *

The Teesdales’ terrace was made of the same honey-colored stone as most everything else in Bath. Illuminated by scattered torches, it spanned the back side of the house, facing south, several floors above an ornamental garden.

James escorted Hannah out. It was a cool evening, with the faint smell of spring roses drifting on the night air. Hannah dropped his arm as they walked together toward the terrace rail. She rested her hands upon the top of it, peering down into the garden below.

James stood back, watching her.

He hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d told her how beautiful she looked this evening. Or when he’d said that she could do any color justice. He traced her profile with his gaze, seeing her more fully than he had on that fateful day when he’d proposed to her. There was no fault in her, not in her appearance, nor in her character, only softness and grace imbued to the very heart of her.

One could easily mistake that softness for weakness, particularly when coupled with her shyness and blushes. He had done so. He’d thought she required guidance, polishing, perfecting.

But she hadn’t.

She didn’t.