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I trip over my tongue, not wanting to embarrass him, lest he might become closed off and cold again. “Oh, no. No. Please. It was sweet. Though, I must ask, are you well?” Oh, blimey! There go my attempts to not offend him. Do I have to say everything that’s on my mind?
He laughs heartily, and my eyes widen some more. My mouth falls open at the echo of his delight. He laughs even harder. “Why, you look as if you’ve seen a ghost!” he says.
Should I be scared?
“I’m quite well. Thanks for asking.” His tone softens, and he raises my hand to his lips, kissing the back of it, slowly as his eyes linger on mine. “I assure you; my words are not mere flattery found in the bottom of a glass. You inspire their honesty.”
My skin warms. Okay, that’s it. My chest clenches, tightly, until it hurts. This moment is too good to be true. I won’t ruin it. I don’t know what’s changed but tonight, it doesn’t matter. I’ll say nothing to risk upsetting him if it means he’ll continue to sweeten my ears with his sugared tongue.
With our bodies swaying and pressed so closely together, it’s clear we’re no longer engaging in the appropriate dance. We only serve as an obstacle and a spectacle for the other dancers, so he takes my hand and leads me away from the dance floor into the privacy of the shadowy walls, before pulling me close to his body again. I gasp, and something about this new Adam makes me shy as I consider the possible thoughts of everyone in this room.
He chuckles, releasing me. “Forgive me. I’m so overcome by your beauty; I ache for you. I want you,” he whispers. “Tell me you’ll be mine.”
I can no longer hear the music, just the rhythm of my heart and the shortness of my breath. “I thought I already was,” I breathe.
He grins and drops his gaze. “Now you’re the one who flatters me,” he says, propping his body up against the wall and raking his eyes over me. “Tell me, do you ache for me too?” he asks before shaking his head. “I’m sorry. Forgive me. That’s too forward.”
Too forward? Since when does he care? Is this some sort of game? If so, I’ll play it willingly. I might not be the only one in the mood to pretend to be someone else tonight. Though, if he’s pretending, he must be trying to escape something. I stroke my hand across his shoulder in comfort. A bold move, in public. But I’m only a perceived lady in this delusion. My reality is vastly different. I don’t have to worry about threatening my standing in society. His eyes darken from the touch, and he places a palm over my hand, holding it there. Something flutters and blooms within my chest.
“You know what I think of you, don’t you?” he asks.
Honestly, no. I’m a bit lost, especially now. His mood swings befuddle me. But I nod and smile.
“But I don’t know what you think of me,” he continues. I bristle, unexpectedly, at his words. It’s becoming harder to just smile and nod, especially when his words remind me of what he’s done and who he is.
I tilt my head and unconsciously raise my brows. “I think you do know what I think of you,” I say. Heaven knows I say what’s on my mind. Internally, I groan.Please don’t cock this up, Olivia. Bite your tongue. Keep the peace.
He shakes his head. “I don’t,” he says. “But I’d love to.” I grimace. He chuckles. “Is it that bad? Don’t tell me there’s no chance for us and dash all my hopes,” he says, placing a hand over his heart.
My knees grow weak, and I rest against the wall to prevent myself from appearing faint. “Do you want there to be a chance for us?” I ask. My insides tremble as I berate myself for even considering such a possibility. But until he asked me these words, I didn’t know what I felt for him. Now, I do, and it’s terrifying.
“Isn’t that what I’ve been saying all night?” He grins, taking my hands in his. “But you must tell me what you think of me. Is there nothing about me you might like?”
My breath catches, and I gulp. Despite myself, there are plenty of things about him that I like but if this is a weird, cruel game, admitting that to him could mean offering him even more control over me. If he were to find out that I don’t hate him completely, despite my best efforts, he might find a way to use my emotions to his advantage.
One night of pleasant conversation won’t reverse all the pain he’s inflicted on my father and me, all the terror he’s caused us. It won’t erase the image of him threatening a child’s life before me. It won’t change the fact that I witnessed him murdering eight people; I don’t think that will ever leave me. So, while I might enjoy this change for the night, I won’t be fooled into thinking he’s changed forever. A chance for us might be impossible but if by grace, I change my mind, it’ll require a lot more effort from him.
However, he doesn’t like to be ignored and telling him the truth might ruin the first night since I’ve been in captivity where I feel worthy. It might only be a few measly hours before we’re back at his house, and he removes the suit, transforming into the unpredictable, temperamental beast again. So, I’d like to keep enjoying this moment before it’s ripped away from me. To do so, I’ll have to figure out a way to avoid answering him without infuriating him. Bringing the back of my hand to my flushed forehead, I close my eyes.
“I’m sorry. Have I upset you?” he asks.
My eyes flutter open to regard him. Let’s see how far this charade goes. “Not at all. I’m just feeling a bit faint. I forgot to eat,” I say.
“Of course,” he gasps. “Might I fetch something for you?” he says.
My mouth almost falls open. Tonight, he’ll serve me? Okay, this might not be a game. It must be a dream. There’s no other logical explanation. “Yes, that would be lovely,” I respond.
“Wait here,” he says, and I watch with my mouth open as he runs over to the refreshments table to get me a glass of punch, spiced biscuits, and a slice of cake.
I press my fingers to the sides of my head. As refreshing as this change might be, it’s also a bit frightening. In a way, it feels as if I’m losing my head. Still, if this is what madness looks like, I might be inclined to want more of it.
“Supper will be served in a couple of hours. Hopefully, this will hold for now. Or I can head into the kitchen and fetch something more filling for you if you’d like,” he says.
I smile and reach for the small plate. “No, no, that won’t be necessary. Thank you so much,” I say as he sighs in relief.
“I suppose you’d also like to rest your feet, go somewhere more private?” he asks.
If he keeps this whole gentlemanly charade up, and I get enough of this punch in my system to forget all about how strange this shift is, sure. I might just need a long, private moment between us.
