A Man Who Can Dance Read online

  Over the years, Sir Edward had done everything in his power to keep

  Graham from becoming a doctor, including bribery. Unfortunately, the

  city's most noted doctor, Mr. Fielder, had thwarted him by accepting

  Graham as an apprentice and willingly let the lad work around the long

  hours he'd been forced to spend in Sir Edward's business.

  One of these days, he'd see Mr. Fielder pay for his interference.

  Sir Edward placed his hand on his beloved son's shoulder. "Make sure you

  win the Garrison Commander's daughter."

  Blair pulled his sword from its walking stick scabbard, the blade

  gleaming sharp in the sunlight. "I will do all in my power, Father. Even

  if I must run through the other suitors."

  Chapter Two

  The door to the schoolroom flew open. "Sarah, you must teach me to

  dance," Graham demanded, his handsome face tight with anxiety.

  Sarah Ambrose looked up from her lesson on map reading, her glasses

  perched on the end of her nose. He never barged in on her lessons. Or

  had ever expressed the curious urge to dance.

  /"Mister /McNab," she said pointedly, a gentle reminder they had a

  wide-eyed audience, Sir Edward's ten-year-old twin daughters, "I am in

  the middle of lessons." She tapped the map book with the drawing pencil

  she used as a pointer to reclaim the girls' attention but it was already

  too late.

  Jean and Janet called out his name, happy for the interruption. They

  adored their cousin who, unlike their brother, usually had a moment for

  a kind word.

  But not today.

  Graham shocked Sarah by striding across the room, grabbing her firmly by

  the elbow and steering her out of her seat and toward the connecting

  door that led to her private quarters. He was a big man and when he made

  up his mind to move, no one could gainsay him. Certainly not Sarah who

  at five foot four only came up to his chest. "Excuse me, Jean, Janet,"

  he threw over his shoulder. "Your teacher will return in a moment."

  "Mister McNab?Graham! Wait, what do you think you are doing?" She pushed

  her glasses up her nose before they fell off.

  He closed the connecting door firmly behind them. She shoved the drawing

  pencil into the careless topknot of her soft brown hair and reached to

  open it. "Have you lost your reason?"

  He blocked her attempt with the flat of his palm on the door, his long,

  hard body pinning her in place. "No, I'm in love."

  Now, he had Sarah's undivided attention.

  She leaned her back against the door, uncertain if she'd heard him

  correctly. At two and thirty, she was six years older but considered him

  a compatriot. They were both neither servants in the true sense of the

  words? well, perhaps herself more than him?and yet, outsiders to Sir

  Edward's class. Graham's friendship was the bright spot in her otherwise

  humdrum life. He was one of the few men she trusted. She thought she

  knew everything about him.

  Obviously not.

  "Love?" she tested the word?and backed away from it, cautious. "Were you

  in 'love' this morning when I saw you at breakfast?"

  "No. But I am now and, Sarah, you are my only hope." He took both her

  hands. "You must teach me to dance."

  She couldn't follow his train of thought. "Why?"

  "Because I don't know how," he replied earnestly.

  "Yes," she agreed. "That's usually the way it is with people who need

  dancing lessons." She shook her head. None of what he said made sense,

  nor did she want to consider the implications to herself. If he was in

  love . . .

  She reached for the door handle behind her. "We'll discuss this later. I

  must return to the twins." And maybe, in the meantime, she prayed he

  would come to his senses.

  Graham covered her hand on the door handle with his and opened the door,

  squashing Sarah between his body and the door frame in a way that

  brought a hot rush of color to her face, and said, "Jean, Janet, place

  your slates on Miss Ambrose's desk and run see Nurse. I think she has

  treacle tea for you."

  He didn't have to make the suggestion twice. The girls jumped to obey,

  their slates clattering as they were thrown on the desk.

  Sarah made an exasperated sound and slipped through the door to chase

  them back but it was too late. Janet was the latter one through the

  schoolroom door, slamming it shut behind her.

  She whirled on Graham. "Why did you do that? They are never good

  students in the best circumstances and, now, I won't get anything out of

  them for the rest of the day."

  "Good," he replied happily. "You have time to start teaching me how to

  dance."

  She stared into the light green eyes that she'd thought she'd known as

  well as her own gray ones and realized he'd become a stranger. The

  thought was unsettling, as was her almost stomach-churning reaction to

  his claiming to be ... in ... /love./

  "This is sudden. Too sudden," she avowed. He'd always been too involved

  in work and his studies to care about frivolities. "I mean, last night

  you were anticipating this day because Mister Fielder was to release you

  from your apprenticeship."

  "Oh, yes, he did," Graham answered offhandedly and Sarah was more

  bewildered. Becoming a doctor had been Graham's sole goal in life.

  She sat in her "teacher" chair behind her desk. "Perhaps you should

  start from the beginning."

  "I'd rather start with the dancing lessons." He leaned on her desk.

  "Please, Sarah, help me."

  She crossed her arms. "Talk first, lessons second."

  The set of his mouth flattened stubbornly. Sarah thought Graham had the

  most amazing mouth. It conveyed all his emotions. Now it told her he

  didn't want to be questioned. Too bad. "Talk, Graham."

  He frowned but then the corners of his mouth twisted into rueful

  resignation. With a sigh, he hitched one leg up on the edge of her desk

  and launched into the most astounding story she'd ever heard about

  seeing a Miss Whitlow, the Garrison Commander's daughter, who apparently

  had all the virtues of womanhood without opening her mouth and how her

  father was hosting a ball to find her a husband.

  She listened, her eyebrows climbing higher and higher. "So you wish to

  learn to dance to impress this young woman whose father is blatantly

  auctioning her off?"

  He frowned, then corrected, "He's holding a search."

  "And you want to dance in such a way as to convince him and her you

  would be a good lover."

  Her blunt words startled him. She made an impatient sound. "Graham, I

  have been about in the world. I know the implications of the Scottish

  proverb on the invitation."

  "Yes . . . and no," he admitted. "I mean, there should be some decency

  involved."

  "Exactly," she murmured, withholding further opinion.

  "There's more," he said, and told her about the wager, his focus

  dropping to the slates on her desk as he spoke, his expression taking on

  a new intensity.

  "You didn't accept the challenge, did you?" she asked, fearing the answer.

  Graham's gaze met hers. "I did."

  Sarah
released a soft groan, but she was not surprised. Everyone knew

  Blair was jealous of his tall, intelligent cousin. She'd witnessed the

  petty insults and small cruelties he'd inflicted on Graham over the

  years. She'd considered it a sign of Graham's strength that he had not

  struck back. However, a day of reckoning was bound to have come.

  What disturbed her were the whispers she'd overheard among the household

  staff about how Sir Edward did not want Graham to leave the shipping

  firm. Blair's timing was too fortuitous.

  She looked up at him. "They mean for you to lose."

  Graham straightened. "I won't." He paused and added, /"If /you teach me

  to dance."

  "Me? If I?" she repeated blindly. She rose from her chair and started

  stacking and restacking the girls' slates with more force than

  necessary, her mind jumbled with objections and fears and?

  "It's an insane wager." She shoved the slates away and faced him.

  "Graham, go tell your uncle you've changed your mind. Back out while you

  have time. They don't mean for you to win," she said, rapping her

  knuckles on the desk to emphasize each word. "They will take every

  advantage of you without any regret."

  He stepped back, his features hardened with the resolute sense of

  purpose that was so much a part of him. "I will win, Sarah. Miss Whitlow

  is in love with me."

  "Love?" The word sounded alien to her ears. "Because she looked at you?

  Did either of your speak? Did you introduce yourselves?" The challenges

  flew out of her mouth before she'd had a chance to consider their wisdom.

  "Sometimes words are not necessary."

  "Not even a simple 'hello, how are you'?"

  " 'Twas love at first sight," he replied stonily.

  " 'Twas /lust /at first sight!" Sarah snapped back. She wanted to shake

  him she was so angry. Unreasonably angry.

  He took another step toward the door, his sparkling eyes growing colder,

  more distant. "I thought you would understand."

  Oh, she understood. There had been a time when she, too, had been

  willing to forsake all for love. When she'd believed in shining stars,

  happily ever afters, and, oh, yes, love at first sight. Her "love" had

  left her at the altar, his promises empty, meaningless.

  Nothing seared the soul like love. It had almost destroyed her.

  She'd needed a full year, crammed with the most painful moments of her

  life to recover. Even now, the feelings of shame and humiliation from

  his rejection hovered near her. Graham was the first man she'd opened

  herself to in years. Perhaps, because he was several years younger, she

  had not feared for her heart with him.

  However, because of their close friendship, she had to make him see

  reason. She chose her words carefully. "This wager ... it could destroy

  your life." She paused, needing to make him understand and, yet,

  unwilling to confess her own miserable experience. "As a governess, I

  have lived in different households. My experiences have allowed me to

  observe human nature." She gripped the edge of the table, her knuckles

  turning white. "Once the first bloom of love fades?and it fades quickly,

  Graham, mark my words?what is left in its place is not to be desired."

  The tension eased in him slightly. "There is a connection between Miss

  Whitlow and myself. Something special."

  "Graham, what if you win and are forced to marry this young woman?"

  "I /want /to many her."

  Sarah released her hold on the desk, pushing it back to accent her

  words. "Or do you just not want Blair to have her?"

  Graham jerked his head to one side as if she had struck him. Sarah

  closed her eyes. 'Twas not like her to lash out.

  "You don't have to help me, Sarah."

  His words pierced her heart. She opened her eyes. He was moving toward

  the door. He reached for the door handle. "And yes, I'm bloody tired of

  playing the lackey. If dancing to claim a woman's hand is how I can make

  my uncle and cousin respect me, then I will." He opened the door.

  "Graham?"

  He stopped, waiting.

  Sarah balled her hands into fists. She didn't know what to say. But

  before her mind could form words to heal the rift between them, Betty,

  the cheeky upstairs maid hailed Graham.

  "Mister McNab, I've been looking for you. What is this I hear about a

  wager and a dance?" Betty appeared in the doorway, a big, happy smile

  stretched across her face, her hips twitching saucily. Her cinch belt

  was laced so tight her breasts appeared to be popping forward like two

  beehives on a table.

  Graham was forced to take a step back into the classroom lest he be run

  over.

  "They say the Garrison Commander's daughter practically fell off her

  horse when she first laid eyes on you," Betty crooned. " 'Course, I

  don't blame her. You would turn my head any day." Her breasts quivered

  with her words.

  Sarah spoke up to let the forward puss know Graham was not alone. "Don't

  you have cleaning to do, Betty?"

  The maid didn't even bother a glance in Sarah's direction. "I've got all

  my chores done and a wee bit of time on my hands. They say you might be

  needing a dancing lesson or two, Mister McNab. I'm a good dancer." She

  bumped Graham with her beehive breasts.

  Inexplicably, jealousy stabbed through Sarah with blinding force.

  "Mister McNab doesn't need your help."

  Betty slipped from Sarah's grasp and moved into the schoolroom. "Then

  who will teach him to dance?"

  "I will," Sarah replied.

  "You?" Betty asked doubtfully.

  "You?" Graham said happily.

  "Yes, me," Sarah answered.

  "But I thought?" Graham started.

  She cut him off, not wanting to examine her motives too closely. " 'Tis

  the least I can do for a friend, Graham."

  He gave a sudden, happy whoop, scooped her up in his arms, and twirled

  her around. "I knew I could count on you, Sarah. I knew it."

  "Yes," she agreed numbly, her cheek against his hard chest. His

  movements made her a little dizzy and she was startled by tears stinging

  her eyes. What had she gotten herself into?

  He set Sarah on her feet. "Can we start now?" he asked, his eyes alive

  with anticipation.

  "No," Sarah said quickly. "The twins will be back . . . we should meet

  later. Say, nine o'clock in the downstairs ballroom. Sir Edward is going

  out this evening."

  "That will be perfect," Graham said.

  "I beg your pardon," Betty demanded rudely, obviously irritated at being

  ignored. "But do you know how to dance, Miss Ambrose?"

  "Yes, I do."

  "Then why haven't I seen you dance?" Betty asked.

  Sarah matched her cat smile with a bright one of her own. "We don't

  travel in the same circles or frequent the same places, Betty."

  The maid's eyes narrowed at the implied insult. "So where do you dance?"

  "Here." Sarah walked over to her desk, her symbol of authority. "In the

  schoolroom. Teaching dance is one of my responsibilities."

  "And she's a good dancer," Graham said loyally although Sarah doubted

  he'd ever seen her dance.

  /"I'm /a good dancer," Bet
ty corrected. "And he is a man not a child,

  Miss Ambrose. He needs a /woman /to teach him to dance."

  "I am a woman, Betty," Sarah said, a hint of warning in her voice.

  "No, you are a /teacher." /Betty shuddered and then started for the

  door, her hips swaying with the wanton sensuality. "You stay up here in

  your little tower and look down on the rest of us."

  "You'd best remember your place, Betty," Sarah said evenly.

  Betty turned. "I want him to win, Miss Ambrose. Can you say the same?"

  The maid's challenge caught Sarah off guard. For a second, class

  distinction evaporated between them and Sarah sensed Betty knew and saw

  more than Sarah would want her to. More than Sarah would admit to.

  Graham came to her rescue.

  "Betty, Sarah is graceful and elegant, intelligent and kind. In short,

  everything a woman should be. Perhaps you'd best go back to your work."

  The expression on Betty's face made it clear she didn't agree with him

  and had a thing or two she wanted to add, but then thought differently.