remembered it clearly. The Abingtons had bowed to pressure from one of their few wealthy families and had consented to hold the event, much against their better judgment. The sisters would squeeze a penny until it cried, so they were not about to hire extra staff. Sarah had done all the work, cleaning and cooking and listening to the sisters complain about the cost of such a frivolous undertaking. There’d been neither time to sew a ball gown nor any money for fabric, so she’d just worn her best dress, the one she’d worn to every commencement, formal school assembly, and Sunday service since she’d turned sixteen.
“No one asked you to dance?” James sounded shocked. “The men in Philadelphia must all be blind.”
Sarah smiled slightly and shook her head. One brave fellow had asked, but surprise had kept her silent too long. Miss Clarissa Abington had sent the young man off with a flea in his ear for his boldness.
“Well, I am not blind,” James whispered as Charles played the opening chords of the waltz. “And I very much want to waltz with you, Miss Hamilton.”
“Oh,” Sarah breathed as James’s hand touched her waist. She placed her hand carefully on his shoulder and smiled hesitantly up at him. She saw the faint golden stubble on the strong curve of his jaw; the slight cleft in his chin; and the firm line of his lips, lips that had felt so inviting on hers.
She had been this close to him in that bed at the Green Man. Closer even.
She dropped her eyes and stared at his shoulder.
“No, sweetheart, don’t stiffen up.” James spoke softly so that only she could hear as he started them moving around the room. “Think of my poor toes!”
A slightly hysterical laugh bubbled up in her chest. “I don’t think I can do this.”
“Yes, you can. Just relax. Close your eyes and feel the music.”
Sarah obediently closed her eyes, but it wasn’t the music she was feeling: it was the warmth of his body only inches from hers and the strength of his shoulder under her hand. She was surrounded by him, by his heat and his spicy, male scent, a mix of soap and wine and leather. When she wavered, he pulled her closer and she felt the momentary brush of his leg against her skirts, his chest against her breasts.
His broad, muscled chest with its golden hair, trailing in a thin line down to his navel.
Sarah gasped and opened her eyes. Such wanton thoughts!
James bent his head, his hands urging her even closer to his firm body. His lips were on level with her eyes. If she turned her head, if she leaned ever so slightly toward him, she would feel them on her temple.
She felt his breath against her cheek as he counted.
“One, two, three. One, two, three.”
A strange, drenching heat pooled low in her stomach.
“Follow me, love,” he whispered, his words stirring the tendrils of hair by her ears. “Come with me.”
She did. She forgot about her feet. She forgot the music room, Robbie and Lizzie, and the others. She gave herself up to James, let her body move with his.
When the music stopped, it took her more than a moment to come back to herself.
“Well, Lady Amanda,” she heard Robbie say, “I do believe James and Sarah just showed us why the waltz is such a dangerous dance.”
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