concealed whispers.
She’d held firm under the censure, alone, her posture unmoving, chin lifted in defiance, as courageous as a warrior. She’d been magnificent. Beautiful. Yet Jonathon had seen past the false bravado. He’d seen the nerves and vulnerability living beneath the calm facade.
He’d asked her to dance.
Later, when the waltz had come to an end, she’d thanked him for rescuing her from an uncomfortable moment.
Now she was rescuing him.
It seemed somehow fitting.
“I’d like nothing more than to dance with you, Fanny.”
Taking charge of the moment, he directed her onto the floor and then pulled her into his arms.
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