Graham into the fray.
She took his hand and started for the line. Betty stepped forward. "I'd
be happy to dance with Mister McNab while you call the steps, Miss Ambrose."
/"I'll /dance with him," Sarah asserted. " 'Tis best I lead him through
the first time."
Betty's mouth pursed into a pout. For a second, Sarah feared the maid
would accuse her of wanting to keep Graham to herself?and she would be
right. Sarah didn't want to share. Not with a woman sporting Betty's
bosom and easy morals.
Betty's too-knowing gaze narrowed. Sarah braced herself, but then Graham
rescued the situation. "Miss Ambrose is my teacher, Betty," he said and
the maid had no choice but to flounce back to her place opposite Nate.
Sarah tried to hide a flicker of triumph, without much success. After
all, Graham had chosen her. "We'll start again. Bailey and Cook first,
again."
"Be careful," Cook whispered to her. "You may bounce out of your bodice
without all that stuffing in there."
Sarah's lips parted in shock and then, such was her good mood, she
started laughing. Cook laughed with her. "You are a rum one, Miss
Ambrose. I had not thought it."
"And you are a bit of a rogue," Sarah countered. The two of them had
rarely spoken before. Graham and Bailey questioned what was so funny but
Cook and Sarah were cohorts now and wouldn't tell.
The dancing started. Sarah and Graham would be the last ones. She called
out the steps for Graham as the others took their turns hoping he'd find
the beat. He couldn't. She'd never seen the like. His eyes were alive
with his delight in the music. His head nodded to the tempo but the rest
of him was going in different directions?and then their turn came to
step to the center.
Graham grabbed her hands with a bruising grip, lifted his feet, and
proceeded with the worst approximation of a /chaine anglaise /or even a
"chase the ladies" she had ever witnessed. He'd shown more grace when
he'd twirled her in the schoolroom. Now, he bounced and bobbed, his feet
moving but not in any discernible order and she was hard pressed to
avoid being trampled.
They stomped left and stomped right. The other dancers scrambled out of
Graham's way, and eventually even the fiddler quit playing to gape at
Graham's dancing feet.
Worse, Graham was so involved in these steps of his own creation, it
took him a moment to realize the silence. He came to a standstill.
"What? Is something the matter? Why aren't you all dancing? Sarah?"
With a raised hand, Sarah warded off his questions, needing a moment to
catch her breath. Whatever Graham had been doing, he'd been doing
vigorously.
"You were fine," she lied. " 'Tis a good first effort."
"But??" he prompted.
Betty snickered and Sarah decided to make a clean break of it. "Pay
better attention to where you place your feet. All beginners have this
problem," she added quickly. "We'll resolve it. Bailey, you stand on one
side of Mister McNab. Nate, you take the other. We'll go over the steps
slowly. Men only."
"Should I play, Miss Ambrose?" the fiddler asked.
"The first time, we'll count the beats. When he has the rhythm, then
we'll add the music." Sarah was certain Graham's problem could be
corrected easily.
She started counting, "Right foot up, and down and one . . . two . . .
three." They repeated the steps several times and all seemed fine but
adding the music and tempo was a different story. Graham tromped on
Bailey's foot.
The butler doubled over with a groan.
"I'm sorry." The words burst out of Graham. He backed away and
accidentally punched his elbow into Nate's stomach. The air left the
ostler in a whoosh.
don't think anything is broken."
"I'm . . . not . . . feeling ... so good," Nate wheezed out.
"Let me see," Graham said, but Sarah grabbed him in the crook of the arm
and swung him back around in place.
"You can examine them both later," she said and, indeed, Nate was
getting his wind back and Bailey could move his foot. "We don't have
time to waste. The hour is growing late. Sir Edward could come home at
any time. Now, let's try it again?"
"It's already too late," Sir Edward's deep voice said from the doorway.
"I'm home, Miss Ambrose."
Chapter Four
Sarah whirled around to face Sir Edward. Graham came to stand beside her
. . . but everyone else took a step back. The scullery girl even ran to
cower behind the chair Bailey sat in.
Sir Edward walked into the room with slow measured steps. Blair trailed
behind swinging his walking stick, his hat at a cocky angle. His father
stopped in front of Sarah and Graham.
Under Sir Edward's scrutiny, Sarah reminded herself she had no need to
feel guilty and, yet, she felt like a child caught with her hands in the
honey pot.
Graham came forward protectively. "They are teaching me to dance."
"Ummmhmmmm." Sir Edward's gaze moved past Graham to where Bailey sat and
then to Cook and the others. He took his time, studying each servant
carefully and moving on to the next only when he received a proper
squirm. He saved Sarah for the last.
She refused to cower. She was a governess, not a menial.
"Miss Ambrose, do you value being in my employ?"
"Uncle?" Graham started but Sarah cut him off.
"Yes, Sir Edward, I do." She clasped her hands so he wouldn't notice
they were shaking.
"Then you will cease organizing the servants in such silly endeavors
like dancing or I shall have a meeting with you in my library."
Sarah's heart leaped to her throat. The only time Sir Edward ordered an
employee to the library was to deliver the sack.
"Uncle, this is my doing," Graham said sternly. "Don't blame Sarah."
Sir Edward considered his nephew a moment. 'Twas always a war of wills
and there was no telling who would be the winner. This time, Sir Edward
deferred first, "Very well," he murmured, "then I will advise /you /to
stop inciting the servants or I will be forced to ask Miss Ambrose to
leave my employ."
The muscle in Graham's jaw hardened. "You can't hold her responsible for
my actions."
"I can and will," Sir Edward answered. "You are free to go, Miss Ambrose."
Graham opened his mouth to protest, but Sarah lightly touched his arm in
warning. Nothing good would come out of continued confrontation. Head
dutifully bowed, she slipped by the men and walked toward the door. As
she passed, Blair leered at her pumped-up bosom. She curled her lip in
distaste but he didn't notice since he hadn't raised his gaze. Men!
However, once outside the door in the dark hallway, Sarah rebelled. She
wouldn't go to her room like a chastened child. Instead, she slipped
into an alcove and hid in the deep shadows, determined to wait for
Graham. Then she would rail in private to him about her employer's
high-handedness.
In the ballroom, Sir Edward add
ressed his butler. "Bailey, we obviously
do not give the servants enough responsibilities if they have time to
dance while in my employ. Or perhaps I should cut back wages, hmmmm?"
"Uncle," Graham said, a quiet warning.
His uncle studied him for a moment under hooded eyes. Graham was his
conscience and always had been. His uncle nodded to the butler. "We'll
discuss the matter in the morning, Bailey."
"Yes, sir," Bailey answered, visibly relieved because he knew like the
others Graham had swayed his uncle to common sense once again.
His uncle didn't wait but turned and started for the door. "Come along,
Blair. The hour is late." He didn't wait for his son's response but
walked out of the room.
Blair lingered behind.
He strutted in front of the line of servants, obviously enjoying the
fact he made them ill at ease. He stopped in front of Graham. His lips
twisted into a smirk.
"Nice dancing, coz. I believe my money is safe."
" 'Tis not the dancing we are wagering over but Miss Whitlow," Graham
answered. "And there are other suitors," he added pointedly. "I am not
your only competition."
"There /were," /Blair corrected. He unsheathed his walking stick to
reveal the sword inside. Graham smelled the blood before he saw its
stain upon the blade.
Blair held the weapon up proudly. "I've been busy this night. The
merchant riding at her side this afternoon challenged me over something
I said. 'Tis a shame, no? Now there is one less suitor to contend with."
Behind Graham, the servants shrank back. Blair enjoyed their reaction.
"Oh dear," Blair said mockingly. "I forgot to clean the blade." His
expression hardened. "You don't mind, do you, McNab?" He started to wipe
the steel on Graham's leg?and something inside Graham snapped.
He'd learned long ago anytime he provoked his cousin there was hell to
pay . . . perhaps not for him but for someone close to him. For that
reason, he usually resisted striking out.
But the sacrilege of Blair wiping another man's blood on Graham's leg
without any care or concern to the human cost offended Graham to his
soul. He caught Blair's arm in an iron grip at the wrist.
"All of you, leave," Graham ordered the servants, his gaze searing into
Blair's.
He didn't have to repeat himself. They dispersed quickly.
Blair's face reddened. He attempted to edge the blade closer to Graham's
leg. He was strong, but Graham was stronger. He pushed his cousin away
with such force, Blair stumbled back. But the shorter man quickly gained
his balance and raised the sword, ready to gouge Graham in the side.
Graham refused to flinch. He looked Blair in the eye. "Running an
unarmed man through is not something you can brag about," he said. "I
believe it is called murder."
"Don't tempt me, coz."
"Then don't anger me," Graham returned evenly. "You are brave with your
toys in your hands." He nodded to the sword/walking stick. "But I could
still crush you. I have the skill to save life. Conversely, I also
understand how to take it. Perhaps you should think on that, /coz." /He
watched his words sink in.
His cousin stepped back. "You wouldn't. You don't have that kind of
courage."
"You believe it takes courage to kill another?" Graham couldn't conceive
of the concept. "We are far more different than I had imagined," he said
sadly.
"Yes, one of us labors and the other is a gentleman."
"One of us saves lives, and the other takes them," Graham answered.
The cocky grin returned to Blair's face. "Then, we are a team," he
crowed. He swooped up his walking stick and sheathed the sword. "Except
I can dance," he added as a last jibe. He jigged a step or two as he
headed toward the door. "Good night, coz. I'm riding with Miss Whitlow
tomorrow. We'll wave at you as we pass by." His laughter echoed after
him as disappeared into the hall's darkness.
Graham stared after him and felt trapped. What devil's bargain had he
agreed to? At this moment, he could barely recall what Miss Whitlow
looked like other than she was passing fair and yet he had entered into
that hell-borne wager with Blair for her hand.
Sarah had been right to suspect his motive.
For years, he'd been forced to swallow his pride and watch his cousin
threaten and intimidate others. He'd been flattered by Miss Whitlow's
marked attention and he had wanted to best Blair. 'Twas his only excuse
for accepting such a rash wager.
He was a fool.
Crossing to the wall sconce where three candle stubs flickered and
hissed, he snubbed them out with his fingers. The slight burning sting
served him right for his own stupidity.
"I'm going to teach you to dance."
Sarah's voice startled him.
He turned to see her standing at the edge of the ring of candlelight
radiating from the remaining sconces, her face pale, her silver-gray
eyes so wide they threatened to swallow her face. She came forward. Some
of the pins had come out of her hair so that it was half up and half
down. Her ample bosom over her bodice line heaved with righteous
indignation.
He smiled. He couldn't help it. Sarah was a true, loyal friend. Here in
his darkest hour, her staunch support touched his heart.
"I'm not teasing," she said, misunderstanding his reason for humor. "You
cannot let a man so"? she paused, searching for the right word?"so /vile
/as Mister Brock win at anything, including this outlandish wager. I
understand now why you accepted the challenge. His type of arrogance
cannot be tolerated."
"Sarah, don't worry yourself." Graham walked over to another set of
sconces and blew out the candles. "The chances are good Miss Whitlow
will not favor either one of us."
"We can't take such a risk. Your future is at stake."
He shook his head. "And I can't let you lose your position because of my
own foolishness. You warned me this afternoon I was being silly."
A frown line appeared between her eyes. "You're not giving up, are you?"
He drew a great steadying breath, releasing it before admitting, "You
saw me this evening. If I attend the ball, I will be the laughingstock
of Edinburgh."
Sarah was in front of him in a blink. "No one would ever laugh at you."
"They should," he admitted bitterly. "I've made a fool's wager and will
pay a fool's price. Such is the cost of being a dupe."
"Not if Miss Whitlow accepts your offer of marriage."
Graham shifted his gaze past her impassioned expression to the
night-darkened windows. He could see the reflection of the two of them
standing together.
"You said she was attracted to you," Sarah prodded. "The servants agree."
He focused on the determined set of her mouth. "I don't know. She is
riding with Blair on the morrow."
He would have moved to put out more candles but Sarah took hold of his
arm. "Graham, if Miss Whitlow won't marry you because you can't dance,
then she's a ninny and you will have larger problems than the one of
working for your un
cle for a few more years."
He considered her words. She was right.
"You are going to the ball," she said with conviction. "You will be the
most handsome in the room?"
"Most handsome?" he questioned, his teasing an attempt to divert her
intensity. His situation was hopeless. Could Sarah not see it?
"Easily," she replied soberly. "You will sweep Miss Whitlow off of her
feet, pirate her heart, and save her from such an animal as Blair Brock.
Then, you are going to be the grandest doctor in all of Scotland. You
will do something worthwhile and powerful with your life and I shall be
proud I know you."
A flicker of hope stirred inside him. This afternoon, what with Mr.
Fiedler's glowing praise over his ability to be a doctor and then the
meeting with Miss Whitlow, Graham had, for a moment, believed anything
and everything was possible. Sarah had been right about his motives. She
saw his heart more clearly than he. How easy it would be to wrap his
arms around Sarah and leave it all up to her . . .