Page 38 of The Beauty and the Griffin

“I confess I’m not usually one to enjoy dancing.” His voice was just loud enough for me to hear. “But tonight is an exception. You’re making me look good.”

“I was just thinking you make me look good,” I admitted. A logical voice in my head reminded me that genuine romantic feelings at this point would be ridiculous in any world. Yet the attraction between us felt . . . real.

His gaze turned serious, and he tipped his head close to mine to ask, “Please tell me, Miss de Callen,howare you here? I know—” Breaking off, he glanced toward the dais and frowned. “Ah, this dance is about to end. Please answer my question at our next dance, which cannot come too soon for me.” When his gaze returned to mine, I felt a rush of heat that no doubt turned my face pink. “I believe I’ve been waiting a long time for you, Miss de Callen.”

Coming from him, even that cliché pleased me. “Beatrice. Please call me Beatrice.”

His eyes twinkled between those lashes. “Beatrice. Then you must call me Niel.” His hand gently squeezed mine before the song ended, and we stepped apart. Instantly, I missed his touch, and the slight crease between his brows told me he felt the same.

No matter how I tried to convince myself that, apart from his royal title, Niel was just a nice-looking younger man with an unfair dose of magnetism, my heart kept insisting this was something . . . real.

I sneaked another look, and he caught me in the act. A knowing smile crinkled his eyes before I averted my gaze. Almost immediately, several men approached me to request dances. Because anyone the King chose as his first dance partner must be important, right? Bemused by the novelty of being in high demand, I limited them each to one dance and offered my card and pencil. The next few dances flashed past, with my partners asking polite questions that I answered with proper vagueness. I asked a few questions in return, but their answers floated in one ear and out the other.

One sharp-eyed fellow was less polite. After a chilly silence lasting several minutes, he asked, “Where and when did you first meet the King?”

“Here at the palace, not long ago,” I answered with a demure smile.

His pale brows lowered, yet he maintained a veneer of courtesy. Focusing on his white bowtie and shiny black lapels, I added, “Actually, he rescued me when I was nearly trampled in a crowd. So gallant and kind!”

I could almost see the surprise and follow-on questions tumbling through his mind, but that dance ended, and I turned to a new partner before he could quiz me further. Just as we began a polka, I peered over my new partner’s shoulder and encountered Niel’s intent gaze. In the instant our eyes met, a tightness in my gut loosened, and I saw his gaze soften and his mouth curl into a private smile. He was biding his time before our next dance as surely as I was.

He claimed me as soon as that dance ended, almost before my partner released my hand. Unfortunately, the two-step was quick and loud, which made conversation difficult. While spinning me in close, Niel said, “I should have paid closer attention to your dance card. I didn’t realize—” I spun back out, so he finished during the next spin—“this dance would be so lively. But it has its perquisites.”

I laughed up at him, thoroughly enjoying the close holds of the dance and the lively rhythm of the old-fashioned music. Despite his professed dislike of dancing, he led with such practiced ease that I was almost sorry when he asked, “Would you step into the garden with me? I greatly wish to speak with you in private.”

I nodded. Whoever had signed my card for the next dance would have to wait for another. This dream or fantasy or whatever might end at any moment, and more than anything I wanted to talk with Niel. To figure out why he . . . why I . . . Well, justwhy!

And if he were to request a kiss . . .

Arabella

For the record, I was not, never had been, and never would be romantically attached to my prodigy cousin, and at the time of Niel’s coronation ball, I was still pining after Kapono. However, the whispers, the pitying looks, and the outraged claims of offense on my behalf did get under my skin. While Niel danced with the mysterious girl in green, the Queen Mother, my third cousin once removed, drew me aside to assure me that her son’s choice of partner for the first dance at his Coronation Ball meant nothing at all.

Neither of us believed a word she said, but I knew it was kindly meant. We both knew that her son had never, not even once, indicated the slightest romantic interest in me or anyone else. Until now.

16

BEATRICE

Still dancing, my partnermaneuvered us toward a door, then ducked through it, pulling me along, our hands still clasped. I felt as if we were invisible; no servant or guest we passed even noticed the King sneaking out of his own coronation ball.

“Youdohave magic.” I couldn’t remember which of my maids had called it, but she’d been correct.

He paused in the hallway to look me directly in the eyes, laying one gloved forefinger over his lips. “Soon.” The word was both a request and a promise. A minute or two later, we stopped at a blank wall, and a door appeared. I scarcely batted an eye as he politely ushered me through it into golden daylight.

Sweet scents soothed my spirit even before I noticed the flagstone path amid irises, roses, begonias, peonies, and banks of blooms I couldn’t identify. Flowering vines draped gates and climbed trellises, creating masses of vivid color as if to compete with the glowing sunset sky.

“This is my private garden,” he told me, “a retreat of sorts. No one else comes here.” He smiled, but when he glimpsed my face, concern flickered in his eyes. “Is something disturbing you? If you prefer to return to the ballroom—”

“No, no . . . it’s just that . . . a discussion between my maids this morning led me to believe that enchanters are explicitly barred from ruling countries in this time period.”

He nodded, looking hesitant. “You are . . . from the future?”

I hadn’t expected that question and stopped abruptly to think about it. “I have no idea, but”—I indicated my ballgown with a wave—“the styles here appear to be from around a hun—”

“Please don’t give me exact details!”

I stopped short, my mouth still open. A shiver ran through me.

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