Page 23 of Forever & Again
Grace heard a muffled giggle come from behind her, and turned to see a pair of wide-eyed debutantes, fresh out of leading strings, giggling over the man standing in front of her. She turned back to Oliver, dimpled smile still fixed on his face, and his sparkling gaze locked on hers.
Perhaps he was not entirely without appeal.
“Lady Rockwell,” he bowed, but something about the movement lacked his usual dramatic flair. “May I claim the next dance?” He straightened, his eyes meeting hers again. His voice was void of the usual teasing, and his face so full of sincerity that Grace found herself at a loss for words. She had figured out how to handle Oliver with all his jokes and jabs, but this version of him—soft and vulnerable—was still uncharted territory.
When Oliver cleared his throat, Grace realized she had hesitated a moment too long. “Must I be forced to duel for the honor?”
Grace shook her head silently, still unable to find her words, and slipped her hand into his outstretched arm. Her heart stuttered as his hand covered hers, pressing it further against the solid warmth of his arm.
“If I tread upon your toes, you have permission to stab me with your fan.” Oliver leaned in close and whispered as he led her to the center of the room.
“You presume I carry a fan for such a purpose?” Grace finally managed to find her voice, though it came out much less steady than she would have liked.
“My dear Lady Rockwell,” Oliver sighed as the first notes of the dance began to play. “You seem perfectly capable of weaponizing anything within reach.”
Before Grace could counter, she realized, too late, that they were being led in a waltz. Oliver’s hand rested lightly on her back, and Grace felt her breath catch as his other hand wrapped securely around hers.
He led with a purpose that didn’t match the casual way he usually moved through the world. They turned across the marble floor, the narrow space between making it difficult for Grace to compose her thoughts.
She kept her gaze fixed over his shoulder on the other couples twirling about the room. If she wasn’t looking at him she was able to keep a clear mind.
“You are surprisingly competent at this,” she said, more to fill the silence than actually prompt a conversation.
Grace could see his wicked half-smile from the corner of her eye, his dimples carving into his cheeks.
“Years of desperate mothers insisting I dance with their eligible daughters. One must develop a skill for survival.”
“You have endured great hardships.”
“Truly,” he said solemnly. “I am lucky to have survived.”
Grace laughed, shaking her head, but the sound faltered when their eyes caught again. For a single moment, the world narrowed. The chandeliers blurred, and the music faded until there was nothing left but the treacherous pounding of her own heart.
This wasn’t supposed to happen. Not with him. Not with anyone. Not yet.
As the final notes of the dance rang out, Grace pulled herself from his hold, offering a rushed curtsey before she turned to flee.
She was stopped by a steady hand on her arm, and Oliver turned her back to face him. “Are you running away from me?”
“Of course not.” Grace pulled her arm from his grasp with a little more force than necessary, nearly toppling herself over. Oliver grasped her waist to steady her, and she quickly brushed him off. “Why do you continue to insert yourself where you are not needed?” Her voice came out sharp and clipped.
Oliver’s eyes widened in shock as he let his hands fall to his sides. “Grace,” he said softly. “I am only trying to help.”
“I did not ask for your help.”
“Would you have preferred I let you fall?’ Oliver waved his arm, gesturing to the room full of elegantly dressed lords and ladies.
Grace took a breath, steadying her beating heart. No one had ever affected her quite like he did—no one made her lose her composure and sense of reason, and it drove her mad.
“I am sorry,” she murmured. She also could not remember the last time she had apologized as many times as she had to him. “You truly do seem to bring out the worst in me.”
Oliver’s mouth quirked in the faintest smile, his eyes never leaving hers. “I assure you, I mean no harm. Only to ensure you do not topple over and embarrass yourself.”
“I am usually perfectly capable of remaining upright,” Grace snapped, brushing imaginary dust from her gown.
“It is alright,” Oliver shoved his hands in his pockets, infuriatingly at ease. “This would not be the first time I have caused a woman to stumble and fall.”
Her chest fluttered, and she shook her head in frustration. “You are infuriating.”
