the surface, like the burn of a constellation in a night sky. She’d been a quiet, pleasant, young woman who hovered on the periphery of the crowds, circling the ballrooms and parlors. A sparrow, yes, but one whose plumage shone with colors of rich brown, ocher, snow-white.
He turned toward a birdcage automaton resting on a workbench and found the key at the base. With a few twists, he wound the machine and released it. A metallic but pleasant tune drifted from the mechanism.
Sebastian lifted Clara’s right hand and placed it in his. Nerves tightened in his chest, but he curled his fingers around hers and willed his hand not to falter. Then he slipped his other hand around Clara’s waist and pulled her closer.
“May I have this dance?” he asked.
Clara smiled, her eyes sparking with colors as she put her hand on his shoulder. “I’d be delighted.”
Sebastian guided her into a slow waltz. Although they were hampered by the scattered tables, she followed his lead with ease, matching her steps to his in time to the thin music and the chatter of the automated birds.
Sebastian turned, drawing her to him. His apprehension faded into the pleasure of the simultaneous movement, the ease of letting the music be his guide, the sheer enjoyment of holding Clara in his arms.
“You’re a wonderful dancer.” She looked up at him. “I remember that too.”
“I haven’t danced in months.”
“I haven’t either,” Clara admitted. “Not in the last year.”
Her eyes skimmed across his face, down to his mouth and lower to his neck. Sebastian’s blood warmed at the caress of her gaze. The automaton music wound down, the final strains filtering into the dusky air. He drew Clara to a slow halt. She remained within the circle of his arms, her hand still clasping his. For the first time in months, Sebastian realized he had forgotten about his disability.
An emotion tugged at him that he didn’t recognize, something rich and saturated with all the colors of the rainbow. His breathing shortened.
He stared at Clara’s lovely eyes. Eyes of a witch. Surely they had beguiled him into considering her proposal, for he could have conceived a dozen other ways of obtaining the cipher machine plans. Yet when she had laid out the terms, he knew it was the quickest way to obtain her assistance, to appease his father, to settle with Darius.
To make Clara his alone.
Apprehension rose to dilute his unforeseen emotions. Her approach to this agreement was calculated and practical. She needed Wakefield House transferred to his name. She spoke of warm feelings toward him, but her admiration had been directed toward the man he once was. Not the man he was now. Whereas he was drawn to all the complexities and turmoil of Mrs. Clara Winter, the woman who had sustained suffering and still burned with vital determination.
He remembered the young woman she had once been. He only wished he’d looked beyond himself far enough to actually see her.
He lowered his head to her damaged ear and spoke in a whisper that he knew she would not hear. “Now I see no other woman except you.”
She turned, her forehead creasing. “I’m sorry?”
No, he couldn’t allow her to hear such a confession. Not when her admiration for him was so misguided.
He released her and stepped back, unsettled. “I will come back tomorrow to help you look for the plans.”
A flicker of confusion passed across her expression before she glanced away. “Yes, of course. I…I’ve explained to my uncle about Wakefield House. He remains cautious, but as trustee he would not hinder the transfer of the property to you. Should we come to an agreement.”
Her voice leveled out into a practical tone, as if she sought to remind them both of the conditions underlying her proposal. And yet even with that reminder, Sebastian could not forget his caveat that their marriage would be both real and immutable.
Heat coursed down his spine. He would bind his emotions tightly because he would not lay himself bare before a woman who looked at him through the lens of the past, whose desire to marry him sprang from a practical and desperate purpose. And he would not lose sight of his own agreement with Darius, now laced with suspicions about his brother’s motives.
“Tomorrow then.” He fisted his right hand and headed for the foyer.
“Tomorrow,” Clara echoed.
Sebastian gave a short nod and opened the door.
“Sebastian?”
He stopped, but didn’t turn to face her.
“Thank you.” Clara paused, then added, “I’m glad we both remember