"But I can't dance," he said flatly. He started toward the next wall sconce.
She blocked his path, her hand on his chest. "You will when I am through
with you. Every gentleman should know how to dance?and you are a
gentleman, Graham. You are the finest, most noble man I have ever
known." She added in a softer tone, "And my friend. I won't desert you.
I haven't had many friends over the years. You mean something to me."
Graham covered her hand with his. Instinctively, her fingers laced with
his, a sign of trust. "Sarah, my uncle will turn you out if he learns of
your even offering to defy him. I will not have harm come to you on my
account."
Her gaze dropped to their joined hands. Almost selfconsciously, she
pulled away. "Of course, we must be careful. No one can know what we are
doing." Bowing her head in thought, the soft golden glow of the
candlelight brought out the red in her hair. Funny, he'd never noticed
the strands of color before.
She looked up at him. "Meet me in the schoolroom at midnight tomorrow."
"Midnight?"
"Aye, everyone will think we are snug in our beds, as they all will be.
Instead, prepare to dance yourself into a tizzy. I assure you, I'm as
good at teaching dance as I am at needlepoint."
"Sarah?"
She covered his lips with her fingers. "No protests. You will win the
wager. I promise you."
She didn't wait for his response but turned and left the room, a plucky
swing to her hips.
Graham reached up and touched his mouth where her fingers had been. His
lips tingled. Didn't Sarah see the cause was hopeless?
"I won't be there," he called after her. He couldn't let her risk her
position. "If we are discovered, it would ruin your reputation."
She turned, walking backward. "Pooh. I'm older than you are. No one will
think anything."
"You're not /that /much older."
She laughed and waved a dismissive hand. "We've known each other too
long to be anything but friends. Good night, Graham." She disappeared
into the hall's darkness.
* * *
The next day, Graham was too busy to think about doctoring or a midnight
rendezvous. A new ship was due in by early afternoon and Graham had
still not updated the ledgers from the day before or made out the work
list for the next week. Uncle Edward assumed Graham would take care of
matters and so Graham did.
However, late in the afternoon as he stood along the quayside road,
explaining to the ostlers where he wanted the ship's stores unloaded,
the beautiful Miss Whitlow rode by on her snowy-white horse. Once again,
he was struck speechless by her dewy perfection.
Blair's brutal tactics appeared to have had impact. Fewer admirers
trailed behind Miss Whitlow than had the day before. Blair was among
this group. He smiled and gaily waved at Graham as he trotted past.
Graham clenched his jaw, struggling with an urge to grab his cousin by
the neck cloth and toss him off his horse. From the expressions on their
faces, Miss Whitlow's other suitors wished the same thing.
In fact, Graham would be doing Miss Whitlow a favor and saving a life or
two if he went to Uncle Edward and forfeited the wager. Then Blair would
have no reason to marry Miss Whitlow or combat her other suitors. 'Twas
the honorable thing to do, but not the easiest. Graham hated giving in
to Blair.
Still, what choice did he have? His mind made up, he turned to walk into
the warehouse in search of his uncle when he heard a sound behind him.
He glanced back and was caught by surprise. Miss Whitlow sat there on
her dainty horse. Her suitors waited on impatiently stamping horses
several yards down the street, Blair at their forefront.
He pulled his tricorne from his head, surprised to be singled out. "May
I help you, my lady?"
"We have not been introduced," she said, her low voice musical.
Graham bowed. "I am Graham McNab, doctor." He said his title with pride.
"I have heard of you, Mr. McNab. They say you have the healing touch.
You saw my maid last month with Mr. Fielder. When my father paid Mr.
Fielder, the doctor said 'twas you who cured her of whatever illness had
laid her low."
"I attempt to do my best, Miss Whitlow. God also has a hand."
She gifted him with a radiant smile, her flawless white teeth flashing
in the sun. "I've also been informed you will be attending my father's
ball. My maid is very close to me, sir. I will save the first dance for
you."
Behind her, he could see the frustration and envy on the face of every
one of her suitors?Blair more than the others. Nate, who had been
rolling a molasses keg toward the warehouse, overheard the honor. He
gave a low whistle and hurried off to tell the others, leaving the keg
in the street.
Graham didn't know what he felt. Her sudden honor and the jealous
scrutiny of the other men left him a bit dazed. Fortunately, Miss
Whitlow didn't seem to expect an answer. She put heels to horse and
headed on her way. Her suitors fell in behind her, save for Blair. He
stared at Graham with undisguised hate.
Graham turned and walked off.
Later, at ten minutes past the hour of midnight, he knocked on Sarah's
door, ready for a dancing lesson.
Chapter Five
Sarah didn't discover the reason Graham couldn't dance until the wee
hours of the morning.
They'd been dancing most of the night. Dawn threatened and the whole
experience had been a frustrating exercise in futility for them both. At
first, she suspected he was merely clumsy. She racked her brain for ways
to help him understand the timing of rhythm. Of course, they were
handicapped since the only music they had was her humming, but she was
certain once he understood, he would progress.
His dancing grew steadily worse.
Sarah simplified her strategy. Graham had told her of his conversation
with Miss Whitlow asking him to lead her in the first dance. Very well.
Sarah would focus on teaching him a single dance he could perform
without embarrassing himself.
She decided to stay with the quadrille since most Edinburgh balls
traditionally opened with its lively music. Plus, she hummed it the best.
Still her efforts failed.
"Here," she said briskly, tossing back a stray strand of hair from her
eyes. She'd taken her eyeglasses off earlier out of fear that with all
the dancing and jumping about they'd bounce off her nose. Then, in all
likelihood, he would stomp on them.
"Let me demonstrate /one more time." /If she'd said those words once,
she'd said them a thousand times. She paused to take a sip of water. "My
throat is dry. You hum."
"Me hum?" Graham asked. "I don't know if that is such a wise idea."
"Graham, hum." Her patience and her feet were worn thin by the lack of
progress.
He started humming?or attempted to. 'Twas like no tune she'd ever heard.
"Oh ... my ... heavens," she whispered in revelation. She wanted to give
herself a smack for having been so blind.
&
nbsp; Graham was tone-deaf.
He attempted a semblance of the melody she'd been humming and singing
over and over for hours, but his was a half beat too slow, too sharp,
and too flat.
She listened in open-mouthed wonder.
He stopped humming. His green eyes darkened. "I can't sing either," he
admitted defiantly.
Sarah was so relieved she burst out laughing.
"I know I don't sound good, but you don't have to make sport of it,"
Graham said crossly. " Tis humiliating to not be able to sing a note."
Almost joyfully, Sarah threw her arms around him and squeezed him hard.
"Don't you understand? Your tone deafness is the reason you can't dance.
It's not that you are clumsy or awkward. Or stupid?"
"You thought I was stupid?"
She ignored him. "?You can't /hear /the music."
"I hear music."
"But not in the way I do," she responded. "You /think /you hear it, but
you don't or else you could dance."
He digested her words for a moment. She watched as the implications of
his tone deafness slowly dawned upon him. "I may never dance."
Sarah shook her head. "You can, but if you can't hear the music, you
can't keep the rhythm. You are always a beat behind or ahead."
He looked down at her. "What am I going to do, Sarah? If Miss Whitlow
sees what an ox I am, she'll prefer Blair over myself. He'll win the wager."
"She'd be a fool to choose Blair over you for something as silly as
dancing," Sarah said, the words coming from her heart.
Something passed in his eyes, an expression she couldn't decipher. It
could have been nothing more than the flicker of the candlelight except
now, she was aware of his hands resting on her waist, of her arms that
she'd impulsively thrown around him, of her breasts against his chest. .
. and of a different sort of humming between them. The air suddenly
vibrated with the dizziness of it all.
His lips parted, and her heart began to race.
"Sarah?"
She watched his mouth move. Graham's wonderful mouth. Coming up on
tiptoe, the better to reach for him, she whispered, "Yes?"
"Whatever we heard came from this room," Blair's slurry voice
interrupted, the sound coming from the outside hall.
Graham reacted immediately. He pushed Sarah toward the connecting door
of her private quarters and quickly snuffed out the candles, plunging
the room into darkness.
"Who'd be up at this hour?" Blair's friend Cullen complained, his tone
as boozy as Blair's.
"I heard something," Blair insisted. His voice was so close, she could
imagine him turning the door handle at any moment.
Graham grabbed her arm and propelled her into her bedroom. "Get into
bed," he ordered tersely. "Pretend to sleep."
She did as he said. He dropped to the floor and slid under her narrow
bed. She pulled the covers up to feign sleep, mussing her hair for added
effect, just as a step in the other room warned her Blair and Cullen had
invited themselves into the schoolroom. Too late, she realized she and
Graham had left her door open a crack.
Her heart pounded in her ears. She waited, expecting to be discovered.
"See, Blair? There is no one here," Cullen complained. "Let's return to
the study. I've a winning hand."
"Can you not smell it, Cullen?"
"Smell what?"
"Tallow. A candle was burning in here not more than seconds ago."
"Perhaps the governess was working on her lessons or reading a book?"
The slam of the books on the floor reverberated in the silence as if
he'd pushed them off her desk to punctuate his point. Sarah strained her
ears, listening for Blair's reaction.
It came in the menacingly light footsteps crossing the schoolroom's
hardwood floor. "The furniture has been moved," Blair whispered. " 'Twas
not arranged along the wall like this the other day."
"I have a winning hand downstairs," Cullen said full-voiced. "I don't
want to be up here. No one is here. You could have been imagining the
noise."
"I heard something."
"I think your nerves are on end because you are to fight a duel in an
hour or so. Relax. You'll easily dispatch that prig Dumfries. 'Course,
if you had challenged Major Sutton?"
"You don't think I can take Sutton?" Blair asked, his silky voice
suddenly dangerously sober.
"Of course," Cullen said, "but it won't be as easy. 'Tis said he has a
good sword arm."
"Aye, but I'm the best in Edinburgh."
"Yes, you are," Cullen replied almost as if by rote.
"Do you doubt me, Cullen?"
"No," came the hasty reply. "I just want to see this Whitlow chit matter
settled easily. All this dueling will get people up in arms."
"The matter will be over after I dispatch Dumfries. No one, including
the vaunted major, will stand in my way." He raised his voice to add,
"Or my cousin."
Silence followed those words. Sarah could imagine Blair waiting to see
if there was any reaction to his boast. She held her breath?
And was startled by the sound of a snore coming from beneath her bed.
'Twas too loud to be natural. Graham had done it on purpose.
Blair and Cullen snickered. "Did you hear that?" Cul-len whispered
laughingly. "The governess snores louder than my horse."
Renewed guffawing met his statement. Practically quivering with
indignation, Sarah resisted the urge to grab Graham and drag him out
from under her bed.
"Come along," Blair said. "Let us leave the governess to her sleep."
Booted footsteps and the closing of a door signaled they'd left the
schoolroom.
Sarah didn't waste time. On her stomach, she leaned over the side of her
bed just as Graham slid out on his back. She blocked him from moving
farther with a hand on his chest. "They think I snore now," she accused.
He laughed silently, his teeth white in the darkness. "It doesn't matter
if you do or you don't. I wanted to divert their attention."
She grabbed a handful of his shirt. "It matters to me."
A gleam appeared in his eyes. "Then I will put about gossip that you
don't snore."
She pulled back. "No! Then people, being what they are, will wonder how
you came about such information."
"And you'll have to tell them I was under your bed."
At her indignant glower, he laughed and sat up. Their noses were inches
from each other in the dark. Sarah's irritation evaporated. They were so
close, 'twas as if they breathed the same air.
She did not move away.
Nor did he.
"Have you ever been in love?" he asked.
Sarah pulled back slightly at the unexpectedness of the question . . .
and then answered truthfully, "Yes."
"Why did you not marry?"
'Twas a sign of their friendship that she answered with equal
forthrightness. "I knew him before my father took ill. However, once
Papa was stricken, he didn't want to support a wife and a sick man. He
asked me to leave with him, but I could not forsake my duties to Papa."
"No, you wouldn't." She heard admiration in his voice . . . but for the
first tim
e, she wondered how much she'd given up.
At the time, the pain of Robert's defection had hurt her to the point
she'd wanted nothing else to do with men or love. Then Graham and his
friendship had caught her unawares.
Immediately, Sarah backed away from the direction of her thoughts. She
forced herself to concentrate on the wager. "What did you think upon
hearing Blair has challenged another?"
He frowned, his expression clear even in the dark. "One day, he will
play his game with a man who has more skill than he and he may lose his
life."
"What drives him to challenge others? What does it prove? That he can
maim, kill, destroy?"
" 'Tis the way of men," he answered grimly.
" 'Tis not your way. You would not be so callous about human life."
There was a beat of silence and then he said, "I don't know. If you had
asked me this question a week ago, I would have been more certain of the
A Man Who Can Dance Page 5