A Man Who Can Dance

by Cathy Maxwell

  slowly realized they were doing a dance. The steps were small, the

  movements too close for any public dance floor.

  They moved toward the bed.

  He stopped but she pressed him back until he sat on the edge of the bed.

  She lifted her eyeglasses from her nose and placed them on the bedside

  table.

  This kind, compassionate, brave man was hers. Let the world take care of

  itself. She had learned to love again and tonight, she was going to give

  him her love, all her love.

  Lifting her arms, she began taking the pins out of her hair, slowly, one

  by one.

  Then, she unlaced the back of her dress.

  Graham's lips parted in surprise before his mouth widened into a grin.

  He pulled her closer, his lips close to her breast.

  "Will you be my wife?" he asked.

  Reality intruded. "What of your wager with Sir Edward? Will you be happy

  married to me and working his ledgers? Can you give up your medicine?"

  His eyes met hers. "My life will go on as it has been. My time divided

  between my uncle's shipping concerns and my medicine. I can live with

  that. I can't live without you."

  Joy and a wave of humble gratitude welled inside her. "You hold my

  heart," she whispered.

  "I shall care for it well," he promised. He slid the dress down her

  arms. Her nipples were already tight in anticipation. He cupped her

  breasts with his hands. "My wife," he whispered and kissed the hard buds.

  Deep within, Sarah felt an awakening. This was as it should be. She

  leaned forward, offering herself to him, her man. Her husband.

  Graham undressed her quickly, placing kisses where there had been

  clothes. She tugged at his neck cloth, loosening the knot and tossing it

  aside. His fine jacket and linen shirt followed.

  Soon they were both gloriously naked and yet, she felt no embarrassment.

  This was the way love should be.

  Leaning her back against the bed, he covered her with his body. He was

  strong and hard in places where she was soft and gentle.

  Graham entered her.

  Sarah had heard whisperings of this act between men and women?but

  nothing had prepared her for the sense of completion she felt as he slid

  deep into her. There was little pain. Another sign they had been

  destined for each other.

  They made love. Graham pushed forward, stretching and filling her,

  before retreating to start anew. Each stroke of his body against hers

  was a new experience. This was a dance, she realized, the most wonderful

  dance of all.

  Her body knew what she wanted, what she needed. She wrapped her legs

  around him, cradling him ever closer. They moved together, reaching,

  searching, needing and then, without knowing what to expect, she

  discovered the pinnacle. Graham had taken her there. She was consumed by

  the brilliance of it all. She cried his name, unable to move, unable to

  think.

  And then, in three slow, deep thrusts, he joined her. His seed filled

  her and they were one.

  A knocking on the door woke Sarah. She came awake in stages but Graham

  rose up on his elbows completely alert.

  'Twas morning. Early morning.

  Memories rushed back of their night together. They had not fallen asleep

  until they had been completely satiated with each other. The memories

  brought a flood of heat to her cheeks.

  The knocking continued, but Graham ignored it. Instead, he ran the side

  of his thumb along the line of her sleepy smile. "Good morning."

  "Good morning," she whispered.

  " 'Tis a great day."

  She nodded.

  " 'Twas a great night," he finished.

  She wrapped her arms around him and hugged him close, reveling in their

  naked state. She had become wanton, completely wanton. Over the night,

  she'd discovered herself a carnal creature. She and Graham were

  well-matched as lovers.

  "Miss Ambrose!" The knocking started again. Betty was at the door.

  "You'd best answer her," Graham said.

  "And tell her to go away."

  "Miss Ambrose?" the maid called again.

  "What is it, Betty?" Sarah said, smiling as she trapped Graham with her

  legs to prevent him from leaving the bed. He kissed her breast.

  "Have you seen Mister McNab?" Betty asked. " Tis an emergency. Master

  Blair is in the sitting room. He's dying. Bleeding to death. We must

  find him."

  In one smooth movement, Graham rose from the bed and reached for his

  velvet breeches. Sarah sat up. "He'll be there immediately, Betty," she

  called. Her hand searched for her glasses.

  There was a pause. "He is in /there?" /Betty asked. "With /you?"/

  Graham was tossing on his shirt and Sarah saw no reason for pretense in

  the face of such cheekiness. "Aye. We were having a dancing lesson."

  He poked his head out the shirt opening, their gazes met, and he smiled,

  before calling, "Betty, run to my room and fetch my doctoring bag. I'll

  meet you in the sitting room."

  "Yes, Mister McNab," Betty answered. They could hear her footsteps

  pounding as she ran down the hall.

  "I must go," Graham said, sobering. He tied his hair back negligently

  with the black ribbon. "I'll talk to my uncle about us later. First let

  me see to Blair."

  She nodded, but then decided she could not stay behind. He left, but she

  hurriedly dressed, braided her hair, and followed close on his heels.

  A clock in the house chimed the hour of eight. Sarah realized it was

  Sunday. Nurse came out into the hall still in her nightdress. "What is

  all the shouting?" she asked Sarah.

  "Master Blair has had an accident. Keep the girls upstairs."

  "Yes, Miss Ambrose." Nurse closed the door.

  In the close quarters of the sitting room, Blair lay on the burgundy

  velvet, down-stuffed sofa, his eyes closed, his breathing labored. The

  curtains were still shut against the morning light and Blair's face

  appeared eerily pale against the dark furniture.

  Still wearing his dressing robe and nightcap, Sir Edward hovered over

  him with Bailey close at hand holding the candle. The soft candlelight

  gleamed on the fresh blood staining Sir Edward's hands. He held them out

  to Graham. "You must save him. I can't lose him. He's my only son. I'd

  rather give my own life."

  Kneeling, Graham loosened Blair's neck cloth. "Someone, lift the candle

  so I can see better."

  When neither Sir Edward nor Bailey appeared capable of moving, Sarah

  stepped forward and held the candle high over Graham's shoulders. Betty

  brought the doctoring bag and set it at his feet. She backed out of the

  room as if fearing she would be struck with illness, too.

  Graham pulled out a pair of sharp shears and cut the shirt off of Blair,

  exposing the wound.

  Blair winced and opened his eyes. Even Sarah could see fever was already

  setting in. "Have you come to watch me die?" Blair said, his voice low.

  Graham ignored the barb. "How did this happen?"

  "Duel . . . Miss Whitlow. A garrison officer . . . damn major . . ."

  Gently, Graham prodded the deep wound.

  Blair didn't even flinch, he was so weak by the loss
of blood. Still, he

  added, "Better swordsman."

  "You are lucky to be alive," Graham said matter-of-factly.

  "Can you save him?" Sir Edward asked.

  Sarah held her breath awaiting his answer, as anxious as the father.

  "Aye," Graham answer flatly. " 'Tis fever we must watch for, but Blair

  is strong. I believe he will overcome."

  He reached into his bag and pulled out a leather satchel. Inside was a

  long needle and heavy thread. "Uncle, prepare a brandy for Blair. It

  will take the edge off of him while I work. Sarah, open the curtains.

  Let us have all the light we can."

  As she did as he asked, Sir Edward moved over to the liquor cabinet.

  Sarah noticed he poured two glasses, one for Blair, one for himself.

  She returned to Graham, marveling at his calm. Her hands were shaking.

  "Do you still need the candles?"

  "Yes." He threaded the needle. Sir Edward downed his glass and offered

  one to Blair.

  Blair ignored it. Instead, he caught Graham's wrist in a surprisingly

  tight grip. "Will I be able to use my arm again?"

  "You'll be able to use it at writing or working. It will not support

  your hobby of hacking away at people."

  Blair drained the glass of brandy and then motioned for his father to

  bring over the bottle. Graham set to work.

  Sarah held the candle and stayed beside Graham. He did have the healing

  touch. When he was finished, Blair's wound appeared little more than a

  neat line of stitching. Graham advised her to return upstairs. "We'll

  leave Blair where he is because of the loss of blood. I will sit with him."

  Sir Edward seemed relieved to have the matter taken out of his hands but

  later in the afternoon, Sarah saw him pacing outside the sitting room

  door. For the first time, she pitied the man. Blair was his hopes and

  dreams for the future. She didn't know what he would do if his son died.

  The twins said prayers for their brother and later that evening, Sarah

  brought them downstairs to their father's side. Through their mutual

  concern for Blair, Sarah watched a bond that had not existed before

  began to form between father and daughters.

  For three days, Blair fought fever. Graham stayed with him throughout it

  all. At one point, Sarah heard the rumor whispered, Graham had almost

  lost his patient, that he'd battled to bring him back from the dead.

  The legend of Graham's doctoring skills grew.

  At last, Blair recovered. Sir Edward announced a day of holiday.

  Tight-fisted before, he paid all servants and ostlers double wages in

  honor of his son's recovery.

  And at last, Graham was free to come to her. She was in the schoolroom

  with the twins. She sensed his presence before seeing him. He stood in

  the doorway. For a long moment, they stared at each other, ignoring the

  twins' giggles. He looked tired but happy. He held out his hand. "Come,

  we are to talk to my uncle."

  Sir Edward met them down in his library. "Graham, you have something of

  import to say to me?" His gaze dropped to where Graham still held her

  hand. "So, this is how the wind blows."

  Graham nodded. "Miss Ambrose has done me the honor of accepting my offer

  for marriage. Our wager is finished, Uncle. Miss Whitlow married an

  officer under her father's command. I am free to go."

  Sir Edward slowly sank to a chair. "Do you think you can teach Blair

  what you know of business?"

  "Only if he wants to learn."

  His uncle nodded. He then walked over to a small chest on his desk.

  Opening it, he took out ten gold coins. "This is yours, Graham. Tis the

  fee I owe you for saving my son's life."

  Graham hesitated. Sarah knew he didn't feel right about accepting money

  for saving his cousin's life?but she didn't have any reluctance. Surely

  Sir Edward owed Graham this and more for being his man of business.

  "I'd marry you if you didn't have a penny," she said, "but this will

  help to set up your surgery."

  "You're a lucky man," Sir Edward said. He paused. "There isn't a way to

  talk you out of medicine and into returning to my business, is there?"

  "No," Graham and Sarah both answered and then laughed.

  "I didn't think so." Coming around the desk, he noticed the Garrison

  Commander's invitation lying among some papers. He pulled the card out.

  "Did you ever learn to dance?" he asked Graham. "Could you have won?

  Blair feared it to be true."

  Graham took the invitation from his uncle. "I learned to dance very

  well." He handed the invitation to Sarah and, together, they left the room.

  Sarah and Graham were married four weeks later. The sky was blue, summer

  was almost upon them, and all Edinburgh seemed to rejoice in their

  happiness.

  They set up his practice not far down the quay from Sir Edward's house

  so she saw the twins often. Two years later, she gave birth to their

  first child. 'Twas a wonderful moment for both of them. Graham birthed

  the baby himself.

  Life was good and generous to Sarah and Graham but they never forgot

  what was important in life. Many a visitor to their home commented on

  the paper invitation to an Edinburgh ball framed and hanging from the

  wall like a fine painting.

  Across the heading was printed, /A man who can dance can do all things

  well./

  But handwritten below were the words: /But a man true to his heart is

  the greatest dancer of all./

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  /About the Author/

  / /

  Cathy Maxwell's checkered career includes stints as manager of a New

  England watch factory, a news broadcaster in Dodge City, Kansas, and six

  years as a naval officer before she started writing. Today, her books

  routinely appear on the /USA Today /list and /The New York Times

  /extended paperback bestseller list. Her latest, from Avon Books, is

  /The Marriage Contract. /She is also married to a man who can dance.

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