A gift

*Julia*

“Julia,” he prods far too insistently.

I shift my gaze over. He is sitting back, his elbow on the arm of the chair, his chin on his hand, one finger slowly stroking just below his lower lip. I want to kiss him there.

“There is no place upon my person against which you could press your lips, your tongue, that I would find fault.”

“It’s not proper.”

“Would it bring you pleasure, joy, satisfaction?”

I fight not to squirm. “I think so. I don’t know for certain, as I’ve never been quite so bold. I’ve only thought of doing it.”

“Then it is not improper.”

“How does one learn what is proper and what is not?”

“By experimenting, I suppose.”

“It’s easier for men. You can visit brothels. I suspect you’ve had a thousand women, and if you make a fool of yourself with one you simply move on to another.”

“Not quite a thousand.”

“A hundred?”

“I truly didn’t count, but I suspect the number is far fewer than that. The important thing is: I would never make you feel like a fool.” He holds out his arms in supplication. “You may do with me as you will, and I shall be ever grateful for it.”

“If I wanted to flog you for keeping things from me?”

He grimaces. “I would probably object to that. I’m not of the opinion that pain equals pleasure. Although I think I’m relatively safe, as I promised not to keep anything else from you.” He looks toward the fire. “And yet already I have done so.”

My chest tightened a fraction. “What have you kept from me?”

He slides his gaze over to me, a wicked gleam in his eyes. “Shall I give it to you now?”

I furrow my brow. “It’s an object, not a secret?”

“It’s a secret if I haven’t given it to you yet.”

“You’re being difficult.”

He grins. “I am, but then you expect that of me, don’t you?”

To tease me, to cause mischief, to be playful. Strange how the facets to him that had once irritated me now charms me. “Perhaps I don’t want it.”

“Fear of you tossing it in the fire is actually why I haven’t given it to you yet.”

I pout, sigh, roll my eyes. “I won’t toss it into the fire, but it’s not fair to tell me about it if you’re not going to give it to me.”

“I suppose you have a point. Wait there.” He drains his glass before getting up, striding to the desk and pulling open a bottom drawer. Reaching inside, he pulls out an oblong shape wrapped in brown paper, secured with a string. Walking back over, he holds it out to me. “I was going to give it to you for Christmas, but I had second thoughts, was afraid it might give me away.”

Taking it from him, I set it in my lap, watch as he returns to his chair and goes incredibly still, his focus on me as though this item and my reaction to it were of monumental importance. I tug on the string until the bow unravels and the paper falls away to reveal a glistening rosewood box with a small crank on one side. “Oh, Nick, it’s gorgeous.”

“It opens.”

Lifting the hinged lid, I smile at the exposed mechanisms, protected behind a veil of glass. “What does it play?”

“Wind it up and see.”

Slowly, gently, I turn the small handle, afraid something so delicate may break. When it does turn no more, I release my hold and “Greensleeves” begins tinkling around me.

Memories wash over me, of ballrooms and waltzes and being held inappropriately close, yet never objecting. I haven’t even realized I held those remembrances, and yet there they are, so vivid, as though the moments have occurred only last night.

“You always waltzed with me when the orchestra played this tune,” I say quietly.

“I wasn’t certain if you noted that it was always the same song.” He still hasn’t moved, doesn’t appear to even be breathing.

“I’m not certain that I really did until just now. Why the same song?”

“If it was a pleasant experience for you, I wanted you to associate it with me. And if it wasn’t, I didn’t want to be responsible for ruining every tune for you.”

Closing the lid, I stroke my fingers over the polished wood, the vibrations of the tune

thrumming through it. “I always enjoyed dancing with you. It seemed to be the only time that we weren't at odds. I thought it was because we were concentrating on not stepping on each other’s feet.”

“Having the opportunity to dance with you is the only reason I ever attended any ball.”

It isn’t so much that I want to be wooed as much as I want to ensure I see him clearly, the man he truly is and not the man he has been pretending to be. I need to be certain I can separate one from the other, that any feelings I possess for the man sitting across from me are sentiments he rightfully deserve. But when he utters words such as those, how can I not be wooed, flattered, enticed? How can my heart remain unaffected? “We never spoke when we danced.”

“I wanted nothing to distract me from the sensation of holding you in my arms. Dance with me now.”

I glance around wildly, wanting what he offers, yet strangely fearful that it may prove My undoing. “What? Here? Or are you suggesting we go to the grand salon?”

“The grand salon is too large.” He stands and extends his hand. “The foyer would serve better. More intimate but with enough room that we won’t bump into anything. The box can serve as the orchestra.”

“It’s madness.”

“Then be a little mad.”

He is looking at me seriously, solemnly, and yet there is a challenge in those blue eyes. Neither of us have put on our gloves following dinner. His hand in no way reminded me of Noah’s graceful one. Nick’s appears stronger. He has a callus on the pad below his index finger. Months here, and yet still his hands are those of someone who prefers the outdoors and exertion. I slip my hand into his. As his fingers close around it, before I could rise, he grabs the box that would have required two of my hands to hold it securely and is then pulling me to her feet.

“I haven’t danced since last mating Season,” I say as he escorts me from the room.

“I haven’t danced since I last danced with you.”

“But you did dance with other ladies,” I point out. I have seen him dancing with them, and each one looked completely infatuated.

“I did, but I usually retired to the card room after I waltzed with you. I liked having your scent lingering around me, which in retrospect was rather masochistic on my part.”

“I truly had no idea.”

“That was the whole point of my unforgivable behavior.” We reach the foyer, and he releases his hold on me. “Now I need you to see and trust that the man I was before is not the man I am.”

He wounds up the music box, his large hand dwarfing the small mechanism, then sets it on a table that hugs a wall. The music fills the area. He steps up to me and draws me into the circle of his arms.

And then we are waltzing. Closer than is appropriate, more securely than he has ever held me, as though he would never let me go. Or perhaps he merely wants to ensure that I don’t knock into any of the tables or statuettes or flower vases. How he manages to avoid them is beyond me, as his gaze never leaves mine.

I realize that during all the years when we had shared a single dance, he had always given me his full and complete attention. I simply hadn’t seen it because devotion to me was not what I expected of him. I have assumed he was striving to make me feel uncomfortable or mock me in some way, and yet still I had enjoyed circling over the floor with him because he was one of the most graceful dancers I knew. Perhaps because he had spent time balancing along cliffs or hazardous trails. He had skirted obstacles to reach his destination.

But he walked away that night in the garden because his brother loved me, and I loved his brother. And he loved Noah.

The music stops and yet still seems to hover in the air, reluctant to go away completely. As reluctant as Nick seems to release his hold on me. He lowers his head.

I press a finger to his lips. He stills, his eyes searching mine.

“If you kiss me, I will be lost,” I tell him.

“I will find you, lead you back.”

“I have to lead myself back. Nick, I must be sure that what I’m feeling is not influenced by what I no longer have.”

“I promised you time and you shall have it.” Stepping away from me, he goes to get the music box.

I am a silly woman to mourn the distance that now separates us when I have been the one to insist upon it.

He offers his arm. “I will escort you up.”

We are silent as we go up the stairs, and yet there is nothing uncomfortable in it. He isn’t resentful or angry, nothing untoward shimmied off him. At my door, he hands me the box.

“Sleep well, Julia.”

Then he is gone, jogging down the steps at a steady clip, the click of his footsteps echoing up. I go into my bedchamber, walking to the window and sitting in the chair. Holding the music box on my lap, I wind it up, lean back, close my eyes and let the music and the memories overtake me. I have no plans to compare brothers. Still, what I feel for Nick is unlike anything I have ever before experienced. It is vibrant, alive, and intense. It frightens me, if I am honest. It is as though he has the power to reach into me and expose every secret I have ever possessed.. without shame, remorse, or guilt. Surely it cannot be healthy, surely we will burn up if we give in to our desires. But it is more than a touch of the flesh, it is a touching of souls, a commonality of passion.

I have loved once, love still, but the stirrings in connection with Nick are vast, encompassed more than the whole, seem to reach beyond what is safe and secure. Yet how can I contemplate not surrendering?