Page 34 of A Spot of Tea and Sorcery: Vol. 6

Suddenly, Luna tilted her head, her gaze seeking the front windows of the shop and the moonlit street outside. “Do you hear that?” she asked.

Even as she said it, strains of a violin reached Nigel’s ear. Soft but not distant. The street fiddler must have taken up residence in the doorway of the bicycle shop across the street. His bow moving across strings, he called to life haunting strains, sending them lilting up and down moonlit Addle Street. And though no voices sang along, Nigel could hear the familiar words sighing in his head:

“If only you’d see beneath layers of time

The love that I carry, a bittersweet rhyme.

But dreams slip away as the night turns to dawn,

And I’m left here to mourn what was never my song.”

“Funny,” Luna said, her chin lifting. She smiled suddenly, a brilliant beam of light in the gloom, all the brighter through the tears still staining her cheeks. The sight was devastating, and Nigel was obliged to lock his knees. “He doesn’t usually play this late at night, does he?” Biting her lip, she wiped her cheeks again with her free hand, while Nigel continued to hold the other. Then she turned to look at him directly, meeting his gaze for the first time. “Would you . . . ?” She hesitated, bit her lower lip, momentarily transforming its pallor back to rosebud pink. “That is, if it isn’t too improper to ask . . . May I have this dance, Mr. Grimm?”

A smack across the face could not have shocked him more. Nigel felt his throat close up. He could not speak an answer, not if his life depended on it. So, in lieu of words, he simply bowed over the hand he held. Solemn, courtly.

Then, as the fiddler plied his haunting melody, Nigel slipped his hand around Luna’s waist. He pulled her close to him,guiding her away from the counter and down the center shop aisle. It wasn’t a large dancing space, particularly not for those massive skirts of hers. But the watching flowers, tittering softly behind their leaves, backed away and made room enough for small maneuvering. Memory of the steps she’d taught him several months ago returned, and Nigel moved with a confidence that surprised him. The feeling of her in his arms was too right for hesitancy, and the music carried him with it into an enchanted place of moonlight and dance.

Luna’s gaze upturned to his, liquid and dark and achingly lovely. The expression in her eyes . . . what was it? He hadn’t the courage to name it or even to guess. All he knew was that, if he had one wish, it would be to have her always look at him in just this way, from now to the end of his days.

“Do you know,” she said, her voice soft but audible above the fiddler’s tune, “they played this same song at the governor’s mansion tonight. But it didn’t sound this sweet.” She smiled softly before adding, “I suppose this dance floor is a bit more accommodating than our last one!”

Nigel’s mouth pulled in a small grin. “I don’t know,” he said. “My particular moves might be better suited to under-the-table dancing.”

“Oh, don’t sell yourself short, Mr. Grimm. I suspect there’s a dancing fiend hidden secretly somewhere inside you.”

“You think so?”

“I do. Just waiting to be unleashed!”

“Well, in that case . . .” He lifted her hand over her head, pushed gently against her waist, and sent her spinning out from him. Her skirts flared, and some potted dahlias ducked their heads, and a cluster of tiger lilies growled irritably. But she finished the spin without disaster, and he drew her back to him, catching her around the waist once more, turning, and dipping her back.

Her hand gripped the fabric at his shoulder, even as her mouth opened in a little squeak of surprise. “Why, Mr. Grimm!” she exclaimed, her curls wafting behind her. He pulled her up, and she rested against his chest, their clasped hands pressed to his heart, their faces suddenly much closer than they were. “So youarea dancer after all!”

His grin grew. He did not let her step back from him, did not let her put any distance between them. His hand at her waist remained firm, keeping her body flush to his, even as he began to sway in time to the music again. He felt . . . powerful, somehow. Not the heady rush of sorcerous supremacy he’d known as the Grimshade Lord. This was something different, something deep and rooted. In that moment, as she rested her head against his shoulder, and he leaned his cheek into her sweet-smelling hair, he did not think there was a force in this world or any other that could stand against him.

The music sighed on, the fiddler modulating deftly from one key to the next. And Nigel held Luna close, guiding her smoothly up and down the aisle. Out of nowhere he heard a voice—was it his own?—softly murmuring the familiar words:

“Oh love! Like a rose in the rain.

Each petal a sigh, each thorn a sweet pain.”

Luna giggled, turning so that her lips nearly brushed his ear. “I thought you hated this song!”

“What?” Nigel shook his head, closing his eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. This is my favorite song.”

“Since when?”

“Since just now, I think.”

He released his hold on her long enough to send her gracefully twirling out from him, but drew her back to him a little too swiftly to be on the beat. She looked down, uncertain ofher footing beneath her long skirts, but they found their rhythm again soon enough, and her gaze raised to his once more.

“I owe this whole lovely evening to you, Mr. Grimm,” she said, her sweet features gently revealed in the golden thaumatic glow. “I never could have attended a swanky event like that if you hadn’t helped me.”

His throat thickened. “I was happy to be of assistance.”

She swallowed, and her lashes lowered. He wished he could draw her close to him again, fit her head back where it belonged against his shoulder. But when he applied pressure, she resisted, and he didn’t want to make her uncomfortable. She didn’t end the dance, however. Her fingers toyed with the suspender strap over his shoulder.

“I . . . I owe a great deal to you, in fact,” she murmured, speaking the words to his crooked tie. “So much more than I could ever repay. I . . . I rather think I would have starved to death if you hadn’t come into my life when you did. If you hadn’t given me a chance all those months ago.” She pressed her lips together, flashed him a quick look, then sent her gaze skittering away again. “I’m sorry, I know I sound dreadfully soppy. But . . . it meant the world to me then.” She was silent through another turn, before adding in a near-whisper, “It still means the world to me now.”