Duainfey by Steve Miller, Sharon Lee

caught Becca's hand between both of his big, rough palms and smiled down at her.
    "You've heard I've decided not to sell that mare at present?"
    "Yes, Ferdy had told us." She looked up at him, wondering at the pause, but before she could lay tongue to something to say, he pressed her hands and let them go.
    "You and your mother will be calling on my lady day after tomorrow," he said. "It will be my pleasure to speak with you then, if you'll have a moment for an old man."
    "Of course, sir!" Becca assured him, hiding her confusion behind an honestly affectionate smile. "I am at your service!"
    He smiled again, seemed about to say something else, then simply made her a small bow before moving on to Dickon.
    "Evening, Becca." Ferdy's handshake was firm.
    "Good evening, Ferdy. I'm glad you came."
    He reddened slightly. "Well, you said you wanted me, which is reason enough," he said, which from Ferdy was gallantry of a high order.
    "I will have to think of some other things that you can do for me," she said, trying to tease him and prolong his stop. She was not looking forward to meeting Leonard Jestecost, or Celia Marks.
    As it happened, she need not have worried. Leonard satisfied himself with a cool, distant bow, and Celia with a sniff, treating Dickon with the same medicine, which was, Becca thought, hardly fair. Not that Leonard had ever considered fairness, and if Celia Marks had ever thought of anything but herself and how to gain advantage, Becca had yet to see evidence of it.
    She sighed quietly, shook her head slightly and looked to the first line, wondering who they might have next.
    A tall gentleman in chocolate velvet, his thick, buttery hair tied back from his boldly etched face, bent in an attitude of courteous attention toward Caroline, who had her hand most shockingly on his sleeve, her face turned up to his like a flower, while Mother's entire attention was engaged with Mr. and Mrs. Eraborne.
    Oh, dear, thought Becca, and sent a glance to Dickon, but her brother was watching something through the open doors of the ballroom. She could scarcely leave her place in line and drag Altimere out from under her sister's hand before anyone else noticed her behavior, and yet—
    As if he had heard her thought, Altimere turned his head, his amber eyes meeting hers. One elegant eyebrow arched, and Becca instantly felt that they were sharing a delightful secret, though his face was grave and bland. He inclined his head to her, then brought his attention once again to Caroline. It seemed to Becca that he spoke briefly, a word—two at most.
    Caroline blinked, her smile fading as her hand dropped from its improper nestle along his sleeve. She turned, and moved a step to the right, smile brightening again as she greeted Mrs. Eraborne.
    Released, Altimere moved forward, walking with a wholly unconscious grace, as if, Becca thought, he were some wild, velvet-furred predator—a great cat or a lone wolf—that had wandered into their hall by chance . . . 
    He was at her side now, bowing his fluid, boneless bow.
    She lifted her hand languidly and he received it as if it were a priceless treasure, bending over it while his eyes—amber, as if the jewels she wore had taken fire and life—were locked with hers.
    "Miss Beauvelley," he murmured, and his voice lifted the hairs on her nape and started a shiver of pure pleasure in her stomach. "Allow me to say that you are most extraordinary. We must dance, and you must tell me everything about yourself."
    She shook her head, smiling ruefully, belatedly remembering to slip her fingers free of his. "Of me," she said, hearing the words as if she were standing just to the left of herself, "there is nothing to tell, sir. Also, I am sorry to disappoint you, but I do not dance."
    He smiled, very slowly, and there came another shiver of pleasure as he leaned close to murmur, for her ear alone, "I am persuaded that you do dance, Miss Beauvelley, and I beg that you will be kind to me, a stranger