Night Magic by Susan Squires Page A

up,” he said and turned to Kemble. “Good job, bro.” It seemed heartfelt. The two brothers hadn’t always gotten along, but Tremaines always stood together when it counted, and apparently this was one of those times.
    “I know,” Kemble said.
    Did she see a shadow cross his face as well? Jane almost dropped the glass of champagne Tamsen was handing her. Was Kemble already regretting his decision? Champagne sloshed all over Tamsen’s dress. And they’d all dressed up for the occasion. The men were wearing suits, and the women had on lovely dresses. Tremaine women all dressed so well. Oh, why had she let this whole thing happen so quickly?
    “I’m so sorry,” she apologized, using the little napkin she’d been given with the glass to lean over and daub at Tamsen’s lovely green chiffon skirt.
    “It doesn’t matter, really it doesn’t,” Tamsen protested.
    Then the napkin was gently taken away. Brina smiled at her and stilled the nervous flutter of Jane’s hands as she clasped the glass stem. Brina took them in her own and turned to her son. “Are you going to dance with your bride, or not?”
    Dance? Jane never danced. Well, with Drew all those years ago, when they took ballroom dancing together at that little studio down in Redondo, and that once in Paris with that young man who held his cigarette so negligently between his lips, though that had been swaying mostly. She couldn’t do this. In front of all of them? Would he hold her tightly? What if she showed on her face how that felt, because she could imagine just how it . . . would . . . feel . . . 
    Lanyon broke into another song, an old one. She kind of recognized it. Tamsen dashed over to the piano. “I know that one. ‘All For Love.’ Start again.”
    Did Lanyon not know that Kemble didn’t love her? Jane thought it was pretty clear. Was the song his way of pouring salt in a wound? Kemble blinked down at her. Oh, dear Lord, he looked scared. He probably thought he’d have to hold her up to keep her from tripping over her feet. Which he might. She’d always been clumsy. Then his spine straightened. “Yes, I am going to dance with my bride.” Still, she saw him swallow before he held out his hand.
    Lanyon’s piano chimed through the song’s opening notes again. The implications of accepting a marriage offer Kemble had made because he was trying to escape his pain washed over Jane. They were married, mad mistake that it was. He was stuck with her because his foolish honor would keep him from calling the judge and asking for an annulment on the grounds of “he’d made a huge error.” And now he wanted her to take his hand—she, who had never let herself touch him—and consent to be held in a dance. Which was just a precursor to what he would expect tonight. She’d been insane to accept him yesterday. Insane and selfish.
    His hand was hanging out in midair and everyone was watching. Uncertainty was growing in his eyes. She should run, right now. Out the door and back to her mother’s house.
    That would be more selfish than anything. Leave him feeling like he hadn’t been enough again? She’d never do that to him. She wanted to make him comfortable. Well, it started here.
    She put her hand in his, felt the warmth, the slight moisture born of nerves, and that damned electric shock that went right to her groin. Her lungs sucked in air without her bidding. She must have been holding her breath. He gathered her into his arms as Tamsen’s clear voice carried over the room. He settled his right arm at her waist and drew her into his body. She knew that body. Well, most of it. She’d seen him down at the pool all summer, every summer, for as many years as she could remember. She’d seen him fill out, put on muscle in his shoulders, arms, thighs , and get a light dusting of chest hair—just a little—along with a vee of dark hair that pointed down into those trunks than hung on his hips. She’d seen the way they clung to his groin