“Me? Wait. I don’t—”
But she left him no opportunity to object, settling little Daisy in the crook of his arm. The delighted infant grasped for a button and gave it a yank.
“Someone likes the buttons, see?” Susanna looked up at Bram. The poor man was frozen to stone, positively stricken with terror. “Do try to be calm,” she teased. “She’s a baby, not a grenade.”
“I have more experience with grenades.”
“You’re doing fine.” Relinquishing the button, Daisy grasped for Bram’s thumb and squeezed it tight. “Look, she adores you already.”
A lump rose in Susanna’s throat as she watched him holding the infant so gingerly, viewed those stout little fingers wrapped secure around his thumb.
There he went again, with the torture. She’d never given it much thought before, but now . . . oh, how she wanted a child. She loved the image of her br**sts and belly swollen with pregnancy. Loved the idea of staying up nights, feeling the babe kick at her from the inside. Loved dreaming about what the child would look like, wondering which of his parents he’d favor. She loved everything about the idea of carrying not just a child, but Bram’s child.
Because she loved him.
She loved him. And perhaps he was too stubborn to admit it, but he needed her love. She couldn’t let him walk away.
She did have one last hope, she supposed. There was the gown. A great ivory cloud of a gown, dripping with pearls and brilliants, currently hovering in her dressing room upstairs. She hadn’t worn it but once, a few years ago in Town. But when she’d tried it on last week for fitting, the bodice stretched over her form like a second skin. The neckline pushed her br**sts high and plump, and the sewn-in boning trimmed her waist.
She’d entertained this foolish vision of herself, floating down the grand staircase in that lovely, ethereal gown tomorrow night. In her imagination, Bram stood at the bottom of the steps, regarding her with a mixture of pride and sheer lust-struck wonder. Despite every indication that he wasn’t much of a dancer in actuality, her Dream Bram claimed her hand and pulled her into a slow, romantic waltz. And there, before a crowd of admiring onlookers, he twirled her to a halt and confessed his undying adoration.
It was a lovely, silly dream.
But that was before they’d argued on the turret. Before he’d accused her of being mistrustful and afraid. Difficult to imagine simply donning a pretty dress would change his opinions on that. And if a pretty dress was all it took—she wasn’t so sure she’d retain her respect for him.
“I need to speak with you,” he said low. He turned a glance around the crowded room. “Somewhere else. Somewhere private.”
“Private?”
Kate’s piano scales suddenly ceased, and Susanna’s heartbeat kicked into a faster rhythm than ever. The wainscoted walls began to press in on her, and she felt the scrutiny of every soul in the crowded room. She cast a glance around the hall, looking around at her assembled friends, neighbors, servants. Just as she’d suspected, everyone was watching them. Noticing. Wondering.
Well . . . good.
Not just good. Excellent. The anxious weight in her stomach dissolved into bubbles of giddy joy, fizzing through her like fine champagne. Suddenly, she knew exactly what to do.
“Dance with me.”
He blinked at her. “What?”
“Dance with me,” she repeated.
“Dance with you. You mean tomorrow night, at the officers’ ball?
She shook her head. “No, I mean here. Now.”
What kind of a modern woman was she, if she didn’t reach for her own dream? Maybe it was time to sweep the man off his feet, for a change. She untied her work apron at the back and lifted it over her head, tossing it over the banister and smoothing the wrinkles from her blush-pink frock. It wasn’t a voluminous, dazzling silk cloud, but it would have to do.
“Miss Taylor,” she called, slicking back a stray lock of hair, “do play a waltz for us?”
Bram shifted his weight, eyeing her with what seemed to be genuine alarm. “I’m not much of a dancer.”
“Oh, that’s all right. Neither am I.” She lifted little Daisy from his arms and passed the babe to a nearby chambermaid. “Kindly make it a slow waltz, Miss Taylor.”
“Never had much practice at all, even before this.” He gestured toward his injured knee.
“It doesn’t matter.” She took his hands and tugged him toward the center of the hall. “We’ll manage.”
Space cleared around them as the curious onlookers pressed to the margins of the room. Kate’s talented fingers sent the first few measures of a melodic waltz lilting from the pianoforte.
Susanna stood in front of him in the center of the floor, lifting his left hand in hers and placing his other hand on her waist. “Now, let’s see. How does this go?”
“Like this.” His right hand slid, sure and confident, to the space between her shoulder blades, and a quick flex of his arm snapped her close.