“Let’s see what we can do about that.” Lincoln snaps his fingers at the violinist. The musician instantly looks our way. The Prince makes a slicing motion across his throat. The lively jig transforms into a sultry tune.
“Ah, a slow dance.” Lincoln leads me toward the floor. “Anyone can do that.”
I stifle a grin. “That’s a neat little trick.”
He arches his brows. “It’s good to be the Prince.” We reach the center of the dance floor. “Shall we?” Bit by bit, Lincoln pulls my hands up to his neck; I weave my fingers through his wavy brown hair. Sliding his fingertips down my back, his hands settle about my waist. I shiver, remembering his touch in the stables, his kiss in the botanical gardens. My skin flushes. Our bodies sway to the slow tune.
A new sea of faces stare at us, but I only see
