Page 4 of Beau

“I’m sure your father’s assistant didn’t consider dancing with you in any way pitiful.” Beau tipped his head toward the couples dancing to the music. “You held your own on the dance floor.”

Aurelie met his gaze. “You were watching that long?”

“I was,” he admitted.

“That’s kind of creepy,” she commented. “I might reconsider my earlier opinion about you.” She touched a hand to her throat. “Perhaps you did spike my lemonade.”

Beau’s lips twitched. “I didn’t, but I can understand President Lincoln’s concern for his daughter,” he said. “Considering the fact he was assassinated, he has good reason to be a little paranoid.”

Her lips curved into a smile, transforming her face and making it softer and more approachable. “You have a point.” She held out her hand. “I’m Amelia Earhart. Nice to meet you.”

So, she was going to play it that way. “Robin Hood,” he said as he took her hand.

Her grip was firm, not limp like many of the women with whom Beau had shaken hands.

“Robin Hood, you say?” Aurelie cocked an eyebrow in challenge. “I had pegged you as Peter Pan.”

He released her hand and pressed his over his heart. “You wound me, madame.” Beau shook his head. “I would think my quiver of arrows and the bow would have given it away.”

She chuckled. “They are quite impressive. How about those tights? Should I assume anything about your sexuality?”

His hand remaining on his chest, Beau shook his head. “Again, you wound me, madame. I assure you I’m more attracted to Maid Marian than Friar Tuck.”

Miss Anderson chuckled. “For what it’s worth, the tights look good on you.”

He dipped his head. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“As you should.” She glanced around the room. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m working.”

“Working?” he lifted both eyebrows.

Still looking around the room, she answered, “This is a fundraiser. My job is to make sure the guests are happy.”

Beau nodded. “And happy guests mean more contributions to President Lincoln’s reelection campaign, right?”

Her brow wrinkled. “Of course.”

“Then, perhaps, you might consider entertaining this guest with a dance?”

Her lips twisted. “Sir, I believe you’re quite capable of entertaining yourself.” She started to walk away.

“Then perhaps, you might consider taking pity on a man in tights who is sure to be avoided by every available female in the ballroom and dance with me. I would consider it an honor,” he performed a deep bow, “and a heroic way to help me salvage my eligible bachelor status.”

She shook her head. “More likely salvaging your ego. Although, I doubt you’ll lack a partner. Many of the matrons will be vying for you to join them in a dance.”

“Only if I first prove I can dance.”

Aurelie canted her head to one side, her gaze raking over him. “True. Not many men can dance. Or, truthfully, like to dance.”

“I can and do like to dance. My mother made certain all her boys could represent the family properly on the dance floor.”

“Forced to take lessons?” She shook her head. “Me, too.”

“More like forced to learn.” Beau hadn’t always appreciated having to learn to dance with his mother and sisters as his partners. Not until he’d grown older and interested in girls had he understood the value. The ladies usually loved to dance, and most of his male friends didn’t or wouldn’t. “My mother was a very good teacher. She and my father loved to dance at festivals and parties.”

She drew in a deep breath and let it out. “In the spirit of showing the other women in attendance that you can and will dance, I suppose I could spare a pity dance with the man in green tights.” She held out her hand. “Come on, Peter Pan. Let’s show them what you’ve got.”

“Robin Hood,” he corrected as he took her hand and led her out into the middle of the ballroom as the orchestra began a new song.

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