In rapid succession, Sir Jonathan tapped out a rhythm. It reverberated in her chest as if challenging her heart to match it. His drumming became more aggressive, but the rhythm stayed the same. Eve drew in a shaky breath beside her and eased to the edge of her seat. Helena didn’t know if the beat of the drum was affecting Eve, or if the attractive glow that had come over Sir Jonathan’s face accounted for her sudden interest.
Helena’s gaze strayed to Lord Thorne and lingered, enjoying a moment to study him while he was preoccupied. His eyes were closed and dark lashes fanned against his olive complexion. For a moment, she allowed herself the luxury of wondering what it would be like with him sleeping in her bed.
Not the act of making love, but actually watching him in slumber. Never was one more vulnerable than when one slept, and succumbing to sleep in the presence of another required great trust.
Longing was a faint beat in her heart, gaining strength as she drank in his magnificence. His slender fingers rested casually on the arms of the chair. His broad shoulders appeared capable of holding up the world. His arms and chest a safe haven. Her longing grew more unbearable by the moment. She wanted to trust him in the worst way and believe he wouldn’t look at her differently once he knew she was seeking her sister and not a servant girl. But she was afraid, and her fear grew in proportion to how much she liked him.
Helena frowned at the low hum accompanying the drum. Eve clutched her arm. “It’s happening,” she whispered. The noise was coming from Lord Thorne.
Helena blinked, uncertain what to make of everything.
The drumming grew more vigorous; a fire ignited in Sir Jonathan’s eyes. Lord Thorne began to moan and sway on the chair.
Sir Jonathan stepped toward him, smacking his palm on the drum at a feverish pace. “Surrender your spirit, my lord.”
The baron moaned louder. He rocked and swayed.
“He is fighting it,” Lady Banner hissed.
With a cry, he pitched forward and fell on his knees. Everyone gasped.
But then Helena saw it, a tiny twitch at the corners of his lips. Lord Thorne, the scoundrel, was putting on an act. She sat back and crossed her arms to enjoy the show.
His eyes flew open and stared blankly at his audience. Murmurs traveled the small group. Sir Jonathan urged Lord Thorne to give himself over to the trance.
“No.” He flung his head to one side and then the other. “I can’t. I must fight it.”
“I told you he was fighting it,” Lady Banner declared, sounding proud.
Helena snorted softly.
“Don’t fight.” The drummer rushed forward, beating the drum with all he had. “Surrender, my lord. Let go of your inhibitions.”
Lord Thorne went still. Everyone shifted to the edges of their seats. Slowly, he rose, silent and unblinking. Sir Jonathan missed a beat, his mouth hanging open.
“It worked.” Eve gripped Helena’s arm. “He is in a trance.”
The excited murmurs grew louder.
“I’ve really done it!” Sir Jonathan sounded as surprised as Lady Norwick’s guests.
“What now, sir?” Eve asked in a rush.
A baffled expression crossed his face. “Um…”
“Dance,” Lord Thorne intoned. “Must dance.”
Sir Jonathan nodded. “Yes, that’s it. Dance is an integral part of the trance.”
“Play faster,” Lord Thorne commanded.
The drumming accelerated, and then as if given a directive straight from heaven, Lord Thorne threw his head back and flung his arms wide. He moved them in the air like undulating waves and twirled in a circle. Shaking his hips in a most improper fashion, he raised his hands above his head.
Jaws dropped. Sir Jonathan even stopped his drumming. A giggle sounded from across the room.
“Oh!” Eve released Helena’s arm and bolted from her seat. “Sebastian James Edmund Thorne, you are incorrigible. How could you?”
He cracked one eye and grinned. “You remembered the gypsy dance.”
“How could I forget when you never let me?” There was a touch of merriment to his sister’s hassled voice.
“The gypsy dance?” Lines creased Sir Jonathan’s forehead. “But I don’t understand.”