The Welcoming by Nora Roberts

neck to the hem, making him wonder how long it would take him to unfasten them. There was silver at her ears, as well, a fanciful trio of columns he remembered having seen in her drawer. “You don’t now,” he added, bringing his eyes back to hers.
    She started to breathe again, suddenly aware that she’d been holding her breath since he’d started his survey. Charity reminded herself that she didn’t have time to let him—or her feelings for him—distract her.
    â€œI’m too busy to be tired.” Relieved, she signaled to a waitress who was climbing the steps with a laden tray. “Just set it on the buffet, Lori.”
    â€œSecond load’s right behind me.”
    â€œGreat. I just need to—” She broke off when the first damp guests came through the back door. Giving up, she turned to Roman. If he was going to be in the way anyway, he might as well make himself useful. “I’d appreciate it if you’d roll up the rug and store it in the west wing. Then you’re welcome to stay and enjoy yourself.”
    â€œThanks. Maybe I will.”
    Charity greeted the guests, hung up their jackets, offered them refreshments and switched on the music almost before Roman could store the rug out of sight. Within fifteen minutes she had the group mixing and mingling.
    She was made for this, he thought as he watched her. She was made for being in the center of things, for making people feel good. His place had always been on the fringe.
    â€œOh, Mr. DeWinter.” Smelling of lilacs, Miss Millie offered him a cup and saucer. “You must have some tea. Nothing like tea to chase the blues away on a rainy day.”
    He smiled into her blurred eyes. If even she could see that he was brooding, he’d better watch his step. “Thanks.”
    â€œI love a party,” she said wistfully as she watched a few couples dance to a bluesy Clooney ballad. “Why, when I was a girl, I hardly thought of anything else. I met my husband at a tea like this. That was almost fifty years ago. We danced for hours.”
    He would never have considered himself gallant, but she was hard to resist. “Would you like to dance now?”
    The faintest of blushes tinted her cheeks. “I’d love to, Mr. DeWinter.”
    Charity watched Roman lead Miss Millie onto the floor. Her heart softened. She tried to harden it again but found it was a lost cause. It was a sweet thing to do, she thought, particularly since he was anything but a sweet man. She doubted that teas and dreamy little old ladies were Roman’s style, but Miss Millie would remember this day for a long time.
    What woman wouldn’t? Charity mused. To dance with a strong, mysterious man on a rainy afternoon was a memory to be pressed in a book like a red rose. It was undoubtedly fortunate he hadn’t asked her. She had already stored away too many memories of Roman. With a sigh, she herded a group of children into the television room and pushed a Disney movie into the VCR.
    Roman saw her leave. And he saw her come back.
    â€œThat was lovely,” Miss Millie told him when the music had stopped.
    â€œWhat?” Quickly he brought himself back. “My pleasure.” Then he made her pleasure complete by kissing her hand. By the time she had walked over to sigh with her sister he had forgotten her and was thinking of Charity.
    She was laughing as an older man led her onto the floor. The music had changed. It was up-tempo now, something brisk and Latin. A mambo, he thought. Or a merengue. He wouldn’t know the difference. Apparently Charity knew well enough. She moved through the complicated, flashy number as if she’d been dancing all her life.
    Her skirt flared, wrapped around her legs, then flared again as she turned. She laughed, her face level and close to her partner’s as they matched steps. The first prick of jealousy infuriated Roman and made him feel like a fool. The man Charity