“We’re going to the Georgian Neoclassical room,” she said quietly.

Still he held her arm, letting her lead him though the dimly lit museum. He knew from being a trustee that by this time the staff would be gone and the lone night guard made his rounds only every two hours.

Her heels clicked on the tile floor as she led him into the part of the museum full of arches and pillars. Even in the diffused light, the display cases of glassware and china gleamed in rich, vibrant colors along the circular walls.

She stopped in front of a long, low case. “This exhibit is the china and crystal that Chicago’s founding families, the Palmers, Fields, and Clayworths, would have used for their lavish black tie dinner parties. These gold chargers and gold-rimmed crystal goblets are from your family.”

He scrutinized the case, trying to appear interested. “Yeah. I remember these. We used them every night.”

“You did not!” She laughed.

Captivated by the catch of happiness he heard in her voice for the first time, he grabbed her hand, rubbing his thumb lightly over the bruise at her wrist. “C’mon. Show me more.”

Her blush made his blood pound.

He allowed her to slip out of his fingers, but he didn’t take his eyes off her as she twirled around the room.

“For history to have social value, it needs to be personal and intimate, revealing the problems, the passions of people in the past. Then it connects with the present. Comes alive. I want you to imagine how this room will look when we get funding. This will be a ballroom. I want everyone to be able to see, feel, what it was like with music and beautiful people dancing. It’s important to appreciate our rich history. It helps to better understand our more sterile world today. Perhaps encourage putting more beauty in our daily lives. Bertha’s dresses will help make that happen.”

The urge to do just that pulled him across the room to her side. “I’ll make sure you get the dresses on two conditions.”

She stared up at him. “There are no conditions. We have a deal.”

God, I want to see your eyes. Need to know how you feel. Here. With me. Tonight.

He laughed, but the sound caught deep in his chest. “Humor me. Take off those glasses. They’re always falling off your nose anyway.” He slid them off her adorable nose before she could stop him.

“What are you doing? Give those back,” she demanded, the words echoing against the high ceiling.

She cringed, looking guilty for not whispering in these hallowed halls.

Her eyes seemed bigger and a deeper aquamarine than they had in the hospital.

He held the glasses up and peered through them. Nothing but plain tinted glass. “You don’t need these to see.”

“What are you up to this time?” She glared and grabbed again for the glasses.

He jammed them into a front trouser pocket. “Come and get them,” he dared.

He saw a nerve throbbing at her throat. His pulse seemed to be matching the beat.

She put her hands behind her back and glared at him.

“Hey, I’m performing a public service. On behalf of the museum, aren’t you interested in my other condition?”

She thrust her chin to the ceiling. “I didn’t ask you here to play games, Drew.”

“You asked me here to prove your point. Fair enough.” He rammed his hands into his pockets, fingering the delicate glass frames. “You get the Bertha gowns for your exhibit if you put on your black dress and help me feel a black tie affair here.”

Her breasts beneath her white, silky blouse rose and fell. “Now you’re hallucinating. I’m not putting my dress on for you.”

Faking indifference, he shrugged. “As a contributor to the museum, all I’m asking is a sample of what the exhibit will look like. Your development department has done it many times before to solicit underwriting for exhibits. Think of it as your bit for historical preservation.”

He saw faint amusement curve her full mouth, and her eyes widened like she’d thought of something exciting.

“All right. I’ll do it. But it will cost you the dresses plus your help with Edna Keene and the board of trustees to gain support for the new scholarship program.”

Exhilaration pumped through him. He sensed the dress had special meaning for her, and he wanted her to wear it for him. “Consider it done.”

She shook her head, her hair looking like swirling liquid gold around her shoulders. “This is utter madness. Wait here,” she ordered. “I’ll be back.”

He watched her walk away. Halfway across the room, she stopped and looked back, like she’d felt him staring at her.

She flashed him a smile that had him drooling like those interns in the ER.

“Since we won’t have any music for our ball, I’ll sing.”

“I should sing. That would teach him a lesson for blackmailing me into putting on this dress.”

In the full-length mirror on the inside of the closet door, Athena watched herself fumble with the tiny buttons on the black gown. “No wonder Bertha needed two people to help her into dresses like this,” she muttered to herself, finally managing to attach the last hook and eye.

Sucking in her stomach, she turned to view the dress. Thank God, it still fit her.

Her waist looked itsy-bitsy, her bosom full, her décolletage creamy against the jet and black velvet, her arms graceful in the long sleeves.

She stared at herself in the mirror. Maybe she didn’t need the glasses. The haunted look in her eyes had faded. Now they looked wide and slightly wild.

“Because I’m scared half out of my wits. And obviously I’ve lost the other half of my mind, or I wouldn’t be playing dress-up for Drew Clayworth. Dresses or no dresses.” She laughed at her reflection. “It’s official. I’ve totally lost my mind. I’m talking to myself.”

She found the loop on the train, slid her finger into it, and lifted the hem. All right, she’d make him feel a black tie affair given in one of the great mansions on Prairie Avenue, old Chicago’s “street of the stately few.” His family had had a red-brick French-style mansion on the genteel, wealth-laden street back when Chicago’s fans called the city the gem of the prairie and its critics called it a universal grog shop. Before all the oldest, wealthiest families moved to Lake Forest.

Inevitably, thoughts of the Clayworth estate brought visions of her and Drew on the fateful Christmas night. Tonight all the memories came out of hiding. She was coming out of hiding to close that door.

Terrified—but determined, she reminded herself—she glided back downstairs to explain her actions the night everything changed between them, and then she’d ask about her father. If her courage didn’t fail her.

She found Drew leaning one broad shoulder against a pillar.

He lifted his eyebrows, straightened, and lazily strolled to where she waited in the center of the room.

“You look beautiful. I’m sorry I’m not wearing black tie.”

“You’re not sorry! I’ve seen the donor benefit guest list. You usually decline to put on your tux at the last minute.”

“Guilty as charged.” His beautiful mouth curled into a deep smile. He reached out and pulled her gently closer. “Shall we dance?”

A wicked little spark of excitement made her slowly smile back. “I’ll hum.”

“Go for it,” he chuckled into her ear.

Held in his arms, gliding around the dim room, she began humming, “I Could Have Danced All Night.”

It sounded truly awful, and she thought of stopping to put him out of his misery, but then she felt his slight wince and his arm tightened around her, trying to disguise his reaction.

Memories of other, happier times roared back. She hummed louder and broke into full song, sounding worse and worse.

She felt him shaking with silent laughter as he twirled her faster and faster around the dim room, the faint light a halo around them.