James grinned all the wider as the woman deigned to play along with his impromptu fantasy, taking Brenna's hand in his own as she stepped up to him. She was light and warm in his arms. Taking great pains to account for her injured leg, he began to lead her into an improvised waltz with a faltering step so that she might not aggravate her wounds all the more. James hummed under his breath, a made up tune that was (even he had to admit) rhythmic but certainly lacking in anything that might make it actually music. All the same, he giggled a bit at himself whenever he faltered a note. "Oh, my," he jested ruefully, "The orchestra leaves something to be desired, I'm afraid."

Even as he mocked himself, the smile on his lips and in his eyes never left as he looked into her face. As they glided about the cottage's floor, the gentleman was overcome with the strangest sensation of deja vu. Multiple sensations at once, actually. Hadn't they done this before?? He was almost positive this wasn't the first time he had danced with Brenna like this, yet this was the first time he recalled ever being here or seeing her. It was as though a multitude of memories was flashing through his head where this entire scene had been enacted out time and time again, albeit just the tiniest bit different each time. [i]Where did these visions come from[/i], he wondered. [i]Why does it seem that this... this had all happened before, or is yet to happen again, or both? Is this some spell or witchcraft that is flooding my mind?[/i]

James' body continued on its own as his mind was lost in a delightful puzzlement, a riddle whose answer was somehow to be found in that lovely face that made his lips smile and his heart pound. He gave her a last slow twirl half around until she rested with her back to his chest, nestled in his one arm with her head looking back up at him. One hand still held hers while the other rested upon her hip. It was a breathless moment in which they hung, faces mere inches apart while their bodies were pressed close to one another. It would have been such a simple thing for him to lean his head forward and down those few scant inches towards her and-

His throat was suddenly dry, and he had to swallow to speak. James heard his own voice come out, hoarse and... sad? "I'm... sorry, I should not have... You've been very kind, and I shouldn't..."

In the back of his head, a voice was shouting back: [i]Yes, you should, you dolt! Kiss her![/i]

Oh, to heed that voice! Only his station and rank in society hung heavily on his shoulders, weighing him down again with a resignation. What would this woman, whom he had only just met, do if she should feel he was leading her on? Was it far to her to stir interest in her... and in himself... if there was little that could come of it? Surely this seemingly carefree woman with her teasing glances and bold looks had no interest in a spoiled brat of London society. If only those repeating scenes of them dancing together did not linger so in his mind.