She performed the scandalous choreography with ease, having memorized the steps. She shuffled sideways, rolling her hips and moving her hands to the rhythmic music. Twisting and undulating in her red silk skirt and coin belt, she maintained her eyes on the crowd. She didn’t meet the patrons’ gazes, though, or focus on one side of the room for too long. She loathed connecting intimately with the visitors, however briefly. She loathed the way they looked at her, salivated over her. Amy moved across the stage with methodical grace. As she dropped, then rolled her right hip, she spotted a tall figure approaching the stage with uncharacteristic urgency. The limelight in her eyes, she wasn’t able to see the man’s face clearly…until he neared the platform. She gasped. Heart cramped, she stumbled, but quickly regained her footing as she stared into Edward’s bewildered blue eyes. He looked confused—and furious. She was wearing a veil that concealed her lips, but he had plainly recognized her painted eyes.
