The coach came to a halt outside Dodger’s, and Luke alighted. He went through the front door. No tension reverberated here as it had at Avendale’s. But then this was his home, this was where he belonged.
Jack approached him. “Luke—”
Luke held up his hand. “Not now.”
He was a man with a purpose. He opened the door to the backrooms and went down the hallway to the room where he knew he’d find Frannie. She was hard at work on her books. He rapped on the doorjamb. She looked up and grinned at him. As always, her smile warmed him as nothing else did.
“Aren’t you dressed rather fancily?”
“I attended a ball hosted by the Duchess of Avendale,” he said.
“I didn’t think you were one to attend the aristocracy’s affairs.”
“I thought it time I begin making the way clear for us.”
She looked down at the ledgers. “So we’ll be attending balls?”
“I think you’ll enjoy them. There’s gaiety and lovely gowns. Food and drink and people.”
“Yes, lots of people I’ll not know.”
“You’ll come to know them. And best of all, we shall dance.” He strolled into the room and held out his hand. “Dance with me now.”
She snapped her head up. “Are you daft?”
“Probably. But I want very desperately to dance with you.”
“But there’s no music—”
“I can hum.”
Whatever was wrong with him? Why was this need to dance with her so strong?
Laughing sweetly, she rose. “Very well.”
She came around her desk. “As I recall, I’m supposed to stand on your toes.”
He chuckled. It was the way the old gent had danced with her. He’d seen that they had lessons, so many lessons. Why did Frannie feel as though she needed more now? Surely she’d not forgotten everything they’d been taught.
“The movements are the same but you keep your feet on the floor.” He placed one of her hands on his shoulder, took the other in his, settled his free hand on her waist.
He began to hum the tune that had been playing while he’d danced with Catherine. And he moved Frannie in rhythm to his horrendous humming. The space was small. He couldn’t sweep her across the area, but it was enough.
With Frannie in his arms, his body didn’t tighten, his mind didn’t bring forth carnal images. He told himself it was because when he looked down on her, all he saw was buttons and cloth. When he looked down on Catherine, an entirely different portrait emerged. He saw clearly the swell of her breasts, the gentle slope of her throat. He saw her smile. The joy reflected in her blue eyes.
He stopped waltzing and very subtlety drew Frannie a fraction nearer. He cradled her chin as though it was made of the finest porcelain, as though it could so easily shatter.
He watched as her eyes widened slightly, as her tongue darted out to dampen her lower lip. He felt a pleasant thrumming low in his belly.
He lowered his head, her eyes slid closed, and he, very gently, brushed his lips over hers, before drawing back.
“There, that wasn’t so bad was it?” he asked.
Nor was it particularly satisfying, but that would come in time, as she became more familiar with the physical nature of men.
She shook her head. “No, not at all.”
“I adore you.”
