Tristan bit the corners of his mouth to keep from chuckling.
“It sounds to me,” he said thoughtfully, “as if you need practice. Private practice.”
Her eyes shot up to his face, fixing on his and narrowing. “Practice?”
He nodded, extending a hand. “There’s just enough room in here for amodestwaltz, I think. Shall we, Duchess?”
Madeline stared down at his extended palm. She could still recall how warm and firm his hand had felt around hers, how strong his fingers had been. She glanced up at him, trying to work out whether he was making a joke or not.
Perhaps he’s teasing me again.
But there was no smile on Tristan’s face. He regarded her steadily, patiently. Waiting for her to accept his hand or… or what else? What would she do? Slap his hand aside and go running past him out of the room?
In that moment, Madeline knew quite well that if she did that, he would not stop her. He would let her go.
The question, of course, was whether shewantedto go.
“You must not embarrass me,” Madeline found herself saying, eyeing him uncertainly. “Out in public, I mean.”
Tristan smiled. “You are my wife, Madeline. What embarrasses you embarrasses me now.”
Swallowing, Madeline took a tentative step forward and placed her hand in his.
His smile widened to a grin, and he pulled her close, close enough that she could smell his sharp cologne, underlaid with a fresh, masculine scent that seemed to be justhim.
“My favorite dance is the waltz,” Tristan murmured, almost as if he were speaking to himself. “It’s surprisingly simple, and so very intimate. Those vigorous country dances are all well and good if you want exercise, or if you’re dancing with a person you’d rather not see very much, but a waltz is all about touch.”
He placed one warm hand on the curve of her waist and used the other to guide her hand to rest on his shoulder. He took her free hand in his, and just like that, they were standing almost nose-to-nose, ready to dance.
Well, it was more like nose-to-chest, really, on account of Tristan being so much taller than she was. Madeline stared up at him, feeling the full weight of his gaze upon her. It stole her breath in a way she had not expected.
“Ready?” he said, grinning and tilting his head.
“I… I think so,” Madeline whispered.
“Then we’ll begin.”
He began to dance, his steps slow and carefully measured. Madeline followed his lead, clinging to his hand and shoulder. It would be mortifying if she stepped on his feet, even if only with her thin satin slippers.
He kept his eyes on her, a faint smile playing about his lips. The dancewassimple. Madeline remembered that when she was learning it, she was told to move in a square, gradually turning around in a long line of other dancers.
Have I ever waltzed with a man? No, I don’t think that I have.
“You aren’t enjoying our wedding, are you?” Tristan asked softly. His words, gentle as they were, seemed to break the spell. They also simultaneously sent a flutter ofsomethingthrough the pit of her stomach. Madeline shivered.
“I am not,” she confessed, “but it seems as though everybody else is.”
He took a step back, lifting his arm so she could spin gently beneath it. She did so, and the world blurred around her.
“I only care ifyouare enjoying yourself, my dear,” he whispered, so quietly that she barely heard him. This caused Madeline to lose her balance, tottering to the side. He grabbed her arms, pulling her close to him. Without thinking, Madeline put out a hand to steady herself, and that hand landed directly on Tristan’s chest.
They stood there for a moment, staring at each other. She could feel the warmth of his skin, could feel his heart thumping beneath her palm.
“I have more rules,” she managed breathlessly.
Tristan’s gaze darkened, and he leaned a little closer. “Oh?” he breathed. “Do tell.”
She swallowed, willing herself to press on.
