Anotherwhy. Plenty of women might turn their heads to watch him pass, but Silas wasn’t sure that any of them hadlikedhim. He’d never had much time to know a woman well, growing up on a ship. They were fairy-tale creatures that glided in and out of his life when he came to harbor. Half the time, Silas couldn’t even speak their language. If one occasionally wanted to share his bed, it was only for an evening, and only because he had a striking face. They didn’t know anything more about him.
He hadn’t realized that he regretted that until Miss Williams asked him for his side of the story. Hadn’t realized that he’d wanted someone to care about him.
I do want her.The knowledge cloaked Silas in something like dread.
What was he supposed to do with this feeling? He couldn’t act on it; that much was clear. She’d chosen him for the sole reason that he was the most unsuitable man she could find. Though if the way she’d reacted to his kiss was any indication, her opinion of his social standing didn’t keep her from wanting him in return. The way she’d trembled and then yielded to his kiss, her hands clutching at the lapels of his morning coat… It had been obvious what sort of power he held over her. If he put his mind to it, Silas had no doubt he could divest Miss Williams of her virtue before the week was out.
“Tomorrow then.” Mrs. Williams seemed to have taken his prolonged silence for consent, rather than a very dangerous reflection on his ability to deflower her daughter. “Come by the house around three.”
Dancing lessons. This wasnotthe best way to deal with his inconvenient attraction to Miss Williams.
* * *
The dancing lessons were not only for Mr. Corbyn, as Hannah discovered the following afternoon. They were also for her.
“But Iknowhow to dance!” Hannah protested when she was summoned to the dining room to find the table and chairs had all been moved to one side and her supposed fiancé was already waiting for her. “You don’t need me for this.”
Truth be told, she wasn’t ready to face Mr. Corbyn again. She still wasn’t sure why he’d kissed her. Until now, she’d always thought of herself as something of a nuisance in this man’s life—she popped up and made unreasonable requests that he was only good enough to accept because he was in a state of financial desperation. The emotion that he provoked in her might be a confusing mix of guilt, gratitude, and attraction, but the only emotion thatsheprovoked inhimwas supposed to be grudging pity.
Had it been a pity kiss? It certainly hadn’t felt that way, but a lonely evening to ponder the question had left Hannah less sure of herself.
If Mr. Corbyn found her pretty (this was already a rather tenuous possibility, she was forced to acknowledge), then shouldn’t he have given some sign before now? Paid her compliments, or sent her flowers with a coded message like the arrangements Mama was always working on? That’s what men weresupposedto do when they wanted to win a lady’s heart.
Corbyn had been nothing but aloof with her. Kind, perhaps, but distinctly aloof. How could he have kissed her until she was desperate and eager to surrender to him? How could he have held herthat way, as if he never intended to let go? Were men simply able to summon that kind of passion for any lady, or did it mean more? Perhaps he only enjoyed the sport.
But there had been a moment right before the kiss when something real had passed between them. Hannah didn’t think she’d imagined that.
“Mr. Corbyn needs a partner,” Mama admonished her. “Honestly, Hannah, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you didn’twantto spend time with your fiancé. But that’s absurd, of course.”
Hannah stiffened. “I’m very happy to spend time with Mr. Corbyn. I just don’t dance very well, that’s all.”
She didn’t care for how closely her mother was watching her as she hurried forward to take his outstretched hands. The moment they made contact, even through the shield of their gloves, Hannah found her pulse racing.
When she looked into Mr. Corbyn’s cerulean eyes, he was as inscrutable as ever. Perhaps he wasn’t even thinking about their kiss. It must not be any great event for him; he’d probably kissed plenty of girls. But Hannah had no prior experience to inure her to its appeal, and she found that the most terrible longing overtook her when she thought of it.
She hadn’t been able to fall asleep last night until very late. She’d lain awake reliving that moment, desperate for some sort of release from the hold Corbyn had over her, until she’d finally run her hands over her body again and again while imagining it was him there.
This wasnota good way to keep their arrangement uncomplicated.
“You don’t need to know all of the dances,” Mama began. “Mastery of a small number of basic steps will ensure that you are ready for any ball. We shall begin with the chassé, then move on to the allemande, the fleuret, the waltz traveling step, of course, the chassé setting step—”
“Pardon me,” Mr. Corbyn cut in. “What exactly do you consider asmallnumber of steps to be?”
“Do not interrupt.” She flicked her fan through the air just before Mr. Corbyn’s nose. “But to answer your question: about a dozen.”
“A dozen isn’t a small number.” He sounded as if he were speaking through gritted teeth.There. He’s back to being annoyed.It was a more familiar, far less confusing state of affairs. “It’s a dozen.”
“Whichissmall considering that it shall give you mastery over nearly every dance you are likely to encounter.”
Hannah confided to Mr. Corbyn, “What my mother isn’t telling you is that the steps aren’t even the hard part. It’s remembering what order they go in.”
“May I leave?” he replied.
“No. You maynot.” Mama stomped her foot. “You are both so obstinate. I hate to imagine what your lovers’ spats shall look like. Now, eyes on me. We begin the chassé with a temps levé.”
“We begin what with a what?” Corbyn scowled at her in utter confusion.
“The temps levé is just a small hop. It’s not complicated, I assure you.”
