“Enough, gentlemen!” cried Caroline. “Your audience is waiting!” And she crashed loudly into the first notes of a familiar tune.
Lucy watched, laughing, her nerves forgotten, as the two men danced—both elegantly and accurately, to be sure, but with exaggerated gestures of gallantry from George and coquettishflirting from Jack, who, at the end of the dance, feigned a swoon as George bent over his hand and collapsed dramatically onto the floor.
“The salts! Bring the salts!” cried George, laughing, as Jack sprang up again and took his bow.
Then Jack fixed a pointing finger on Lucy and all her nerves swept back into her stomach. “And now it’s your turn.”
She knew that look and knew her respite was up. Jack took her elbow and towed her to stand across from George, then took the seat she’d vacated. With a clap of his hands and a nod at Caroline he called, in French, for them to begin.
Lucy was stiff, and self-conscious, but she survived the dance, George murmuring patient instructions. Ever since her disastrous debut at Almack’s, she’d spent more time than she cared to admit reading a dance book taken from Caroline’s shelves and mentally reviewing every dance she vaguely remembered from her childhood. Also, despite her laughter, she’d paid close attention to the gentlemen’s moves.
“You’re doing very well,” George praised her halfway through. She blushed, but her confidence grew, and by the end she was smiling and even enjoying herself.
Caroline, George, and Jack broke into applause when she stopped, breathing hard. It was more exercise than she was used to.
Jack stood, smiling broadly, and came over with his own words of praise. “A little more practice and you’ll be more than ready for your engagement ball.”
Cold, sharp guilt cut through her happy glow. She turned away in confusion under the guise of fixing her hair. But almost at the same moment, Caroline played a few bars of a waltz.
“What?” she protested when everyone looked over to the instrument. “I mean to make her fashionable. I told you sofrom the start. And the French Slow Waltz is really quite simple compared to some others.”
“I hardly think my mother is going to permitanywaltz at a ball of hers,” said George.
“All the more reason to dance it now! Who knows when you might get the opportunity again? If you remember, George, we had a conversation recently aboutproviding opportunities.”
George paused, and Lucy’s heart gave a frightened spasm. She suddenly feared her new friends’ intervention in her affairs went far further than she’d guessed.No, she silently protested,don’t—
“You’re quite right,” George said. “Lucy ought to have every opportunity for enjoyment. But I’m afraid I’ve, ah, hurt my ankle. Twisted it. Yesterday at Jackson’s.”
“You never said,” said Jack.
“No…it was only a small thing. And I didn’t think it would trouble me at all. But all this dancing seems to have, um, aggravated it.”
“Oh no!” mourned Caroline. “But it seemssucha pity to deny Lucy her waltz, all for a measly ankle.”
“Alas,” sighed George. “Unless… Jack? You could step in. You wouldn’t mind, would you?”
Jack lifted an indifferent shoulder—a gesture which made Lucy’s fears seem instantly absurd.Hethought nothing of it. And if it was nothing to him, then it would be nothing to her.
To let him…let himclaspher…it meant nothing between friends. Besides, the dance could hardly be as scandalous as she’d heard if all three of her friends were considering it. Caroline’s manners were teasing and lively, but she’d never propose something truly improper. And even if she had, Jack wouldn’t permit it, nor George, she was sure.
And how could she make a fuss anyway, without making herself look ridiculous—or, worse, revealing more than she wished? All three were looking at her. Jack smiled.
“You’re still the leading lady of this evening’s dance, Lucy. You get to decide.”
“V-very well.” She was hot all over. She wished she was wearing gloves. “I will try it. Though I am sure to get it wrong.”
“Who minds if you do?” said Jack, coming to stand very close. “You’re among friends here. No one will laugh. And I promise that, this time, I’ll not let you fall.”
He smiled as he said it, but she blushed at the memory of their dreadful first dance at Almack’s. Then she blushed further as Jack took her hand and placed it on his shoulder.
Oh no. It was horrendous. His shoulder was so high and firm and square. And her wrist brushed the solid plane of his chest. Under the rich fabric of his coat, he was as hot and alive and full of muscle as a hunting horse. A tremor went through her that she was sure he could feel.
They were soclose. He smelt of soap and starch and fresh linen. And brandy and wine and…heat. Why was he so hot? But she was hotter, red everywhere, she was sure, blotchy and damp and…awful, it was just awful as he took hold of her other hand…and then his arm came lightly around her waist, his palm on the small of her back. The muscles there clenched, and her breath caught in her throat.
“Don’t look so terrified.” Jack was smiling. Still smiling. As indifferent as the careless shoulder he’d raised.
He squeezed her hand, and his splayed fingers also pressed briefly against her back. “Holding you like this, you cannot fall. You’re in safe hands.”
