His other arm came around her waist, pulling her close.
“It’s easy,” he said as she looked up at him. “Just follow me. I won’t let you fall.”
The words were said softly, so unlike his usual gruffness. Ella wasn’t sure if it was a trap, but she didn’t want to look away as he began guiding her in a series of steps, twirling her around the room.
It was surprisingly easy to let go and follow him. Though she felt a little discombobulated, she could see why dancing was something her stepsisters had always talked about doing. It was tremendously satisfying, twirling around the floor with him, the skirt of the dress Beatrice had lent her flaring out with each turn.
As the music Jenkins played began to wind down, she wished she could stay with Dietrich like this for longer. His hands were confident and warm, and his eyes looked down into hers.
This was dangerous. She should not be this close to him.
Her heart was beating far too fast, and if she wasn’t careful, she was in danger of losing it.
“Thank you for the dance, Lady Ella,” Dietrich said gravely as he let go of her.
“Thank you,” she echoed, not sure if there was a proper response, but she was thankful that he had shown her how to do it.
“And that is one dance,” Beatrice said. “There are others you should learn.”
“I must go,” Dietrich said quickly, turning and walking away.
Ella stared after him. Why was he leaving? Had she done something wrong? She glanced at Beatrice, hoping for an answer, but Beatrice simply smiled.
“I think Dietrich learned something too,” she said in response to Ella’s unspoken question. “He’ll figure it out.”
That did not clear up Ella’s confusion at all, but she nodded as the door slammed in the foyer. Perhaps Dietrich didn’t know the dance as well as he thought.
But she couldn’t help feeling like she’d done something wrong as she heard hoofbeats galloping down the drive.
She would have to ask Dietrich later what had happened. Because if this was how one man reacted to dancing with her, what would happen when she had to dance with other men?
Chapter eleven
Dietrich
Frustration rolled through Dietrich as he rode the mare hard back toward the duke’s estate. It had surprised him how easily he’d forgotten who Ella was while dancing with her. Every scrap of self-control he thought he had disappeared, and all he could think about was how wonderful it was to dance with her.
But he couldn’t think that—not when she was Lady Eliana and he would only ever be her father’s stable master. Not her equal.
He slowed the mare, unwilling to take his frustration out on her, as they left Eldenwilde behind. He’d already forgotten her name. She was one of the new mares that had come with the duke, and in his distraction with Ella, he had lost track of it. Was it Lavender or something like that?
“Good girl,” he said, patting her neck.
The mare didn’t know that he liked to call the horses by their names. She wouldn’t be offended, although he might not forgive himself for it.
As the distance to home lessened and the trail to the picnic clearing came into view, Dietrich groaned. He had forgotten to ask if Beatrice and Ella wanted to join him for a picnic this afternoon. That had been his main excuse for being there, and Beatrice had managed to make him completely forget it.
He growled in frustration. He would have to send a groom over with an invitation. He was not going back there—not with Beatrice clearly bent on matchmaking. She had noticed the way he reacted to Ella, and she was no fool.
But just because Beatrice had managed to marry into the nobility did not mean that he could expect the same. In fact, it was probably to be avoided.
The fact that two members of the noble class in the Northlands had married girls from the common class was unusual and he shouldn’t expect to follow in their footsteps.
He’d always said he wasn’t ready for romance, and the fact that a pretty girl had appeared didn’t change that.
He didn’t have time for romancing anyone, much less a duchess. Duchesses didn’t marry stable masters.
He gritted his teeth as the gates of the castle came into view. If only he hadn’t met Ella. Things would be a lot simpler if he hadn’t. She was going to be the death of him—whether through the way she liked to verbally spar with him or simply because holding her in his arms had felt so right, even though he knew it shouldn’t.
