‘I do, but Lady Wadlow always said it wasn’t respectable for young ladies. She forbade Amabel and me from dancing it, even after we got permission from Almack’s.’
‘Ah.’ He swept a hand behind her back and leaned closer, bringing his lips to her ear. ‘I think we can agree to disregard anything Lady Wadlow says.’
She gave a startled laugh, aware of a strange, fluttering sensation in her stomach as she placed one hand in his, the other on his shoulder, and they swung away from Cassie into the dance. And it was nice…at least, to begin with. The music and the setting were beautiful, only nobody had ever held her so intimately before, and the fact that it washim, of all people, and there were still so many eyes watching and judging… She swallowed, acutely aware of every small detail of the dance, the warmth of his fingertips against her back, the rise and fall of his chest, the sound of their shoes sliding over the floor. She could feel herself becoming flustered, her cheeks heating as though she were some innocent debutante, not a woman who was supposed to have been married for over a month. It was theexact opposite of the calm and composed image she wished to convey to theton!
‘You dance well,’ Leo murmured after a few minutes.
‘Amabel and I used to practise together when she came to our house.’ She seized on the words, glad of the distraction. ‘My brother Thomas would play the pianoforte for us.’
‘Indeed? Did Miss Wadlow often visit your house?’
‘Sometimes, although she had to bring her governess, of course.’
‘And the governess allowed waltzing?’
‘She wasn’t supposed to, but Miss Thompkins was sweet on one of my other brothers, Samuel, so she was easily distracted.’ She smiled at the memory, beginning to relax. If Leo was trying to set her at ease, it was working. ‘Of course, she isn’t Miss Thompkins any longer. She’s Mrs Lowrie now. They’re expecting their first baby in the autumn.’
‘Ah.’ His expression turned questioning. ‘What about you? I know you said you didn’t come to London for a husband, but weren’t there any eligible suitors in Cumberland? A tutor perhaps?’
‘I suppose there were a few gentlemen.’ She pursed her lips thoughtfully. One advantage of having so many brothers was that she’d often been thrown into the company of their friends. And she had never been short of dance partners at the local assembly rooms. Still, there was nobody who’d ever touched her heart, not yet anyway. ‘I suppose the closest I ever came to marriage was with Mr Archer.’
‘Mr Archer?’ His fingers flexed against her back.
‘Yes. Lord Wadlow’s land agent. I liked him very much. He was pleasant and amusing and very handsome.’
‘Indeed?’ There was a new tension in his voice suddenly. ‘Did he make you an offer?’
‘Oh, yes, and he wrote me a poem with it. He was a very good poet.’
She thought she heard him mutter something under his breath, but when he spoke again his tone was neutral. ‘A love poem, I take it?’
‘An ode.’ She sucked her cheeks in and sighed. ‘I was very impressed for the first few lines, but then he compared me to a daisy.’
‘And that’s bad?’
‘Not inherently. I like daisies. They’re dainty and pretty. Only his imagery made it clear that he considered them to be something else.’
‘Dare I ask?’
‘He made them sound strong and self-sufficient, neither of which are negative qualities, of course. In fact, they’re very good, only his point was that they don’t need to be nurtured. They’re justthere, surviving whether you pay them any attention or not.’ She tipped her head to one side. ‘He was a widower with two young children. I believe that he wanted a new mother for them more than he wanted me. It was understandable, but not very romantic, so I refused him.’ She sighed again. ‘I felt quite bad about it, until he made some unflattering comments about my age and appearance, all of which made me quite sure I’d made the right decision. I might not be a rose like Amabel, but I’d like to be more than a flower that just exists, if that makes sense?’
‘Perfectly.’
‘I suppose I always thought that if I ever married, it would be for love.’ She paused, remembering how she’d apparently trapped him. ‘At least, that’s what I used to think.’
‘Whereas I always anticipated a purely practical arrangement.’
‘So neither of us got what we expected?’
‘It seems not.’ His eyes sparked with some indefinable emotion. ‘However, if I ever feel inspired to write you a poem, I’ll be sure to compare you to something other than a daisy.’
‘Thank you.’ She laughed at the idea. As ifhewould ever write her a poem… ‘That would be lovely.’
An hour later, Leo stood at the side of the ballroom, drinking a glass of champagne while Florence danced a quadrille with George. To his relief, she was looking visibly more relaxed and animated than she had earlier in the evening. The buzz that had greeted their arrival had taken a good half-hour to fade away, but eventually eyes and conversations had moved on. Only some male attention lingered on her, his own most of all.
He watched as she danced, his gaze roaming from the swell of her breasts above the top of her bodice down to her hips as they swayed with the music, feeling his stomach tighten every time he caught the shapely outline of her legs through the fabric of her gown. Now that he’d made the decision to put the past behind them, he couldn’t seem to take his eyes off her, as if by setting his resentment aside, he’d left the door open for attraction to sneak back in. Her hair, which he’d previously thought of as simply light brown, now struck him as a lustrous and vibrant shade of walnut, shot through with threads of honey and gold, while her eyes, even from the other side of the dance floor, were surely the most vibrant and luminous shade of blue he’d ever seen.
As if she sensed his gaze on her, she glanced in his direction and smiled, her face lighting up in a way that made him feel as if he’d had too much to drink.
