“Quite well,” I answer when he brushes his thumb over mine.
“You are certain?”
I release his hand and return to my spot, pausing briefly as I await the next step. Then I pick up my feet, elegantly showing off quick, agile steps. His Grace surprises me with his own footwork, and I laugh in delight. I recover quickly, but not before he has taken notice.
He gives me a grand, sweeping bow in acknowledgement, and my smile breaks out once more.
Our mood seems to be contagious, and all down the line ladies begin to laugh and the gentlemen begin to flirt. For the remainder of the dance, my concerns fade away, and only the music remains. Only matching steps with my dance partner. I have never seen the duke on the dance floor before and would not have expected him to be an accomplished dancer, but there is no denying it. He possesses a mastery of the steps that is beyond the others and manages to smile and charm me all the while.
By the time the music fades and he has bowed deeply and I have curtseyed, my heart is more buoyant than it has been in many months.
“Now perhaps you would care for more lemonade?” my husband murmurs as he leads me from the dance floor. “I assure you, I can fetch just as well as Lord Pembroke.”
There is a touch of reproof there, so subtle I nearly miss it. But when my ears detect it and I raise my eyes to search his face, I see the slight tightening of his mouth. “Surely you do not possess a jealous nature, my lord?” I ask lightly, in a jesting tone, but I truly desire to hear how he will answer. My heart beats all the faster while I wait.
“Indeed,” he says, stopping near the refreshment table, but instead of releasing my hand, he holds it tighter still, pulling me to him until there is scant space between us.
I should worry what people will say. I should be concerned about the onlookers, for there arealwaysone or two wallflowers keeping an eye out for gossip. But I can think of little else save the way he looms over me, and the way my heart skips beneath my breast as his scent reaches my nose.
“I can be quite jealous,” he admits, his tone sincere, yet stern. “Do not give me cause to be, my dear, I pray you.”
The flush that is becoming all too familiar to me suffuses my cheeks. The air seems to grow thinner until I am acutely aware of every movement he makes. I can hear my heart in my ears and am conscious of the rise and fall of my bosom. “That was not my intention, Your Grace, I assure you. I had no notion that Lord Pembroke would seek me out to speak with me.”
The duke arches a brow, his eyes roving as he assesses my face. At last, he seems satisfied and nods. “Very well. You dance magnificently, my dear.”
I cannot help but be surprised and am flattered by his sudden compliment. “Thank you, Your Grace.”
“I see that the next dance will be the waltz that is suddenly all the rage.” He quirks his eyebrows, and I cover my mouth in time to smother my laughter. His eyes flash with pleasure in having amused me. “Shall we see what we make of it ourselves, my duchess?”
“My lord!” I admonish in a scandalized whisper, trying to hide my smile. “They say it is… indecently close.”
“I, too, have heard it whispered. I thought perhaps you might brave the scandal with me?”
It is upon the tip of my tongue to say no. To deny him as he has been denyingme—and yet, the prospect of trying a new dance, the lightness this teasing has brought, and the notion of him holding me tightly to his person…it is too much for me to resist.
“If it pleases you, Your Grace, I will be most amiable in this regard.”
“Oh, how happy you make me, my dear.” He clutches his breast dramatically. “Now if only I can find the secret to make you amiable in every regard,thatwould be something.” He allows his own amusement to play upon his lips, which coaxes my own smile out of hiding.
Much to my surprise, I am quite enjoying the evening, and very much looking forward to this new dance. Unfortunately, I am in great need of relieving myself at present. “I must beg you to excuse me—I have a small matter to attend to, but I shall return shortly.”
His dark eyes regard me, swirling with an intensity that robs me of breath. “Of course, my lady. Know I shall await your return—but pray, do not tarry too long.”
I duck my head, and turn away, my gowns rustling against the floor as I hurry toward the powder room. I scarcely know what has come over His Grace, but I cannot deny that I have enjoyed his company more now than ever before. And if hewishes to dance the waltz, then it surely must mean that he wishes to be close to me as much as I have come to desire the very same.
I feel lighter and more at ease than I have in many a fortnight as I make my way to the royal withdrawing room. I have been so consumed by emotion, that I have failed to notice the castle’s elegance. Yet, it is impossible to miss as I must ascend the grand staircase, my slippers whispering along the marble steps. It is quite long, and when I finally achieve the summit of the curved staircase, I see a wall of ornate, gleaming frames that hold oil portraits of somber, regal monarchs.
My needs are becoming greater, and I have no time to observe them as I wish. Making a silent vow to linger over them later—perhaps the duke might even escort me after our waltz—I hurry to the antechamber.
Thankfully, a maid is just inside the room and seems to sense my desperation. She quickly shows me where to go, and I have only just gone behind the screen and am attending to my private need when I hear the soft murmur of gleeful voices.
“The new earl seems most taken with you.”
The observation is met with a soft, fluttering laugh. “Indeed. Though I believe he reaches higher than he can manage.”
The women laugh quietly together, and I smile behind the privacy of the screen.
“That reminds me. I have glimpsed the new duke of Fairwynd, and his new bride. She makes the most delightful duchess, do you not agree?”
