Gabriel slammed a fist against his heart but grinned right back at her. “You wound me.” And then, more seriously, “I don’t dance, My Lady. With anyone. Ever.”
“Really? With no one?”
He shook his head, still astounded at himself for making the suggestion. It had been so long; he would likely leave her toes bloodied and bruised. Then again, it was possible that seeing him fumbling at something as simple as a dance would somehow provide her some encouragement.
He wished he could see her eyes. It was almost as though she appreciated him for the person he was, rather than the title he held. It was a refreshingly pleasant sensation.
She didn’t answer right away and as though to assist him in persuading her, the sounds of the orchestra drifting out the terrace doors echoed softly across the lawn.
“It is a waltz.” She practically whispered the words.
It was all the encouragement required.
She did not resist as he led her into the shelter, then turned her to face him, placing his left hand at her waist.
Feeling oddly tentative, he lifted her hand in his.
He could almost make out her features, but it was darker in here. Even so, he’d have to crouch down in order to do so. She was a tiny little thing, barely five feet tall, he’d guess.
Very much a woman though. Her rounded hip curved beneath his hand and when he accidentally stepped too far forward, the softness of her breasts proved her to be adequately endowed, indeed.
“Shorten your stride, My Lord,” she admonished and then counted down to try again. After two more aborted attempts, they eventually made a full circle around the floor.
Surprisingly enough, he did not hate it. And furthermore, he’d yet to step on her toes even once.
He needn’t worry about making inane conversation, nor did he concern himself that onlookers would witness his mistakes. In the darkness like this, he could almost close his eyes and focus only on the rhythm of their steps and the feel of a lovely young woman in his arms.
“You’re not terrible, you know,” she admitted with a laugh after he dared to twirl her successfully. “If fact, I rather think there’s hope for you.”
The idea that he knew her from somewhere arose again with her laughter. He couldn’t ask her though, or he’d stumble.
“Stop counting,” she ordered him, almost as though she’d read his mind.
“How do you know I’m counting? Two… Three… One…”
“Two… three,” she finished for him. “I know because you are mumbling it under your breath.” Now he could feel her smiling. Something in how her entire body relaxed beneath his hands. But even more than that. An energy of joy pulsed through her.
And as he was holding her, it pulsed through him as well.
“Olivia Redfield!” Without warning, an irate voice shattered the magic of their privacy. “My God! What are you thinking? If your mother caught you out here! If anyone else— I knew allowing you to attend was not a good idea.”
She was suddenly ripped out of his arms.
Olivia Redfield? Why did he know that name? And not a second passed before he remembered who she was:Lazy-eyed Lizzie?
“We were only dancing, Papa.”
Papa. That word never foretold any good.
Gabriel just barely made out a feeble-looking fellow with a few strands of hair standing on end. Gabriel had been introduced to the gentleman earlier that evening. Hallowell was the name. Viscount Hallowell. The bride’s father.
Gabriel stepped backward, wishing he could disappear into the darkness. Oh, hell. What had he done?
“Are you determined to ruin everything for your sister?” the viscount rasped in his daughter’s direction. “Get back inside and locate your mother. Louella has tired herself and needs to depart early.”
As of yet, the older gentleman had not yet turned his wrath upon Gabriel, the villain who’d led his daughter astray.
“Is Louella unwell? Where is she?” Miss Redfield’s voice was strained with concern.
