Violet did not doubt that Simon could manage a dukedom if he were called upon to do so. Perhaps someday he’d be promoted to a position of great power. She shivered, recalling the length and placement of the lifeline on his right palm.
“Respect isn’t inevitably given,” Simon explained. “And it shouldn’t be. It’s gained through consistency, kindness, and honor.”
Warmth spread in her chest. For her affair, she had chosen a very good man.
“And here is the ballroom.” They’d entered a tall-ceilinged room, and he drew her onto the landing that provided a magnificent view of the gleaming parquet floors below.
“It’s… incredible—so very grand and stylish.” The other parts of the house were more modest, but the duke, it seemed, had spared nothing while rebuilding this part of the house.
“It is only half the size of the original ballroom.”
She took one more glance around before descending the staircase at his side.
“The bathing pool is just beyond those doors.”
Violet was distracted by the tall windows that lined the room on one side, reaching from the distant ceiling to the floor. “It all makes one feel rather insignificant, I think.” And yet…
“But that’s the opposite of what he intended. It’s designed to make the room’s inhabitants feel as royal as any king.” He pointed out the gilded molding.
“Even a marquess’s cousin? And a butler?” She smiled up at him. Because he was right, she did feel rather royal walking across the floor on his arm. “I could almost imagine you and me dancing here.” Amongst all of the ton, like any other couple. Tears stung the backs of her eyes.
“Shall I call for an orchestra?”
Violet laughed at his earnest expression. “Foolish man.”
But he took her hand in his, and she remembered how he’d danced so effortlessly with Posy. “My dance, I believe.”
She would never have an opportunity to dance with Simon at a ball—not even a small country affair.
Violet took a step away from him and dropped into her best curtsey. “I am honored.”
He shrugged off the sling and placed his hand on the small of her back. When he grasped her hand with the other, she paused.
“Does it hurt?”
“It’s improved considerably.” He leaned forward, humming a low note before the solid length of his thighs pressed against her legs. She responded from memory, lifting onto her toes.
The tune he hummed was familiar, and she added her voice to his as the two of them danced across the floor.
Violet hadn’t ever particularly enjoyed waltzing, but…
Simon’s steps were long and sure, and his pressure on her back made following his lead feel effortless.
They danced close enough that she felt the rumbling of his voice in her chest. Oh, but the ladies of Mayfair were missing out by not having this man as a guest at their balls.
Simon closed his eyes for a moment, inhaling Violet’s scent. It wasn’t overly fussy but warm and clean and held only a hint of something floral. When she’d called him Mr. Cockfield, in that proper voice of hers, he’d been tempted to close the curtain and have her straddling his lap. He’d very nearly directed the carriage to drive randomly around London rather than come here.
What had kept him from doing that? He pondered his self-restraint as he danced her across the room that he had personally assisted in drawing up the design.
Her voice blended softly with his, and he drew her closer.
“What if someone comes?” Their music ceased with her question, but Simon kept right on moving.
“We tell them to go away.”
“Oh, Simon,” she laughed.
“What?”
