“No! A-a banshee killed you.” She shuddered in his arms. “I could not stop it.”
“But I am perfectly hale.”
“I know.”
“There is nothing to fear.”
“I know.”
“But—”
“I know!” she huffed, a dash of color coming back into her cheeks.
Ah, there was the fiery Scotswoman he knew, but it disturbed him to think that she had been plagued by fears for him. Unfortunately, there was no more time as the music began.
They began, matching their steps to one another. In truth, he never liked the waltz. He was a large man, his steps were too big and the ladies too fragile in his arms.
But not her. She was not an amazon by any means, but she had a solid frame and good muscles to give her strength. She didn’t mince words or steps, and so she was easy to match. Very quickly, they were moving together as one, and it was delightful.
He’d never thought of dancing as anything more than a social obligation. Until now. It was a pleasure to hold her in his arms. She moved with him, following his lead as the dance required, but also having her own agency. It was a subtle thing, but it surprised him.
He smiled down at her, pleased to see the color in her cheeks. And at his smile, she brightened even further. Her body relaxed and soon their dance felt as easy as breathing. He could have spun her around until she flew. How he wanted to do just that, but he could not be so raucous. Instead, he looked at her lips and thought of kissing her, of shaping her breasts and stroking between her thighs. By the time the music ended, he was flushed and tormented by lust.
How she affected him! And how susceptible he was to her every blush and stammer.
“T-thank you, my lord. That waswonderful.” That last word lingered on her tongue before heating his blood.
“You are a wonderful dancer,” he answered, knowing such praise was inadequate.
“I think we matched,” she said, her wits seeming to return.
His came a moment later, and he began escorting her back to the countess. She had other partners waiting, but he was loathe to release her.
“I need to speak with you. Privately, if possible.”
“Privately?” Her voice came out at a higher register. “How?”
“Short of climbing the ivy outside your window like Romeo, I haven’t the foggiest.” He was startled when she stumbled. “Are you all right?”
“Yes. No. In my dream you climbed the ivy.”
“What?”
She shook her head. “It was so real.”
“Your nightmare.” It wasn’t a question. She seemed shaken to the core. “When I died.”
“Yes.”
He took a deep breath. One more step and he would have to surrender her to her next partner. “I will speak to the countess,” he said. “We will speak tonight. After all the ball.”
“After—”
“Good evening, Mr. Dickerson,” he interrupted. “Yes, I saw you there waiting, and I was rude in not surrendering the lady earlier to your care. I am loathe to leave her you see, but—”
“Yes, we all saw, Lord Heath,” the gentleman intoned. “But we all must have a go, don’t you know.”
Heath stiffened at the wording. It was no more than what gentlemen said all the time, but Miss Allen was not a toy to be passed from one child to another. “Mind your tongue,” he snapped, and then felt his face heat as everyone in earshot turned to look at him in surprise.
