And then they were moving.
For about four steps, it was fine. Almost graceful, even. Then the duke’s foot caught hers.
“Sorry,” he muttered.
“It’s fine?—”
He stepped on her hem.
“Apologies—”
She stumbled. He caught her. Which would have been romantic, except he overcorrected and they both nearly toppled sideways.
“I warned you,” he said, looking mortified.
Margaret bit her lip, trying desperately not to laugh and failing spectacularly.
“This is a disaster,” he said.
“This is wonderful.” She chuckled.
He blinked. “I’m serious.”
But so was she. Because despite the fumbling and the near-collisions and the fact that they were definitely not following the proper steps, she was smiling. Actually smiling.The kind that hurt her cheeks because she’d forgotten what real joy felt like.
“When’s the last time you did something you were absolutely terrible at?” she asked.
“This morning. Tried to tie my own cravat.”
“How did that go?”
“My valet wept.”
She laughed again. Louder this time. She didn’t care who heard. “The trick is to stop trying so hard. You’re thinking about the steps instead of just… moving.”
“Moving implies coordination.”
“Moving implies trust.” She shifted closer, adjusting their position. “Stop trying to lead perfectly. Just hold on to me, and we’ll figure it out together.”
His eyes met hers, and something passed between them—understanding, maybe, or recognition. The acknowledgment that neither of them knew what they were doing, in dancing or in life, but they were willing to try.
“Together,” he repeated softly.
“Together.”
His hand tightened at her waist. She felt the shift in him—the moment he stopped overthinking and just… moved.
And suddenly, impossibly, they were dancing.
Not well. Not even adequately by any technical standard, but they were moving together, finding a rhythm that had nothing to do with the music and everything to do with the way their bodies fit. His hand guided her without forcing. She anticipated his movements half a second before he made them.
“We’re doing it,” he said, sounding surprised.
“Don’t jinx it.”
“Too late. I’m definitely jinxing it.”
But he didn’t. They kept dancing. Turning. Spinning beneath the chandeliers while the music swelled around them.
