“Do you have to call me that?” Reese hated how whiny she sounded, but if she had to spend much more time under old Ashface’s tutelage, Reese might have to change her name to Neville Longbottom.
“We have had this discussion before, my dear. Your nickname is inappropriate.” Lady Ashford’s voice took on a sing-songy quality. “You must learn to wear your role as though you were, indeed, from the Regency era. You must act the part of a lady of quality. And, as we all know, ladies of quality do not fidget or shift their clothing.”
Without thinking, Reese reached up under her arm to pull the corset top away from her body. After nearly a week of being bound by the thing, it had rubbed her skin raw. The only things that would get her through the night would be the exercise clothes she wore underneath as a barrier. Hopefully, since she had them under her dress, she wouldn’t be dinged for not being era appropriate.
“Miss Clarisse.” The older woman held up a quizzing glass to her eye. “Does something not fit properly? A lady of quality could afford to have clothing specially made just for her.”
“I told you before. It chafes.” Clarisse shifted the corset where it rubbed.
The bully dropped the quizzing glass and let out a deep sigh while resting the back of her hand against her forehead. The woman had mastered the art of the drama queen, but maybe that was the way the women acted back then.
“Perhaps we should consider binding your bosom,” Ashface suggested.
“No,” Reese said. “I’ll figure this out.”
“As you say,” the tyrant said. “I have done what I can for you. It is now time for your private dance session.”
“Mywhat?” At the sound of the door opening, Reese glanced around. Lady Ashford turned as well and nodded at the young man standing in the doorway.
Jem. Reese’s heart gave a little leap, and a flood of contradictory emotions made her a little dizzy for a second. She thought she had prepared herself to see him again, had embraced her anger and hurt at the way he’d ditched her. Seeing him now, though, set her pulse racing. He looked so hot in a coat with tails and a cleverly crafted cravat. He even managed to make the tight breaches look good.
“Mr. Taylor was able to join us for the ball after all,” Lady Ashford said. “He has completed his brief lesson on the country dances and is now prepared to practice with a partner. When I mentioned that you were having a remedial session, he agreed to assist you.” She then glided from the room.
Remedial. Had it really been necessary to call it that? The woman was absolutely gothic. Reese had thought she’d managed to sidestep this particular problem since Jem hadn’t been expected for another day.
He watched her with a wary expression. She thought she saw a flash of vulnerability. It passed so quickly, she decided she had imagined it. Why would confident Jem feel vulnerable? Because he was worried she might say something about his two years of silence? Well, two people could play that game. If his kiss had meant nothing to him, she would act like it had been equally forgettable for her.
“Hey,” she said.
His gaze took in the full length of her gown. “That color looks good on you.”
“Thanks.” Reese did like the creamy chiffon fabric with its gold stitching. It didn’t show more than a tiny bit of cleavage, but she still had to resist the urge to tug the bodice higher. It was more than she normally showed. When she had grown so busty as a young teen, she had gotten tired of guys’ eyes always focusing on her chest and had learned to keep everything covered in loose clothing, except when exercising.
Jem gave her a bow, just like a Regency gentleman might, so Reese performed a little curtsy, careful not to lean forward and expose more of her “womanly charms”, as Ashface had called them.
“I’m not sure how we can dance without music,” Reese said. Or without others to make up a group.
A tap at the door made her start. A man carrying a violin entered the room. He took up position in the corner, gave them a nod, and began to play a waltz. She wasn’t really going to have to dance with him, one-on-one, was she?
“Shall we do this?” Jem held up his arms.
“I thought the waltz was considered scandalous back then.” Reese fought back the excitement that bubbled up at the thought of being so close to him again. She needed to show no emotion. She couldn’t care less because she didn’t want him to hold her.
Liar.
“Aunt Nellie told me I should be prepared to dance the waltz too.” He arched a brow in that challenging way he had used when they were children and she hadn’t wanted to help him with whatever lark he had planned.
“Fine.” Reese curtsied again and stepped forward. Their eyes were nearly level when he took her left hand in his and slid his right hand behind her back. She tried not to think of the first time he had kissed her, when they were ten and twelve. Her pulse pounded so loudly, she couldn’t hear the music and could only remember the feel of his arms around her when he had kissed her the second time. Now, she was glad for the corset’s additional barrier. Otherwise she might have burst into flames where he was touching her.
“Do you remember the box step?” Jem asked, pulling her from her thoughts.
“I—” Reese’s voice cracked, and she cleared her throat, gathering her thoughts again. “I think so.” This was so much worse than anything she had imagined. She was supposed to be able to stay clear of him, notdancewith him. She told herself she was just dancing with her best friend’s brother. No big deal.
Jem took a step, and she stumbled a little. He tightened his grip on her back, pulling her closer.
“Sorry,” Reese mumbled.
“You’re fine.”
