He looked quite splendid, Fleur supposed, if one saw only the right side of his face and not the terrifying scar of the left side. Though why a scar acquired in battle when fighting for one’s country should terrify her, she did not know. Perhaps even with the disfigurement he would look splendid to someone who had not watched him walk into the shadows of the Drury Lane Theater, tall and dark and menacing in his evening cloak and hat, to ask if she was looking for a night’s employment.
She tried not to cling too tightly to Mr. Chamberlain’s arm. She tried to keep her smile intact.
“Mrs. Kendall,” Mr. Chamberlain said, “have you met Miss Hamilton, Adam’s governess? Or Lady Pamela’s governess, I suppose I should say.”
Fleur smiled at Mrs. Kendall as the introductions were made.
“A splendid evening, Adam,” Mr. Chamberlain said. “I don’t know when one of the Willoughby balls has been better. Ah, a waltz. Ma’am?” He bowed and held out a hand for Mrs. Kendall’s.
They were gone almost before Fleur’s mind could register dismay.
“Miss Hamilton?” The duke’s dark eyes were glittering down into hers, she saw when she looked up at him. “Would you care to waltz?”
She stared at him, at his hand outstretched for hers, long-fingered, beautiful. And the nightmare was back. Not even this night was to be hers.
She watched as his hand closed upon itself.
“Let’s take a stroll instead,” he said quietly, and he clasped his hands at his back, turned onto the path that followed the shore of the lake, and waited for her to fall into step beside him.
“You have been enjoying the evening?” he asked. He was following the south shore, the one less frequented, more heavily wooded than the other, though a string of lanterns extended its entire length.
“Yes, thank you, your grace,” she said.
“Willoughby has always been famous for its grand entertainments,” he said. “And I have always been proud of that reputation. When one has been granted the privilege of inheriting all this, it seems only right to share it with others to some small degree, does it not?”
No one else was walking on this particular path. The wider paths and more open lawns on the north and west sides were crowded with guests. Fleur felt far more terrified than she had felt when walking beside him away from the Drury Lane Theater. Then she had not been terrified at all, only resigned to what must be.
“You dance well,” he said. “I have watched you a few times. You have had practice?”
“A little, your grace,” she said.
“But you have never been to London for a Season, have you?” he said. “I have never seen you there.”
Only on one occasion, Fleur thought, when she had very obviously not been a part of the social whirl of the Season.
“No, your grace,” she said.
She was aware of his eyes on her as they walked, and she had to concentrate every effort of will on setting one foot before the other. If she was forced to scream, would she be heard? The sounds of merriment coming from the dancing area and the refreshment tables were loud across the water.
“Where did you learn to dance?” he asked.
“At school,” she said. “We had a French dancing master. The girls used to laugh at him because he liked to wave his arms about, a handkerchief always in one hand. And he was more dainty on his feet than any of us.” She smiled at the memories. “But he could dance! I have always loved to dance. I have always loved to express music, whether with my fingers on a keyboard or with my feet on a dance floor.”
“You do both well,” he said.
“Sometimes…” She was looking across the water to the back of the pavilion and to the shimmering reflections of hundreds of lanterns. “Sometimes I think that without music, life would have no sweetness or beauty at all.”
The waltz music coming from the pavilion was part of the night and the beauty and the hope. She had forgotten her fear, forgotten her companion for the moment.
“Let’s dance here,” he said quietly, and she was brought jolting back to reality as she spun to face him. He had stopped walking. His left hand was extended to take hers. His face was in darkness, the row of lanterns behind him.
Her right arm felt like a leaden weight as she lifted it and placed her hand in his. She swallowed as she watched and felt his fingers close about it and she felt her heart thump painfully against her ribs and her eardrums. He set his other hand behind her waist, firm and warm. She lifted her left hand to his shoulder, broad and firmly muscled as she remembered it.
She closed her eyes as they danced, slowly at first. And she felt the rhythm of the music and gave herself up to it. The man she danced with led well. He was one with the music and tookher into the flow of it and whirled her about, his hand firm at her waist so that at one moment the tips of her breasts brushed against his coat. She would not remember until it was over with whom she danced, who had become a part of the music with her.
But they had walked for several minutes before dancing. There was not a great deal of the music left. It ended finally and far too soon.
“You have music in your very soul, I believe, Fleur Hamilton,” a deep and quiet voice said.
