“Three… Four…” the pianist continued.
Frances gasped as Dominic took her by the hand and led her onto the makeshift dance floor, before assuming his place opposite her. It would be a strange country dance with just the two of them, but at least he had not called out for a waltz; she would not have been able to endure it, and likely would have turned an alarming shade of red.
Does he even know about waltzes?As she had no idea how long he had avoided society, she could not be certain. Then again, if he had heard about her scandal from the seclusion of his manor, the scandalous argument surrounding waltzes assuredly would have reached him too.
“Five… and six… and seven… and eight.”
The music began.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Instinct, habit, and repetition took over as the cheerful tune filled the music room, thawing Frances out of her frozen state. She curtseyed gracefully to Dominic, who bowed in return.
And then, they were dancing.
A lively hop to the right and a skip to the left, before turning around in a neat circle. That was the easy part, as they leaped into a quick succession of hops: forward, back, left, right.
Frances was already breathless before they had even begun, thanks to her sudden rush of nerves, but what little breath she had left was swept away by the majesty of Dominic.
He did not merely dance; he danced perfectly. Not just going through the steps, either, but performing them with a natural aptitude, an elegance, a flair that one would not necessarily have expected from such a tall and muscular man.
“You must… remember not to… anticipate too much!” Frances called out, for this was supposed to be a lesson. Even if, for a moment, she wished they were alone.
The couple glided forward to meet each other, their opposite arms curving upward, their fingertips almost meeting. Frances could feel a crackle in the air where they nearly touched, a tiny bolt of lightning that ricocheted down into her chest, where it made her heart beat even harder.
And when Dominic drew back again, it was a wrench, keenly felt.
“You should… talk during closer moments,” Frances explained thickly, needing the next step to bring her back into the duke’s proximity.
“You should not be so out of breath so early in a dance,” Hugo quipped, his words conjuring the ghost of a smirk upon Dominic’s lips. “Usually, youdohave breath enough to answer a gentleman’s questions, and for him to answer yours.”
If she had not already been fighting to keep her composure, Frances might have shot an angry look at Hugo. Instead, she refused to glance in his direction at all, fearful that he might see something on her face, in her expression, in her red-cheeked complexion that she did not want him to see.
She could not, however, avoid looking at Dominic. A pity, when he was the last person that she wanted to see what might be written all over her face. All she could do was pray that he wastoo distracted by the beetroot hue of her to considerwhyshe was so feverish, so flustered.
“She had to drag my father here,” Harriet replied in Frances’ defense. “Of course, she is out of breath.”
The girl seemed more relaxed now, standing between Lord Ainsley and his sister. Her words made Frances smile, bolstering her determination to perform well as she and Dominic surged toward each other once more, stopping just short of an improper distance.
Their palms met to form an arch, and though she wore her silk gloves, she could feel the heat of Dominic’s hands: the kind one might want to hold on a chilly winter’s day.
“This is where other dancers would pass through,” Frances said, her breath steadying as she counted the beats in her head and tried very hard not to keep thinking of holding Dominic’s hand on a winter’s day.
As it came to what would have been their turn to dance through a tunnel of arched arms, Dominic held her hands more tightly than he, perhaps, should have, and crossed one arm over the other. In a lively promenade, standing side by side, they danced forward.
Oh goodness…
She gulped as her hand knocked into the hard ridges of his abdomen, her hip bumping into his thigh, wondering if she had always been this clumsy. Indeed, when they came to the end of the room, it was a bittersweet parting, for she found that she did not want to let go of his hands, but if she did not, she would never be able to catch her breath and gather herself.
Nevertheless, the dance commanded them to part ways, each one skipping down the opposite side to where they had started, pretending there were two lines of other dancers there.
Then, they were together again, palm to palm, turning in a slow circle. Frances’ eyes locked with Dominic’s, and it was as if theywerealone, the spectators fading into the background, as the air in the room seemed to thicken. She would be breathless again in seconds, and she found she did not care.
She just wanted to stay there, in the midst of the dance, with him. A feeling so sudden and overwhelming that she did not know what to do with it.
“Have you enjoyed your evening?” Dominic asked quietly, resisting the urge to slide his fingers between hers as their palms stayed flush together, each turn they made somehow bringing them closer to each other.
He had not meant to say anything, intending to let the dance finish and be done with it, but as it had gone on, he had found himself wanting to seize the opportunity to talk to her. To be theone beside her, engaging her in conversation, making her laugh; to hold the position he had envied at the dinner table.
