I shake my head. “You told her she didn’t belong there.”
Emmett throws his hands up in frustration. “It was a compliment! I hate nearly all those miserable people!”
“Oh.” It finally sinks in that Emmett was trying to do the right thing. I don’t like feeling stupid like this.
“Yeah.Oh.” Emmett rises from the bed and crosses the room to me. “Is it my turn now?”
I look down at my muddy bare feet. “I suppose that seems fair.”
“Bram said you were a terrible dancer,” he begins.
“That’s what you pulled me out of bed in the middle of the night to say?”
“What if it was?”
“I’m more than my dancing!” I protest, annoyance back in full force.
“Sure, but it’s going to come up time and time again this season. Do you want to look like a fool?”
“You’re deflecting.” But he isn’t wrong.
“No. I’m proposing a solution. We talk while I teach you to waltz. Two birds, one stone, you’ll be back in your bed within the hour.”
“And if I refuse?”
“I’m your only hope of making it back through those tunnels. You can try the front door, but servants talk. Ivy Benton leaving Emmett De Vere’s bedroom on the first night of the competition for his brother’s hand? My, what a story that would be.”
“I thought you were trying to prove to me that you’re not horrible.”
He arches a brow. “I didn’t say I’m not horrible.”
I huff out in frustration and extend my arms to him. “Fine.”
He takes a step forward, wraps one arm around my waist, and takes my other hand in his.
My hair is loose around my shoulders, and the heat of him is stifling through my thin nightdress.
He starts counting out softly. “We start with the basics. One, two, three, one, two, three.”
We’re barely moving, but I can’t quite get my balance. “Stop looking at your feet,” he says. “Up here, at me.”
There are those eyes again. Looking at me as if he’s trying to undo a knot.
We settle into a rhythm.Step, slide, step.“Let’s play a game. We each get a question. We each tell the truth. We go one by one.”
Something straightforward for once. “Deal.”
“Ladies first.”
“Why won’t you leave me alone?” I stumble, but his steady arms keep me upright.
“Because I need you to win. I intend to help you.”
“Why—”
He shakes his head.
“My turn,” he interjects. “Why were you wearing boots yesterday?”
