“You changed the subject,” he continued. “I asked you where you’re off to.”
She rubbed the note still clutched in her hand. “It wouldn’t matter if I told you. You wouldn’t believe me.”
“So little faith in me?”
“It would sound quite fantastic.”
“Try.” He leaned against the door frame, blocking her way.
She closed her eyes. “Please don’t ask me to.”
“Very well. A woman with secrets. I understand.”
She nearly sighed with relief. She opened her eyes, surprised to feel them wet with unshed tears.
He stood up straight and held out his arms. “Do you have time for a dance?”
Thatcaught her entirely off guard as well. Did she have time for a dance? Almost as if it had read her mind, a clock somewhere within the house began to chime the midnight hour. She and Cade stood stock-still, staring at each other, his hands in the air, reaching for her in silent invitation for a dance. Once the chimes finished, she whispered, “There is no music.”
“Of course there is.” He dropped his arms and entered the room, shutting the door behind him. In three long strides, he’d crossed to the window and slid it open. The musicians played at the back of the ballroom near the French doors leading out to the patio. A lovely melody floated up through the summer air to filter prettily into Danielle’s fourth-floor bedchamber. It was a waltz.
Cade turned back to face her, his arms outstretched again.
Danielle nearly choked on the lump in her throat this time. “You don’t have to do this.” Along with the music, the breeze carried the scent of night-blooming jasmine. That, combined with the melody and the darkness of the room with only a single candle flickering on the bedside table, made the entire scene quite…romantique.
“Don’t have to do what?” Cade’s tone was unreadable.
She glanced down at her slippers. “Dance with a maid?” She hated how vulnerable her voice sounded. How small. How… lonely.
He glanced over both shoulders. “I don’t see a maid here.”
“No?” Her reply was faint.
“I see only a beautiful woman with whom I desperately want to dance.”
Beautiful? Her? She was too thin, too straight, too short, too flat-chested, too—well, too anything to be called beautiful. She glanced over both of her own shoulders. “Where?” She did her best to hide her smile. She passed by the writing desk and laid the crumpled note on top. Cade’s eyes missed nothing. She could tell he’d seen it. That and the other note resting on the pillow. He pretended not to notice it. Instead, he pulled her into his arms and said, “Here.”
“I don’t how know to dance,” she whispered into his starch-scented shirtfront.
“I’m not particularly adroit at it myself, but I’ll teach you.” His voice was so calm, and smooth, and reassuring. Danielle sighed. It nearly made her forget for a moment. Forget that… She didn’t have time for this. She shouldn’t be indulging in such nonsense when she had a job to do. Grimaldi was waiting at their designated meeting location, three streets away in a hackney coach. He’d be checking his timepiece and cursing her.
She was being foolish. She was being selfish. She was being… a girl. By God, she’d had precious few moments when she could enjoy being a girl. She’d had precious few moments spent in the company of a handsome man who wanted her the way a man wanted a woman. Cade had looked at her that way since the beginning. Never looked at her any other way.
She was about to have to pull on breeches, wear a cap, and spend days, if not weeks, aboard a cramped ship with no French soap for bathing. No bathtub for bathing! She was about to spend time itching in places she rarely contemplated. She would never have a satin gown. Would never have a coming-out party or be pursued by eligible gentlemen. She would never own delicate kid gloves or carry a reticule full of dainty things like a vial of perfume and a handkerchief with roses embroidered near her initials. None of that was in her future. But like the fairy tales, she did have this one moment where she could pretend. Pretend to be a stunningly beautiful lady, pretend to be the belle of the ball. In this one moment, she could dance with a handsome gentleman. Perhaps Cade wasn’tpreciselya gentleman. He’d been to gaol. He had secrets. But she was no lady. And she had secrets, too. They made a good match.
She would take her moment. Grimaldi could wait.
She looked up into Cade’s blue eyes and smiled at him. She lived in the moment and in this particular moment she was going to… dance. “Yes, Mr. Cavendish. I’ll dance with you.”
All of the servants were busy attending to the ball, which made it a perfect time for Danielle to escape. Now was also the perfect time to participate in a clandestine dance with an unmarried man in her bedchamber. She placed her small, cold hands in Cade’s large, warm ones.
The smile he gave her turned her belly to jam. His fingers closed around her hands and the warmth and strength there reassured her. “Wait.” She stepped back, unhooked the clasps on her pelisse and shrugged it off both shoulders. She tossed it on the bed, attempting to cover the note sitting on the pillow. If Cade noticed, he didn’t react. She turned back to him and offered her hands again.
“It’s a three-step process,” he explained, claiming her hands again and pulling her indecently close. She stared into his blindingly white cravat, too overcome with emotion to look him in the eye. It was more than just the dancing. No one had ever treated her with such reverence. No one had ever taken the time to look at her. Not carefully. Not deeply. Not as if he was studying her the way Cade always seemed to be. Few things escaped his notice. She already knew that about him. Was it her imagination or was he breathing in the scent of her hair? She dared a glance up to see him inhale, his eyes closed. “Orchids,” he said, in a low, deep voice.
“Pardon?”
“You smell like the orchids that grow out of the rock formation of the island of Elba.”
