“Pretend you yet stare out over the balustrade.”Replacing his hand with the other, he turned and took half a step forward, until barely a breath remained between them.“See how we are close but do not touch?There is allure in the space between us, and it is so simple to perform.At a ball, the theatre, a musicale.”His deep voice lulled her, wrapped around her.“On a balcony or by a refreshment table.We could be stood beside each other like this, respectable to those watching but we both know what this means.”
What did it mean to him?Because she was beginning to believe it did not mean what she’d thought it did.
He looked down at her.“El, I’m going to lean over you.”
She drew in her breath.His eyes… They were so blue.“Yes, Benedict.”
Something flared in those stormy depths.For a moment, time stood still.
Mouth dry, she wet her lips.His gaze flicked to her mouth and then he blinked, averting his eyes.The world returned in a rush, such that she almost needed to steady herself.
Placing his hands either side of her on the pianoforte, he leant forward.She didn’t know what to do with hers, her arms bent behind her, her fingers clutching the pianoforte’s edge.How had she never noticed how big his chest was, how his shoulders dwarfed hers?
“Perhaps this is too close?”he rasped.
She could only shake her head helplessly, completely under his thrall.
“Good.”His breath whispered over her ear, stirring her hair.
She tried like mad to pretend this was not affecting her, that she wasn’t aware of his big body around hers, that she desperately didn’t want his touch.His chest rose and fell, the air thick with…something.She didn’t wish to think too hard on what that something might be.
Abruptly, he pulled himself from her.Cold air rushed to replace him, a consuming emptiness in the space he’d once occupied.
He moved to the table holding the tea service, clutching a dainty cup in his big hand.He downed the tea, his throat moving.
She bit her lip as her gaze ran over him, his long legs, his flat stomach, his broad shoulders.His hands, with their long, elegant fingers.The ones that hadn’t touched her.
Swallowing, she closed her eyes to regain her composure.It was Benedict.Benedict.This was absurd.“I can see how that would be effective.”She was ever so proud of how her voice only shook a little.Clearing her throat, she said, “Was that the extent of this lesson?”
He blinked and then looked at her.“Apologies, El, did you say something?”
She attempted a smile, though it felt strange upon her face.“Is our lesson finished?”
“Oh.Yes.You did well.”He poured another cup, the tea coming at a trickle.He downed it and winced at the no doubt bitter taste of the overbrewed tea.
“Would you like some more?Or I could ring for some lemonade.”
Placing the cup down carefully, he ran his hand over his jaw.“Yes.Lemonade, if you would.And perhaps some more cake?”
Distracted, she stared at his mouth.The thin upper lip.The plush lower one.The dark mauve colour of them, and the way they glistened from the tea.
Brows drawing, he touched his chin.“El?Do I have something on my face?”
She started, blushing furiously.“No, I— I’ll ring for lemonade, shall I?”
“And cake.”
“And cake.”
He smirked, and just like that, all was again as it always had been between them.He was her friend.Her dearest one.She would not risk that for the world.
She rang for the lemonade and cake.They took their usual seats, he on one settee and she on another.A companionable silence rose between them, and she took the moment to examine him.He was lost in thought, his eyes distant.
“When shall be our next lesson, Benedict?”See, she could be normal.The thought of the next lesson did not in any way cause her heart to flutter, or her stomach to flip, or excitement thrum through her veins.
His gaze shifted to her.“Hmm?”
She lost herself in blue and for a moment forgot what she had asked.“Our next lesson?”
