He shot me a skeptical look. “Truly? I assumed gentlemen would be lined up out the door to write their names on your dance card and you would be whisked away until your toes were aching from so much dancing.”
Another genuine laugh left me. “Believe it or not, Mr. St. Clair, but I have scared away nearly all of the eligible gentlemen here. Most of them do not like girls who are outspoken, you see. And well, usually while I am dancing, I do tend to enjoy a spot of conversation instead of remaining meekly silent. I’m not a mute puppet to be moved around and look pretty.”
He canted his head, bright eyes sweeping me from behind his mask. “You do look very pretty this evening, Lady Rosalin, though from the little I’ve come to know of you, I could never call you a puppet.”
“Excellent, you’ve passed the first test,” I said, smiling at him.
He reared back. “Firsttest?”
“Shall we see how you fare in a waltz next?” I said with a nod, hearing the soft measures of music. “Or will you end up in the wasteland of London gentlemen who cannot seem to perform two tasks at once? Are you up for the challenge, sir? I am a harsh taskmaster, I’ve been told.”
Tarik bowed and extended a gloved hand, his mouth quirking with amusement. “Challenge accepted. I would be delighted to demonstrate my skills.”
In all honesty, as he led me to the ballroom floor, I wasn’t anywhere near ready to perform a waltz—the most intimate of all dances—with Tarik St. Clair, but the minute he grasped my hand and waist, time seemed to stop. Everyone else in the ballroom disappeared, and it was only us moving to the ethereal strains of music and the three-count measure that I swore my heartbeat was imitating.
“Where did you learn to waltz?” I asked him.
He smirked, making my pulse trip—that look should be illegal. “Is that question your next test?”
“Are you going to answer it?” I countered.
He spun me effortlessly in the first turn, making my breath catch, the press of his fingers on the indent of my hip providing only the gentlest guidance. “Paris. My mother loved to dance, and I was her second-favorite partner, whenever my father was working, which was often. She taught me all the steps, all the court dances, all the country dances, even ones from other countries.”
“Oh? Which ones?”
“Dances from India, where my grandparents were from, and from the Americas and the West Indies. She loved music from everywhere—the sounds of the tabla, lute, tambourine, bamboo flutes, and maracas.”
His words had a hypnotic quality. “That sounds incredible,” I murmured. “Did you learn to play any of the instruments?”
“Some.”
He guided me across the floor for a few beats of music. Neither of us spoke, but our silence had a language all its own—the movement between our bodies, our breaths, and the rustle of our clothing. I felt more at home in these moments of quiet in Tarik’s embrace than I ever had in anyone else’s.
What if we had methereduring the season, instead of at university? What if he were a gentleman of good station, and not just in nobility of character? One could argue that the latter was more important, but in theton,status and rank mattered. Titles and wealth mattered. It was infuriating, and yet not something I could easily or effectively change…not as a duke’s daughterwho was expected to make an excellent, society-worthy match. A part of me would wholeheartedly choose him, with nothing, over a peer with everything.
Idly, I thought back to the tests I’d formulated to determine my perfect match what felt like an eternity ago, and felt a wry smile touch my lips.
Scholarly aptitude and ability to engage in intellectual discourse—multiple questions in mathematics, physics, and philosophy
Progressive stance on women’s status and rights in the aristocracy
Emotional breadth and depth—must be compassionate and kind
Political views in favor of changing antiquated laws
