“You pulled me inside rather eagerly for a woman who thinks I am out of my mind.”
“Because you were standing in the corridor outside my bedroom in the middle of the afternoon. If anyone had noticed you…”
“No one saw me.”
He said it with such calm certainty that she wanted to shake him. Instead, she watched as his gaze moved around her room. The books stacked on the nightstand. The journal was open on her writing desk. The sapphire gown hanging from the wardrobe door.
His attention lingered there.
“Tomorrow night the house party ends with a ball,” he said. “You need dancing lessons.”
“I know how to dance.”
“You know the steps. That is not the same thing.” He turned back to her. “I need to teach you how to dance to allure a man.”
Lily stared at him. “How is that different from regular dancing?”
“Very.”
He removed his coat and draped it over the back of her chair as though disrobing in her bedroom was the most ordinary thing in the world.
“Tomorrow night we will open the dancing together. After that, Wilfrey will ask you. And when he does, you need to know how to move so that every step, every turn, every brush of your hand against his makes him forget his own name.”
Her face grew hot. “Anyone could hear us.”
“We need only a few minutes. You can practice alone afterward.”
Alone.
The word should not have sounded so vexing.
She folded her arms, but it did nothing to steady her. Hugo stood in the afternoon light from her window, his shirtsleeves white against his forearms, his fair hair slightly disheveled, his amber eyes full of that quiet patience that made resistance feel childish.
At last, she dropped her arms. “Fine. A few minutes.”
He stepped toward her and extended his hand.
Lily placed her palm in his, already regretting it.
His other hand settled on her waist.
“Posture first.” His fingers touched her shoulder, light but certain. “You stand as though you are bracing for an argument. Let your body settle. Stop fighting the floor.”
“I am not fighting the floor.”
“You are fighting everything.”
She stiffened.
His mouth twitched. “Including this.”
“I am concentrating.”
“That is the problem.”
He moved, guiding her through the first slow steps of a waltz without music. His hand pressed at the small of her back, drawing her just close enough that she noticed every inch between them.
“Now look at me.”
