Page 13 of A Game of Hearts

Emma stood with the other ladies along one wall of the ballroom, trying not to fidget as the dancing master explained the intricacies of the waltz. She had danced it of course, at least once or twice, but it was still considered inappropriate for young ladies by many of the older members of the ton. It was, in a way, quite wicked of the Duke to have made this an official activity…

She wondered how many of those present had danced it, and how many had not. And what it would feel like to be held that close by Lord Limnwood.

Her palm still tingled from where he had helped her over a muddy patch in the gardens that morning, though she told herself firmly that such fanciful notions were beneath her.

“Now then,” Monsieur Girard clapped his hands. “Partners, if you please. We shall begin with the basic step.”

Emma felt Lord Limnwood’s approach before she saw him. Something about his presence made the air feel charged, as if a storm approached. He bowed perfectly.

“Miss Everton.”

She curtsied, keeping her eyes carefully lowered.

“My Lord.”

“Ladies, remember,” Monsieur Girard called, “your right hand rests lightly in your partner’s left. Your left hand upon his shoulder. Gentlemen, your right hand at your partner’s waist - properly placed, if you please! And you must, at all times, retain a distance between your bodies. There will be no scandalous behaviour in my class!”

Emma’s breath caught as Lord Limnwood’s hand settled at her waist. Even through her morning dress and stays, his touch seemed to burn. She forced herself to place her own hand upon his shoulder, achingly aware of the solid muscle beneath his coat.

“Are you sufficiently comfortable, Miss Everton?”

His voice was pitched for her ears alone.

“Perfectly, my Lord.”

Though her racing heart suggested otherwise.

“One, two, three... One, two, three...” Monsieur Girard began counting as the musicians played. “Begin with the basic step, then we shall add the turn.”

They moved together, and Emma was startled by how naturally they found their rhythm. For all his rigid propriety, Lord Limnwood danced beautifully, leading her with subtle confidence that required no thought to follow. It was obvious to her that he had danced the waltz far more often than she had…

“You dance well,” she said, then wished that she hadn’t spoken as his eyes met hers.

“As do you.”

His thumb moved slightly against her waist as they turned, probably unconsciously, but the small motion sent sparks through her entire body. She spoke to distract herself from the sensation.

“I confess, I am surprised that you approve of the waltz. It is a rather... intimate dance. Then again, it has royal approval now. Surely that makes it proper enough even for your exacting standards?”

His lips twitched.

“I begin to think that you take some delight in provoking me, Miss Everton.”

“Would that be improper of me?”

“Undoubtedly.” But there was a warmth in his voice that made her heart skip. “Though perhaps not entirely unwelcome.”

Before she could respond to this surprising statement, Monsieur Girard called for them to stop.

“Non, non! Lord Henry, you must not grip Lady Mary’s hand so tightly. She is a delicate flower, not a cavalry horse! Watch Lord Limnwood - see how he maintains perfect form while appearing completely at ease?”

Emma felt Lord Limnwood stiffen slightly at becoming the centre of attention. All around them, couples turned to observe their form. She heard Lady Anne’s quiet sniff of disapproval.

“Really, such display. Though I suppose some people enjoy being the centre of attention.”

Emma’s hand tightened instinctively on Lord Limnwood’s shoulder. To her surprise, he responded by drawing her slightly closer as they resumed the dance.

“Ignore her,” he said quietly. “You have nothing to apologise for.”