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He released Chasity’s elbow, murmuring beneath his breath for her ears alone, “Will that suffice to salve their wounded sensibilities?”

A slight furrow knitted Chasity’s delicate eyebrows together as she took her place, and her blue eyes turned impossibly more tumultuous. Aston could stare into the depths of her expressive eyes indefinitely. He now understood how the mythical Greek sirens entrapped men with little more than a seductive song.

“I honestly don’t know.” Worry shadowed her arresting eyes and creased the outer corners. “You shouldn’t have provoked them like that,” Miss Noble chastised, sending her fellow instructors a sidelong glance, and her jaw tightened. “They’ll blame me.”

She’s worried about repercussions.

Simply because Aston had asked her to assist him for the first time in two months? How many times had he partnered with the others and never witnessed such sullenness?

Were women really so shallow and spiteful?

Even spinsters long on the shelf?

He hadn’t much experience with women. There’d been plenty of opportunities for liaisons, and he’d indulged in a few innocent flirtations over the years. The truth was, however, he was rather old-fashioned, and none of those flirtations had ever gone any further.

Miss Noble swept into position across from him. She moved with a natural elegance other women strived for and often never attained. Not even aristocrats who trained for years in finishing schools such as Balderbrook’s Institution for Genteel Ladies. Furthermore, Miss Chasity Noble seemed utterly guileless. In his limited experience, a rare thing for a beautiful woman.

“Forgive me, Miss Noble. I meant no harm. I assure you. I vow I didn’t mean to place you in a difficult position.” Aston hadn’t and regretted if he’d caused her difficulty with her fellow instructors.

She tilted her head and presented him with a practiced half-smile. “Naught to do but soldier on now.”

He’d bet she used that small upward bend of her mouth when she taught too. Her self-discipline was admirable, but he wanted to see the woman beneath the polished, controlled exterior. The real Chasity Noble.

His gaze dipped to her full, peach-tinted lips.

Had she ever been kissed?

Aston wagered not.

He notched his chin toward Mrs. Wetherwax, who fell to playing with aplomb if not particular skill.

“As we’ve discussed before,” he explained to the gawp-eyed students, “each dance begins and ends with a bow or curtsy.”

He made a leg toward Chasity, and she dipped into a sophisticated curtsy.

“There are many variations of the waltz,” Aston said. “We shall begin with the most basic. The male partner places his right hand like this.”

Giggling and rustling filled the room as the girl who’d agreed to play the male did as he instructed.

He rested his palm upon Chasity’s trim waist, and a shock of electricity coursed through him. Stiffening, she gasped, a soft whoosh of air passing between her lips. Her sapphire gaze flew to his for an instant before darting away just as speedily.

He’d not been alone in experiencing the jolting sensation then.

This was a terrible idea indeed. Merely being in close proximity with Chasity had Aston aware of her in a way no dance master should be. He swallowed and concentrated on the pupils’ annoying twittering. That cooled his unexpected ardor in a trice.

“And the female places her left hand, light as thistledown, upon her partner’s shoulder,” he said in a voice uncharacteristically thick.

Without meeting Aston’s eyes, Chasity rested a palm ever so gently upon his shoulder. Face averted, she allowed him to take her hand. The downy blond hairs along her nape begged him to brush his lips across the ivory flesh just there. To see if it was as smooth as it looked.

A faint scent of lemon and floral soap wafted past his nostrils—heady and intoxicating. Despite their audience, he inhaled Chasity’s essence deep into his lungs. Giving himself a vigorous mental shake, Aston focused on the dance steps.

Mrs. Wetherwax continued tormenting the pianoforte by pounding the keys with the exuberance of a pugilist during a boxing match. The unfortunate instrument was losing the battle. Badly.

Raising his voice, Aston directed the students as he and Chasity demonstrated the various steps. Time stood still and simultaneously raced along as they went through the motions.

She steadfastly kept her gaze riveted on his coat lapels, the tips of her lush lashes feathery and almost translucent. Her alabaster skin was as soft and smooth as a white rose petal. He’d never noticed the texture of a woman’s skin before, but somehow, he knew hers wasn’t typical.

A discordant chord jangled him out of his reverie, and he drew to a halt. He cleared his voice. “Let’s change partners, shall we? Mrs. Ramsbottom, would you do the honors of demonstrating next?”