“Ah, lass,” he whispered with a sigh in his ear. “Ye’ll be glad when I am gone.”
“Will I?” she whispered, uncertain her voice was even audible above the loud music.
“Aye,” he murmured. For the briefest of seconds, she could have sworn his head brushed the side of hers, then it was gone, the sensation there one second then gone the next. It left her breathless.
They spent the rest of the dance in silence, for Charlotte was afraid to say anything. He had clearly noticed that the thought of him leaving did indeed upset her, and she didn’t want to give him any more hints as to why that may be.
When the music came to a close, he directed their steps to a slow stop. They moved side to side, dancing through the final notes. Charlotte felt so safe in his arms that her eyes fluttered closed. She inhaled deeply, reluctant to release him, then the final note sounded.
She disentangled her hand from his and stepped back, curtseying deeply as he bowed. The whole time he looked at her. She parted her lips to remind him that he shouldn’t stare at a woman so openly when he bowed, but no sound came out. He had caught her hand quickly and was now escorting her off the dance floor again.
Distracted, she glanced away, trying to stop the feeling of heat that was now making her palms clammy. Across the room, she caught a brief glimpse of her mother and father together. The two of them were staring back at Charlotte, both smiling. At their side, Susan looked more perturbed than ever, her fan fluttering like the wings of a bumblebee in her grasp.
“Tomorrow?” the duke asked as he brought her to a stop some distance away from the dance floor. “Ye can berate me there for everythin’ I did wrong this evenin’.”
“Very well.” She nodded, working hard to keep her voice level, so he would not know just how much of an effect his dancing had had on her.
“It will be one of our last lessons,” he said, catching her eye.
She held her breath, fearful to hear the date that he would indeed be leaving for Scotland again.
“Before I go,” he whispered enigmatically, fortunately not giving her a date.
“I’ll be there.” She nodded. “Just, do me one favor.”
“What is that?”
“Do not ask me to dance again.” She found a tartness to his voice, determined to be angry at him. She hardly cared if she caused an argument, just so long as this warm feeling and this ache in her chest at the thought of him leaving all stopped.
“Tonight? Or any other night?”
“Both!” she said impatiently. “I do not want whispers about the two of us, and neither do you.”
“As ye wish.” He bowed his head in acknowledgement. “Strange, for a minute, I thought ye enjoyed dancin’ with me.”
“I didn’t say I did not enjoy it.”
“Then what are ye sayin’?”
“That it is inappropriate. We should not have done it.”
He simply raised his eyebrows once again, in that maddening way he had of challenging her without words. She huffed, wishing to argue with him some more though she could not summon the words.
He bowed to her in parting, and this time, he broke their gaze as he did so. Her stomach felt like it did a somersault, for she longed for him to look at her, despite knowing it was wrong.
They didn’t even say goodnight to one another. He walked away first, and she hurried to turn the other way. She marched across the room, hastening toward the corner where she had been hiding with Susan earlier that evening. Huffing, she dropped down into a chair, just as Margaret and Susan raced up to catch her.
“Is it not exciting?” Margaret asked with a childish giggle. “Two dances with the Duke of Rodstone in one night!”
“Do not get your hopes up, Mother, I beg of you,” Charlotte hissed, feeling as if she was speaking to her own heart as well as her mother.
“Oh, it was so improper.” Susan clutched her fan to her chest, shaking her head repeatedly. “He demanded a dance from you. He crossed out Mr. Withers’ name.”
“Well, you have to admire a man who knows what he wants,” Margaret said with that smile still in place. Susan continued to shake her head, as if she could not believe her sister would say such a thing. “So, Charlotte, will we be expecting a courtship between you and the Duke of Rodstone soon?”
“What? No!” Charlotte declared a little too loudly. Susan waved her fan at her at once, urging her to be quiet, but Margaret hardly seemed to notice the volume. Her smile fell though at Charlotte’s words, crestfallen. “The Duke of Rodstone is not looking to court any lady. He’s… he’s going back to Scotland.”
“Oh, well, that is good news,” Susan said hurriedly.
