“Already?” he spluttered. “Ye have only just got here. Surely ye have time to teach me more yet?”
“Not today.” She backed away again, and this time, she managed to back into his tea table at the far end of the room. She yelped and turned around, fumbling with her movements.
“Charlotte?” he called in concern, but she was now practically running for the door. He raced after her. “Charlotte, ye havenae finished. Ye cannae be.” He placed his hand flat to the front door, preventing her from opening it.
At this moment though she was busy pulling her cloak back on again, staunchly refusing to look at him.
“I have finished for today. I only had a minute to spare whilst my mother was at the shops anyway. I must get back to her.” She reached for the door and turned the handle, but his hand was still outstretched high over her head, keeping the door shut. “Let me go, Your Grace.”
“Ye will come again? Aye?” he said with some desperation, determined to have an answer from her.
“You are leaving soon. What is the point?”
“Do ye nae want that money from me?” he asked, unable to keep the scorn out of his voice. She turned around to face him now, leaning on the door, her cheeks a burning shade of red and her eyes flashing with tears of rage.
“How dare you?” she seethed.
“Ye want money, and I want lessons. Say ye’ll come again.” He knew he was being commanding, but what other choice did he have? It was a way to make sure she came back again.
Ye have to come back, Charlotte. Ye have to.
“Is that all you think I think about?” she asked, blinking and trying to fight those tears.
“I dinnae say that.” He shook his head, still not moving his hand from the door above her head. They were standing close once again, as close as they had been in their dance a few minutes ago. They had been close enough to kiss, he had even moved his head toward her.
What scandal it would have been if I had kissed her. She probably would never forgive me for it.
“Say ye’ll come again,” he begged her, though he feared his voice was so firm that it probably sounded more like an order.
“I’ll come again.” She nodded and wiped her eye, stopping any tears before they could fall.
“Charlotte, what does this mean?” He raised his other hand and reached toward her face. She flinched, and he halted with his hand in the air, not daring to touch her. It hovered there. The tension palpable between them. “Why tears?”
“It does not matter.” She turned abruptly and pulled on the door handle again, but he was too strong. His palm flat to the door held it shut. “Your Grace, let me go.”
“Say me name,” he pleaded. “Nay more ‘Your Grace.’”
“I cannot do that! You know I cannot. I have told you that it is not proper.”
“Consider it a favor,” he said simply, longing to hear his name from her. “Say me name, and I’ll release this door at once.”
“Let me go, Gerard. Please.” She turned back to face him again, losing the battle with those tears. One ran down her cheek.
He didn’t hesitate this time. He raised his right hand and gently took hold of her cheek, wiping the tear away with his thumb.
“Why are ye cryin’, lass?”
“I… it doesn’t matter.”
He slid his thumb down more. He couldn’t help it. He had to touch her, had to try and wipe those tears from her somehow. He bent toward her, whispering in her ear.
“Tell me what is wrong, lass. Please.” He brushed his lips against the top of her neck. It was almost a kiss. It was the softest of touches he could give her, a weakness to temptation. He couldhear her breathing—she had inhaled sharply at his touch but hadn’t pulled back.
She likes that touch…
Yet as fast as he had drawn that conclusion, it was over.
He had released his hold on the door, and she must have realized it at the same time as he did. She flung herself around and reached for the handle, swinging the door open so wide and far that she nearly struck him with it. He managed to leap out of the way in time, then jump toward the doorway, watching as she hurried off down the street.
