“I would not have guessed from your skill.”
This close to him, Willow found herself fascinated by the stubble on his cheeks. He hadn’t seemed to have shaved since the wedding—so unlike him, she thought. For some unfathomable reason the rough coat struck her as significant, but Willow did not know why it would.
“Do you not enjoy dancing?” she asked. The grip on her hand tightened.
“I find it a pointless endeavor.”
“And yet here we are, dancing.”
His fingers flexed around her waist. “Husbands are obliged to dance with their wives, no?” he said, his eyes innocent. Too innocent, to Willow’s mind. “And you are my wife, last I checked.”
A flush stole over her cheeks when his gaze boldly roamed over her. “And here I thought it was not fashionable for husbands to dance with their wives.”
“Then I am most unfashionable.” His voice was low. Amused.
“You must be careful, Ambrose, or people might get it into their minds you are doting on your wife,” Willow teased. “And we both know you don’t wantthat.”
“Perhaps,” he said, a knowing smile on his lips. “Husbands who dote on their wives get to drag them off to secluded corners and kiss them senseless.”
Willow felt suddenly hot. Very hot. “And we cannot have that,” she said. Oh, but she wanted just that. “So I’m changing the topic.”
He chuckled. “Change away.”
She puckered her brow in thought, watching him from beneath her lashes. “Surely you must have enjoyed dancing at some point?”
He pulled her a breath closer than was proper. “As a child, I enjoyed the practice, especially when it got me out of chores.”
“Somehow I can imagine that.”
He smiled at the dry note in her tone. With teeth. A real, honest-to-God smile. It was so unexpected that Willow started in his arms.
“It was always a point of great vexation for Celia.”
Willow’s ears perked at the mention of his sister, but she was careful to show no reaction except mild curiosity. “She loved dancing?”
“I could never understand why,” he murmured. An amused expression crossed his features and Willow felt a curious warmth unfurl in her chest.
“Is that why you enjoyed it, because she had?”
“I learned because it was expected of me, but Itoleratedit because of her.”
“You must have enjoyed her company a great deal.”
His jaw clenched, and he glanced away. Willow almost regretted saying anything. Honestly, why couldn’t she just have kept her mouth shut? It was a ridiculous thing to say. Of course, he had enjoyed his sister’s company! It was easy to forget, given the time that had passed, that he may still mourn Celia’s death. That he would always feel bereft.
Just like Willow would always feel the loss of her mother.
All the more, Willow began to suspect Celia’s death was the reason for his profound need to control the lives of others. What had happened to her exactly? A heart ailment, Cook had said. But that could mean so many things.
And she could not bring herself to ask. Already he was back to his old somber self, and Willow wished she knew how to get the other Ambrose back, the one that had just flashed his teeth.
“I love to dance,” she chimed up, firming her lips into a bright smile. “It feels as though life’s possibilities are endless when you dance, like you can dance straight into another world.”
“Dance into another world?” he said, amusement back in his voice.
“Or across the sky and into another universe altogether.”
“Now you are just conjuring things up.”
