Her tongue darted out to wet her lips. ‘I will, I promise.’ Her gaze went to his hands, her eyes turning a little hazy. ‘I would like to learn.’
He brushed a hand across his jaw, his mouth suddenly dry. ‘If you hold your hands like this.’ He held his hands up to show her, and she mimicked his posture. ‘And then place your hand here.’ He pointed to a place on his shoulder. ‘And rest your other one in mine.’
They weren’t wearing gloves, and as her fingers slid against his, he realised he was in deep trouble. Nothing compared to the touch of her; no one had ever made his body sing like this from such a simple gesture. His other hand came around her as though in a dream, his palm resting against her shoulder blade. They were close enough for him to smell the sweet scent of her perfume, for his breath to stir the soft curls in her hair.
Without thinking, he stepped forward into the first move of the dance, his thigh colliding with hers. ‘Sorry,’ he murmured, not truly meaning it; he could not regret the feel of her against him. ‘I should have explained the moves before I started moving.’
Her chest was rising and falling quickly, a rush of goose bumps forming on the side of her neck. ‘It is fine. I…’
He waited but when she didn’t continue, he said, ‘Let us try again. The dance is a simple rise and fall to the beat of three.’ He quickly went through it, warning her this time when he was about to move. They walked through it first, her counting softly to herself. He was so far gone for this woman he found everything she did adorable. He wanted to bottle the moment, to preserve it so he could get it out and look at it again when it was over, but that was not possible. This was a slice out of time, a memory to treasure, but for now he would live it.
‘Are you ready to add music?’
Her head tilted up to his, her blue eyes as clear as a cloudless sky. ‘How will we do that?’
‘I will hum the notes.’
‘Oh yes, I would like that.’
Never had he wanted to kiss a woman as badly as he wanted to now. His restraint was hanging by a very thin thread. He turned his head so that he was not gazing into her eyes, hoping the gesture would be enough for him to remember all the reasons he was not pressing her further. The only thing keeping him clinging to his rational thoughts was the memory of kissing the maid and discovering it had not been because she returned his fervent admiration but out of a weird sense of obligation and desire for something else. It would crush him if Kate felt in any way the same.
‘Are you ready to move?’ he asked.
‘Yes.’
The skin of her neck was flushed and he watched with fascination as the colour crept up towards her face, spilling across her cheekbones. He did not ask her about it. If it meant she was hot, she could ask him to stop; if she was embarrassed, she could do the same.
He started to hum and they began to move, their steps in sync, their movements flowing as if the two of them had spent their whole lives performing this dance together.
He lost track of time as he hummed the music, the minutes stretching out as they moved around the music room over and over again. Gradually, so slowly he was barely aware of it, her head came to rest against his chest, her soft hair tickling his chin. Their movements slowed, still rising and falling but to a softer rhythm. Her thighs brushed against his, his fingers slipping to her spine, gently tracing the bumps of it until he reached the base of her neck. Their clasped hands rested against his shoulder and their movement became more of a gentle sway.
Still he did not let go; neither did she.
The carriage clock on the mantlepiece sounded out the chime for ten o’clock. Breakfast would be being laid out. The rest of the household would be making their way to the food. Kate and his absence would be noticed. He should let go, step away and resume his normal day, but he could not.
They stilled but she did not lift her head from her place on his chest and he did not ask her to.
‘Edward,’ she whispered.
‘Yes,’ he replied, just as quietly. She did not say anything more. His fingers moved slightly, brushing the skin at the nape of her neck. She sucked in a quick breath at the contact. ‘I am sorry, I…’
‘No,’ she said, pressing closer to him. ‘Do not. Not yet. I…’
Once again, she did not continue, but he thought he understood what she meant. Like him, she was not ready to break the moment, to return to reality. Unfortunately, reality was returning to him.
‘It is time for breakfast,’ he said. ‘We should go.’ He swallowed, his fingers tightening against her for a heartbeat, then another, before he found the strength to let go and step backwards. ‘We should go,’ he said, more clearly this time.
For a long moment, she stared at his chest, not moving, not saying anything. She nodded slowly, not looking up at his face. ‘You are right.’ She stepped past him and left him wondering how on earth he had managed to make such a mess at the end.
Chapter Eighteen
Edward swirled around the ballroom, his dancing partner a dark-haired, middle-aged women with whom he enjoyed a flirtatious, but not romantic, relationship. Under the cover of a complicated move, she pinched his elbow. He only just managed to stifle an undignified yelp as he glowered down at her.
‘Ah, finally, I have your attention.’
‘I beg your pardon.’
‘You are not yourself tonight, Edward,’ she told him as they began to make their way down the centre of the dance floor. ‘We have been floating around this ballroom for nearly four minutes and you have yet to tell me how well the colour of this dress suits my eyes.’
