Nick nodded and shrugged out of his coat. The house was not quiet and still. Someone was playing the pianoforte, but far too well to be Charlotte or Lucinda. “Very good. What...?”
“Dancing lessons, sir,” said the butler. “The dance master arrived half an hour ago.”
“Ah.”
Pearce waited another minute, but Nick just stood there, listening to the music emanating from the dining room. Charlotte had mentioned dancing; she was eager to begin. The music was a sprightly piece. Almost in a daze, he walked to the door and gently pushed it open.
A slender young man was playing the pianoforte. Miss Greene was turning pages of the music, and a dark, elegant fellow of about forty was holding Charlotte’s hand in dancing posture and pointing out the steps, marked in chalk on the floor. His sister had her skirts pinned up a few inches so she could see her feet, and a fierce frown of concentration puckered her brow. In a chair by the window sat Lucinda, a book open in her hands but her attention on the dancers.
Lucinda saw him first. She whipped up the book in front of her face, which caught Miss Greene’s attention. She turned toward him, eyes wide, lips parting in surprise. Nick gripped the doorknob to keep from striding across the room and taking her in his arms. For a moment, happiness flashed in her eyes, a smile blooming on her lips, as if she’d been waiting for him to walk in and was delighted that he finally had...
The music stopped. Miss Greene turned away. The dancing master had noticed Nick as well, and now he came forward, one hand over his heart. “Good morning, sir,” he said in accented English, with a courtly bow. “Mr. Dashwood, I presume.”
Miss Greene hurried over, beautifully flushed. “Mr. Dashwood, this is Signor Giacomo, the dancing master we discussed.”
Nick had no memory of that discussion. “Welcome, Signor.”
The man beamed. “Grazie.”
Charlotte hurried over. “We’re learning a quadrille,” she said breathlessly. “Do you know it?”
“I do,” he said in amusement.
Her eyes grew wide and she whirled to clasp Miss Greene’s hand. “I cannot picture how it should look from Signor Giacomo’s description. Will you dance it with Nick so I can see it?”
The room went stone silent—or so it seemed to Nick, as he met Emilia Greene’s shocked gaze and thought, deep inside himself,God yes.
“I—I could dance it with Signor Giacomo while you watch,” stammered the governess.
“Oh, please dance it with Nick,” begged Charlotte. “It’s so difficult to learn a quadrille with only one couple. I shall watch you, and it will be so helpful, say you will, please, Nick?”
His gaze hadn’t left Miss Greene, who snapped her mouth shut and raised her chin. “I have no objection. Miss Greene?”
Her smile returned, a bit brittle. “Of course not.”
They took their places. The young man at the pianoforte, waiting for Signor Giacomo’s signal, began playing.
Nick faced her. She wore the yellow dress again. She curtsied, he bowed, and his mouth went dry at the splendid view of her bosom. The dress was demure, but a hint of white ruffle peeked out at one side, a tantalizing glimpse of her undergarments. No lace, for a woman in service, but still a little touch of delicate luxury. Beauty. Sensuality. Temptation.
They clasped hands and took the first few steps. Dimly he heard the dancing master instructing Charlotte, but he had no idea what his sister was doing. All he saw was the curve of Emilia Greene’s cheek, the slope of her shoulder, the swell of her breasts. All he felt was her hand in his. All he thought about was pulling her closer, tasting her skin, breathing in her gasps of pleasure...
She held herself gracefully, holding up her skirts, never faltering. For a few mad moments, Nick allowed himself to think her hand clung to his a moment longer than necessary, that she swung herself toward him eagerly, though she never met his eyes. Even when he took Charlotte’s hands, all he could see was the flash of the governess’s ankles as she turned with the dance master. The exercise brought a luscious color to her cheeks, loosening tendrils of hair to drift down her nape, and jarring more of that tantalizing ruffle into view.
His Miss Greene was mesmerizing.
“The promenade,” called Signor Giacomo. Miss Greene stepped beside him, arms extended. Nick took her hands: left in left, right in right. His forearm brushed her waist; the back of his right hand pressed against her belly. Her hip brushed his, and something stirred inside him. They moved in the promenade, side by side, and finally she looked up at him.
Her eyes were deep, deep blue, turbulent with dismay, a whiff of embarrassment... and helpless awareness.
It almost made him miss a step. She felt it, too—this powerful but inconvenient pull between them. It should have alarmed him, this warning that the precipice was even closer than he’d thought, but instead it made him ache to take the plunge all the more.
He couldn’t have this woman. Hewouldnot. But God above, how he wanted her. And now he knew she wanted him, too.
“Beautiful,” declared Signor Giacomo. “Very good.” The music had ended. Charlotte was watching them with a curious expression. With a soft gasp, Miss Greene jerked her hands free and recoiled a step.
“You dance splendidly, Nick,” said Charlotte. “And you, Miss Greene. You make such a handsome couple.”
The governess’s face turned scarlet. “Thank you,” she said in a strangled tone. “Perhaps you should dance the next one with your brother, Charlotte, while Signor Giacomo instructs.” She all but ran back to the pianoforte and seized the music.
