After all, she was only an instructor. Her role was a reminder she would do best to keep in the forefront.
He led her to the dance floor, and every female eye in the room followed them. They gazed upon Lord Brightstone with open interest and anticipation. And they watched her with a fiery hatred.
Little did they know she was no threat at all. She never was, and never would be, competition for any woman.
Lucien assumed his place in front of her. Too late, she realized exactly what they would be dancing, even as the opening cords strummed to life.
Of course, it had to be the waltz.
It had been an age since Lucien had danced. Truly, the act was one he did not relish. How he hated being put in a situation to have to drum up idle conversation for the amusement of one’s companion regardless of his lack of interest.
But then, he had never danced with Miss Bexley before.
He hadn’t realized the set would be the waltz when he’d led her to the dance floor but was grateful for it now. She looked lovely this evening in a violet silk gown with amethysts glittering from her slender throat. Her waist appeared impossibly slender and begged him to span it with his hands. Now would at least present an opportunity to hold her, to stare into the blue of her lovely eyes and speak more intimately than if they were taking a turn about the room.
She moved with a delicate grace, something he’d immediately noticed when she’d drifted across the floor with Lord Ranford.
Now she would be dancing with Lucien. An edge of pride inched his spine a little taller. From the side of the ballroom, Miss Bexley’s friends watched them.
Suddenly, he realized she likely had told them of his request for her help. While he shouldn’t care if her friends knew, there was a part of him that was embarrassed for others to know or should see him as pathetically as he’d revealed himself to be to Miss Bexley. It was ridiculous, of course. Why should he care what they thought of him when he was so open with discussing the matter with Miss Bexley?
“You needn’t worry about my telling them,” she replied under her breath as they stepped together and clasped hands overhead. “It is your secret to keep or share.”
“Was my concern so obvious?” He smiled in quiet thanks as he slipped his hand around her narrow waist. The fabric of her gown was cool and slick against his palms. It made him long to stroke his touch up her back to her skin to see if it was even smoother still.
“A little.” She winked, and her hand went to his waist as well, bringing them so close together that he could see every freckle that dusted the bridge of her pert nose.
That sweet, clean scent of her swept into his awareness and had him longing to be nearer still.
“I know I have a propensity to talk too much.” She gazed up at him as she spoke in a way that left him feeling like the only man in the entire world.
“I don’t mind it.”
She glanced away slightly as he began to guide them in a careful spin about the room. On either side of them, the world whirled by in a blur so that she was his only constant, his only focus that did not move.
“You dance very well.” She said it as though this was a shock to her.
“I told you I can dance, but that I don’t care to.”
She rolled her eyes playfully. “And here I wore my most robust slippers in the anticipation that you’d be stomping on my feet all night.”
He glanced down at the black silk slippers that appeared anything but sturdy, careful not to upset their balance as their turning ceased. “I dare say those are about as appropriate for a night of accosted toes as those house slippers were for climbing fences.”
She laughed aloud. “Admittedly, I shouldn’t have been climbing your fence to begin with.”
“And leave Leaf to suffer his own devices?” He grinned.
The expression she gave him was one of faux admonishment. “You know I couldn’t.”
It was his turn to chuckle. “And how is the furry chap?”
They repositioned their hands on one another as the tune subtly shifted, so her delicate touch was on his shoulders. Together, they deftly twirled around the center ballroom, her footsteps light and graceful over the glossy wood floor. Each shift of her body was discernible beneath her gown and his gloves, granting him a sensual tease he had not been expecting.
“Leaf is a barn cat through and through,” Miss Bexley replied with a huff of exasperation. “I tried to have him sleep in my room after he nearly tumbled to his death, and he cried all night at the window. Wild little beast. I kept him there until his paw was fully recovered, but he wasn’t at all grateful for the disruption to his life.”
Lucien could imagine Miss Bexley and the stubborn creature as she tried to cajole and heal the cat. He couldn’t help but laugh out loud.
“It isn’t all that funny,” she said with a smile blossoming on her face. “Or perhaps it is.”
A comfortable silence fell between them as they stared into one another’s eyes. The music altered once more, and they walked side by side, a brief respite to catch their breath.
“So, tell me, Lord Brightstone.” Miss Bexley watched him imploringly. “How could you possibly feel you are deficient in conversing with ladies?”
He lifted his shoulder. “I never know what to say.”
“There haven’t been any delays or uncomfortable pauses in our discussion. I confess I’ve been enjoying our banter.”
Banter?
Ah, yes, the playful back and forth that seemed so easy between them. He had never engaged in banter with anyone else before. At least, not that he could recall.
It was rather amusing. Something he would not mind indulging in again in the future.
“It’s easy with you,” he replied. “Because you’re…”
He almost said charming but stopped himself at the last moment, uncertain if she would presume that he was attempting to flatter her, to woo her. If he needed her help, it would not do to have her suspect he wanted more than the friendship they had established.
“Kind?” she replied.
“I beg your pardon?” he asked as he took her hand overhead once more, twirling her to the lively tune.
“Talking is easy with me because I’m kind,” she supplied. “Is that what you meant to say?”
“Yes, of course.” He smiled at her, but strangely she didn’t return the gesture. Instead, she glanced away, and the easiness between them crumbled.
Clearly, he had said something wrong.
“When you speak with a woman while dancing,” she said in a measured, thoughtful tone, “the polite topics are the weather, fashion and non-political events about London, but not gossip.”
“And if they gossip?” he asked dryly. Because the ladies with whom he had endured dances with previously always gossiped.
Always.
She grimaced and shrugged as they came to a stop. “Endure it for civility’s sake?”
He sighed, and she chuckled. “It’s not all that bad,” she scolded.
He arched an eyebrow at her mirth. “So you say.”
“Come, I’ll pretend to be a lady you’re interested in.” Miss Bexley squared her shoulders as they clung to one another and spun in the dizzying waltz. After clearing her throat, she gave him a doe-eyed stare, her lips poised in a caricature of a smile. “Lord Brightstone, how good of you to ask me to dance.” Her voice rose and fell with great inflection, like an overdramatized actress.