Annabelle eyed him carefully. He’d said it as if it were a jest, but she sensed something deeper behind his words. Could it be that he was truly worried about the silly ton and all its nonsense? Why, this man had nearly given his life for his country. He spoke Spanish. He saved a baby hare. He was a better man than most of the fops and blowhards strutting around the ton’s ballrooms in their peacock-like ensembles, dandies who’d never performed an honest day’s work in their lives.
“You’ll do fine,” she assured him. “Besides, I’ll be there, and Mama and Marianne will be too. We’ll make certain you don’t make a cake of yourself.”
David stopped and braced a hand against the mantel. “I appreciate your confidence in me, but I’m afraid my cakelike status is nearly inevitable.”
“Please give me more credit, my lord. I am your tutor after all.”
David dropped his arm and turned to look at her. “Quite right. I’m terribly sorry. Of course.” The tension seemed to drain from him. He straightened his shoulders. “I do have the best tutor in Society. If you cannot help me, I cannot be helped.”
Annabelle shook her head. “Nonsense. You can and you shall be a model of societal propriety. Today I plan to teach you how to ask me to dance, how to bow while I curtsy, how to take my hand and lead me to the dance floor at a ball. Tomorrow we’ll move on to the actual dancing.”
“Most of our dances in Brighton were public. Is there another way to go about asking at a private ball?”
Annabelle contemplated the question for a few moments. “First, you should know that you cannot ask a lady to dance without a proper introduction. But that shall not be a problem as Mama will be there to perform the introductions. And if Mama cannot, we shall employ the skills of Lady Talbot, as she is the hostess.”
“Very well. That sounds reasonable.” David smoothed his hand down his shirtfront once again.
Annabelle brought her hands together and folded them primly in front of her. “Now. Let’s begin by you showing me how you would currently ask a lady to dance at a ball.”
Nodding, David stepped toward her.
Annabelle sucked in her breath. He was only a pace away from her, towering over her and smelling so good, she wanted to bury her face in his neckcloth. She stared directly at it so she wouldn’t be so distracted by his penetrating eyes. “Tell me. Did your valet tie your cravat for you this morning?”
David chuckled. “I don’t have a valet. Can’t quite wrap my head around the notion of someone dressing me each day.”
Annabelle let out a small gasp.
David scrunched up his nose. “I suppose if I don’t have a valet, it’ll make me the most unconventional earl in town, won’t it?”
Annabelle considered it for a moment. “I don’t see why you must have a valet. But perhaps Beau can enumerate their merits.”
David sighed. “Believe me. He’s already tried. Instead, I tipped his man to show me how to tie several of these ridiculous knots in my cravat.”
“You must be a quick learner. It looks perfect.” She gulped.
“I was an army man, not a navy man, but I suppose tying a knot or two isn’t terribly difficult. And if I’m doing it correctly, perhaps I don’t need a valet after all.” He winked at her.
He most certainly was doing it correctly. He looked like a dream, and smelled like one, too.
She swallowed and stared at his cravat again. “Go on, then. Pretend I am a lady on the sidelines of a ballroom. Ask me to dance.”
Clearly quite willing to play the game, he walked away, nearly to the door of the salon, turned, and came striding back toward her, staring at her intently as he made his way to her side. For a split second, Annabelle wished they truly were at a ball, and he truly was about to ask her to dance. The fops who usually asked her to dance never looked that focused on her, and so intent to win her over. But he was pretending, she had to remind herself. This was merely a lesson.
“I’m assuming we’ve already been introduced?” he asked.
At her nod, he nodded too, and said, “Very well then. Lady Annabelle, you look lovely this evening. Would you do me the honor of dancing with me?”
He bowed, and she quickly sniffed his hair before saying, “Yes, my lord. I should enjoy that greatly.” She lifted her skirts and curtsied to him.
He held out his arm, straight and firm, bent at the elbow. An excellent offering. Annabelle nearly forgot to tell him he must ensure she remained on his right.
Once her hand was firmly atop his sleeve, he led her to the center of the room, where he turned to her and pulled her into his arms as if a waltz were about to begin.
“We, ah, we’ll practice the dancing tomorrow,” she said in voice that sounded shaky even to her own ears.
“Yes, you said as much,” he breathed.
All Annabelle could think of was his nearness, his scent, the feel of his muscles beneath his coat. His hand held hers tight, sending a tingling sensation all the way up to her throat. The other hand was on the small of her back, sending unfamiliar sensations zinging around back there, as well.
“Perhaps we should…try it again?” she finally managed, swallowing the lump in her throat his nearness had caused.
“Try what?”
“You, er, you asking me to d…dance?” When in heaven’s name had she become tongue-tied?
When he’d touched her. That’s when.
“Oh, yes, of course.” He dropped her hand and pulled his other from her back, stepping away, and leaving her feeling bereft. She watched as he made the short journey back toward the door and then she returned to the place she’d previously been standing.
He came walking toward her again, the hint of a smile on his face this time, and Annabelle’s heart fluttered. He was going to touch her again, and she was greatly looking forward to it. She smiled to herself as the most delicious thought entered her mind. She could tell him they needed to try this no less than a half dozen times if she chose. He needed practice, after all, didn’t he?
Oh, this would be a fun morning. A fun morning, indeed.
Chapter Twelve
The next morning, while Lady Angelina read aloud from Debrett’s book of the peerage, David danced with Annabelle. He didn’t need much in the way of dance lessons. If there was one thing his mother had taught him, in addition to languages, arithmetic, maths, literature, and science, it was dancing. His parents had loved to dance. They danced all over the house to songs they hummed. Sometimes Mama would play the small pianoforte in the corner of their cottage. Sometimes Marianne would play it, but no matter what, there had been dancing in the Ellsworth home. David hadn’t told Annabelle that he was already proficient in dancing. First, that would seem like bragging, and second, he wanted her to be the judge of his dancing skill. For all he knew, dances in London weren’t done the same way.
“You’re quite good at this already, you know?” Annabelle said as he spun her around to a waltz she was humming.
David breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank goodness. That makes one thing I’m proficient at,” he said as they continued their three-step count.
“Not just proficient, Lord Elmwood,” Mama interjected. “Good. Quite good, indeed. I’ve seen few gentlemen who are as graceful as you are at the waltz.”