“And as punishment for cheating,” Henry said to Raven with a grin, “I’ve been relegated to the task of playing an assortment of instruments for your dancing pleasure. So, what shall it be—a stuffy minuet? A fast-footed quadrille? A lively Scotch reel? A dreadfully boring country dance?” He paused to roll his eyes. Then, he perked up and chafed his hands together as he continued. “Or . . . a salacious waltz? I just happen to have a melody I’ve composed, poised and waiting on the piano.”
Raven didn’t know why it surprised him that Jane had a composer in the family. And she’d once said they were all quite plain. Well, he couldn’t find anything remotely ordinary about any of them, least of all her.
“The only one I’d care to learn is the waltz,” Raven answered, knowing that was a proper excuse to have her in his arms.
“Huzzah!”
“Absolutely not, Henry,” Jane chided. “I won’t reward your misbehavior at school by presenting you with an audience to admire your latest work. You’re not allowed to enjoy yourself one bit.”
“Aw, you’re just tetchy because you’re forbidden to dance the waltz.”
“Forbidden?” Raven’s brows rose with mock alarm. “Why, Jane, just how terrible are you? And should I bandage my feet before or after the lesson?”
“Your feet have nothing to fear. I’m only forbidden because I have yet to earn a voucher that permits me to waltz at Almack’s.” She lifted her shoulders in an inconsequential shrug. “Mother was going to make a request last Season, but she forgot.”
“And she forgot again this Season, as well,” Henry muttered, disgruntled. “Much like Father forgot to send a carriage for me at school, so I had to hire a coach for the drive home.”
Jane stepped forward to cup his shoulder. “Remember what I always say?”
“Yes, yes. I should consider these instances as lessons in resourcefulness.”
She pressed a kiss to his cheek, then wiped it off with a pass of her thumb before he could.
Facing Raven, she cocked her head to the side, her lips murmuring silently. Then, aloud, she said, “We would require two more for a proper quadrille. Therefore, the waltz seems our best option.”
“Somehow, I shall carry on.” He nodded solemnly, pretending disappointment and forgetting all his reasons for wanting to keep his distance from Jane.
* * *
The instant the music began and Raven swept Jane into his arms, all her thoughts of lessons fluttered off in a dozen heartbeats.
His steps were sure and quick, as if he’d been dancing all his life. The possessive angle of his shoulders kept his posture from being precise, but she didn’t mind. It felt too wondrous to be in his arms. His hold was firm but still gentle, and close but not stifling.
She could hardly believe this was his first waltz, and that all he’d done was watch Mr. Miggins a few moments ago. However, for reasons beyond her understanding, it made her giddy to be his first.
Perhaps it was all due to the fact that she’d missed him terribly, and for the first time in a week she felt alive.
A laugh bubbled past her lips as he swept her into a turn and her gaze held his. “Now, I know what I’ve been missing. It will be difficult to return to watching the dancers from a distance.”
“What if you were to waltz without permission?”
“Scandal,” she said with a lift of her brows, still smiling. “Of course, I’ve never been asked, so I’m not entirely certain. As my brother so eagerly mentioned, I hardly have suitors lining up at the door. Should any manage to look past my unremarkable appearance and idiosyncrasies, they would soon find that my dowry was a less-than-tempting two thousand pounds.”
“Those gents are all idiots,” he said simply and left it at that.
She felt him draw her closer, the shift of his palm gliding over warm silk, his fingertips brushing the tiny cloth buttons down the back of her dress. They turned together, effortlessly gliding over the polished floor. She breathed in the scent of him, enthralled by a tender aching sensation beneath her breast that begged her to press against him.
The three-quarter beat melody sped by in a rush. More than anything, she wanted to slow down and savor this feeling of contentment thrumming inside her. Their time was coming to an end. Not only today, but the lessons and his need for her assistance would soon be concluded.
Then, she knew he would go on his own path and likely never think of her again.
When the last note of the piano faded, she averted her face to hide her thoughts. He was always too good at reading them.
“You are quite the exceptional dancer, Raven,” she said a little breathlessly, focusing on the lesson at hand. “Your form and steps are somewhat more predatory and possessive than what the ton would consider graceful. Additionally, you could not hold your partner so improperly close without causing a stir.”
“And yet,” he said, bending to her ear, “I didn’t hear a word of reprimand or correction from my instructor in the midst of it.”
Somehow her hand had drifted to his chest where the heavy thud of his heart nudged the center of her palm. It had a three-quarter beat, too, much like her own at the moment . . . bum-BUM-bum . . . bum-BUM-bum . . .
What a fascinatingly intimate thing to notice.
Not only that, but the insteps of his boots slid along the outer curve of her slippers, corralling her into an embrace. There, in the middle of the ballroom.
“I was distracted by my study of the . . . um . . . mechanics of it all,” she said and reluctantly took a step back, her protesting body slow to retreat.
Scanning the room, she saw that Mr. Miggins had gone—likely to return the tray to the kitchen—and Henry was at the piano, scribbling notes onto his sheet music.
“Let’s waltz again. I’ll do much better this time,” he said, a deep edge to his voice as he moved closer and seized her hand, twining their fingers together with delightful friction. He slid his other hand to her waist, skimming to the small of her back.
She cast a glance to her brother before she whispered, “If you did any better, my dress would go up in flames.”
He grinned rakishly. “I’m willing to take that chance. I imagine you’d look fetching without it.”
“Such a scoundrel.”
“Take care, Jane,” he chided softly. “That phrase is beginning to sound like a term of endearment. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you liked scoundrels.”
“Before you say another word,” Henry called from the bench, still not lifting his head from the pencil nub and paper, “I must warn you that the acoustics in this room are exceptional. So if you plan to have your way with my sister, please wait until after I’ve gone.”
Face flaming bright, her eyes narrowed into slits at Raven. Then she scoffed and turned to her brother, hands on hips. “You shouldn’t be eavesdropping, Henry. In the very least, you might think about defending my honor.”
“You’re managing well enough on your own. And I daresay you’d know more ways to kill a man in a duel than I do. Which, by the by,” he said distractedly, “would make an excellent opera. Yes. I can hear it now. A bluestocking murder of a scoundrel on a cold November morning. Why, it practically writes itself! The opening score would begin with a shot, a clash of cymbals, and a high keening E sharp . . .”