Three Nights with a Scoundrel (Stud Club #3)

As they practiced the figure, the occasional feathered interruption overrode any awkwardness. For the most part. One particular segment of the pattern required them to link hands and circle one another, maintaining eye contact all the while. On each attempt, Julian lost his rhythm in those lovely eyes and stumbled over his feet. It took a half-dozen tries before they executed that turn successfully.

But they did eventually succeed, and Lily’s pleasure in their mastery of the figure was clear. Using this method, they worked their way through each section of the quadrille. First, Julian would sit at the pianoforte and play the rhythm, and Lily would “listen” with her hands. Then they would attempt the steps with varying success, avian antics depending.

The quadrille conquered, he suggested a particular country dance, one that had climbed to a new apex of popularity just this season past.

“It’s all the rage,” he said. “They’re certain to include it at the assembly.”

“I never learned that one.” Lily worried her bottom lip with her teeth. “But let’s have a go.”

It was a disaster. Though the rhythm was simple, the dance’s pattern was lively and complex. Julian attempted to demonstrate both the lady’s and gentleman’s parts, but he could only be in one place at a time.

When Lily missed her entrance cue for the fourth time running, she threw up her hands in defeat. “I’m sorry. I’ll never learn this. I’m wasting your time.”

“No, you’re not.”

She shook her head, obviously discouraged. “I just can’t seem to catch it. Popular or no, I’ll have to sit this dance out.”

“Don’t be distressed,” he said, grasping her by the elbows to prevent her from turning away. “We’ll try again later, or tomorrow. Every day until the assembly, if that’s what’s required. And it will go so much easier in a group, you’ll see. With dancers on either side, you can take your cue from them.”

Her chin quavered, and frustration rose in his chest. It wasn’t frustration with her, but with his inability to fix this for her. To fix everything for her.

“Lily,” he said. “It’s just a dance. You can do this. You can do anything.”

She sighed, shrugging away from his touch. “There’s not enough time. I shall have to stick to the dances I remember, never mind that they’re a decade out of fashion. If only I could recognize each dance by the music, that is. This is hopeless.”

“No, it’s not. I’ll learn the order of dances ahead of time and write it down.”

“How will you do that?”

“Easily.” Simple matter of slipping a coin or two to the orchestra leader. “You can keep the list folded in your glove. And we’ll strategize, when it comes to arranging partners.”

“There’s always waltzing,” she added. “Surely I can manage a waltz with any competent partner. I needn’t do anything but follow his lead.”

“True,” he agreed. “We can make certain you’re paired with someone you know. A good dancer. Morland would do.”

“Or you.”

He paused, momentarily struck mute by the thought of holding her in his arms, close and tight, while the entire ton looked on. “Or me.”

“Can we try?” She looked to the pianoforte.

“But of course.”

He sat down to the instrument once again. This time, he allowed his fingers to linger, skimming over the tops of the ivory keys as he deliberated just what to play. Finally, he positioned his hands, closed his eyes, and simply let his fingertips decide. They coaxed from the instrument a slow, melodic waltz. He couldn’t even remember where he’d heard it. Perhaps in one of those Austrian snuffboxes, with clockwork that produced tinkling tunes? The melody did have a Viennese lilt. As the progression built, he allowed the music to take over and surrendered to the beauty and haunting romance of the tune.

When he finally looked up, some moments after the final chord, he found Lily draped over the instrument, staring rapt at his hands. “I’ve always loved watching you play,” she said. “So much passion.”

He couldn’t respond to that. So, wordlessly, he stood and offered her his hand.

They moved to the center of the room, and she tentatively placed her hand on his shoulder. His palm fit perfectly into the notch between her shoulder blades. She smelled of fresh dusting powder, and her eyes were a rich, deep brown. If it wouldn’t sound so puppyish to say it, he might have compared them to burnt sugar. Dark, and all the sweeter for it.

In lieu of compliments, he gave her an appreciative smile. Then, without warning, he spun her into the waltz. Her little gasp of surprise thrilled him more than it ought. He loved the feel of her body, lithe and warm. The way they fit together, moved as one. She trusted his lead, and he swept her in confident turns about the floor.

“You waltz beautifully,” he told her, after they’d completed a few circuits of the room. “You have nothing to fear. At the assembly, you’ll be the object of admiration from every quarter.” He would make certain of it.

She pressed against his lead. “That’s enough, I think.”