Chapter Four
Emma stood with the other ladies along one wall of the ballroom, trying not to fidget as the dancing master explained the intricacies of the waltz. She had danced it of course, at least once or twice, but it was still considered inappropriate for young ladies by many of the older members of the ton. It was, in a way, quite wicked of the Duke to have made this an official activity…
She wondered how many of those present had danced it, and how many had not. And what it would feel like to be held that close by Lord Limnwood.
Her palm still tingled from where he had helped her over a muddy patch in the gardens that morning, though she told herself firmly that such fanciful notions were beneath her.
“Now then,” Monsieur Girard clapped his hands. “Partners, if you please. We shall begin with the basic step.”
Emma felt Lord Limnwood’s approach before she saw him. Something about his presence made the air feel charged, as if a storm approached. He bowed perfectly.
“Miss Everton.”
She curtsied, keeping her eyes carefully lowered.
“My Lord.”
“Ladies, remember,” Monsieur Girard called, “your right hand rests lightly in your partner’s left. Your left hand upon his shoulder. Gentlemen, your right hand at your partner’s waist - properly placed, if you please! And you must, at all times, retain a distance between your bodies. There will be no scandalous behaviour in my class!”
Emma’s breath caught as Lord Limnwood’s hand settled at her waist. Even through her morning dress and stays, his touch seemed to burn. She forced herself to place her own hand upon his shoulder, achingly aware of the solid muscle beneath his coat.
“Are you sufficiently comfortable, Miss Everton?”
His voice was pitched for her ears alone.
“Perfectly, my Lord.”
Though her racing heart suggested otherwise.
“One, two, three... One, two, three...” Monsieur Girard began counting as the musicians played. “Begin with the basic step, then we shall add the turn.”
They moved together, and Emma was startled by how naturally they found their rhythm. For all his rigid propriety, Lord Limnwood danced beautifully, leading her with subtle confidence that required no thought to follow. It was obvious to her that he had danced the waltz far more often than she had…
“You dance well,” she said, then wished that she hadn’t spoken as his eyes met hers.
“As do you.”
His thumb moved slightly against her waist as they turned, probably unconsciously, but the small motion sent sparks through her entire body. She spoke to distract herself from the sensation.
“I confess, I am surprised that you approve of the waltz. It is a rather... intimate dance. Then again, it has royal approval now. Surely that makes it proper enough even for your exacting standards?”
His lips twitched.
“I begin to think that you take some delight in provoking me, Miss Everton.”
“Would that be improper of me?”
“Undoubtedly.” But there was a warmth in his voice that made her heart skip. “Though perhaps not entirely unwelcome.”
Before she could respond to this surprising statement, Monsieur Girard called for them to stop.
“Non, non! Lord Henry, you must not grip Lady Mary’s hand so tightly. She is a delicate flower, not a cavalry horse! Watch Lord Limnwood - see how he maintains perfect form while appearing completely at ease?”
Emma felt Lord Limnwood stiffen slightly at becoming the centre of attention. All around them, couples turned to observe their form. She heard Lady Anne’s quiet sniff of disapproval.
“Really, such display. Though I suppose some people enjoy being the centre of attention.”
Emma’s hand tightened instinctively on Lord Limnwood’s shoulder. To her surprise, he responded by drawing her slightly closer as they resumed the dance.
“Ignore her,” he said quietly. “You have nothing to apologise for.”
Emma looked up at him in surprise, and found herself caught in his grey eyes. The rest of the room seemed to fade away as they moved together, and she saw something in his expression that made her breath catch.
“Very good!” Monsieur Girard’s voice broke the spell. “Now, we shall attempt the more complex turn. Ladies, you must trust your partners completely...”
Trust her partner completely? Emma almost laughed at the irony of the dancing master’s instruction. Lord Limnwood might dance divinely, but trusting him with anything beyond the physical steps seemed unwise after yesterday’s harsh words.
Yet as his hand tightened slightly at her waist, preparing for the more complex turn, she found her body responding instinctively to his lead. They moved together as if they had danced this way a hundred times before, her skirts brushing his legs as they turned.
“Magnifique!” Monsieur Girard cried. “You see? When partners trust each other, the dance becomes as natural as breathing.”
Emma felt Lord Limnwood’s breathing shift, making his chest rise and fall which also made his arm at her waist move infinitesimally, and wondered if his breathing really was as unsteady as her own. Surely it was just the exercise affecting them both?
“You make it easy to follow,” she said softly, then wished she hadn’t as his eyes met hers again.
“Do I?” Something flickered in his expression. “Despite my rigid adherence to proper form?”
“Perhaps because of it.” She surprised herself with the honesty of her response. “There is... security in knowing exactly where one stands.”
His thumb moved against her waist again, and this time she was certain that it was deliberate.
“And where do you stand, Miss Everton?”
Before she could respond, a crash from nearby made them both jump. Lord Henry, attempting the complex turn, had managed to tangle his feet with his partner’s skirts, sending them both stumbling into a pedestal holding a magnificent Chinese vase. Only Lord James’ quick dive prevented disaster.
“I believe that is enough for today!” The Duke’s voice held barely suppressed laughter. “Perhaps some refreshment in the drawing room? Monsieur Girard, you have been most instructive.”
The dancing master bowed, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like a prayer of thanksgiving in French.
Lord Limnwood’s hand lingered at Emma’s waist a moment longer than strictly necessary as they parted. She stepped back, curtseying automatically, trying to slow her racing heart.
“Miss Everton.” His voice was oddly rough. “Might I...”
He stopped as Lady Anne appeared beside them.
“My Lord, you must tell me if I held the proper form during that last turn. I would so value your opinion.”
Emma saw his jaw tighten slightly.
“I fear that I was too occupied with my own partner to observe others, Lady Anne.”
Something warm bloomed in Emma’s chest at his words. She turned away to hide her smile, but not before she caught an answering gleam in his eyes.
“Emma!” Lady Beatrice hurried up. “I’ve left my sheet music somewhere in the music room - would you help me find it before tea? You know how particular Mama is about me keeping track of my music.”
“Of course. Lord Limnwood, thank you for the dancing. I will take my leave of you now.”
Emma welcomed the excuse to escape before Lady Anne could make any more pointed comments. But she was intensely aware of Lord Limnwood’s gaze following her as she left the room.
*****
The music room was blissfully cool and quiet after the heat of the ballroom. Afternoon sun slanted through tall windows, catching dust motes in bars of gold. Emma moved to help Lady Beatrice search through the papers scattered on the pianoforte.
“I was sure I left it here...” Lady Beatrice frowned. “Oh! Perhaps I left it in the drawing room this morning. I’ll just run and check.”
She hurried out before Emma could respond. Left alone, Emma found herself drawn to the instrument. Her fingers drifted over the keys, picking out the melody they had waltzed to.
“I did not know that you played.”
Emma’s fingers stilled on the keys at Lord Limnwood’s voice. She hadn’t heard him enter.
“I play a little,” she admitted. “Though not as well as Lady Beatrice.”
“Yet well enough to remember the waltz.”
He moved closer, and she caught that now-familiar scent of bergamot and cedar.
“It is a memorable piece.”
She kept her eyes on the keys, afraid of what he might see in her face if she looked up.
“Indeed.” He was beside her now, close enough that his coat sleeve brushed her shoulder. “Though perhaps not as memorable as dancing it.”
Her breath caught at the unevenness in his voice. Slowly, she turned to face him, and found his expression as unguarded as she had ever seen it.
“My Lord...”
“Nathaniel.” The word seemed to escape without his intention. “After dancing together so... intimately... might you not use my name? When we are private, at least?”
Private. The word seemed to echo in the quiet room. Emma suddenly realised that they were quite alone - unchaperoned - and that knowledge sent heat flooding through her.
“I do not think that would be proper.”
But she made no move to step away.
“No.” He reached up, brushing back a curl that had escaped during the dancing. “It would not.”
His fingers lingered against her cheek, and Emma felt the last of her resistance melting. Surely just this once, just for a moment, propriety might give way to...
“Emma? Did you find...” Lady Beatrice’s voice broke off as she entered the room. “Oh! I beg your pardon.”
Emma stepped back so quickly that she nearly stumbled. Lord Limnwood’s hand shot out to steady her, then dropped away as if burned.
“Lady Beatrice.” His voice was perfectly controlled again. “Your music was not here, I take it?”
“No, I... that is... I should go.”
“We all should.” Emma couldn’t look at him. “The others will be waiting for tea.”
She hurried from the room, her heart pounding. Behind her, she heard Lady Beatrice’s whispered ‘I’m so sorry!’ but couldn’t bring herself to respond.
What had she been thinking? One dance, a few kind words, and she had been ready to throw all propriety to the winds. Lord Limnwood had been right yesterday - she was a poor example indeed.
Yet she could still feel the ghost of his fingers against her cheek, still see that unguarded look in his eyes. Proper or not, something had changed between them.
She only hoped that they would both survive the consequences.
*****
The drawing room hummed with quiet conversation as footmen served tea. Emma sat with Lady Beatrice, both of them maintaining perfect composure while steadfastly avoiding any mention of what had nearly happened in the music room. But Emma could feel Lord Limnwood’s presence across the room like a physical thing, drawing her attention no matter how she tried to focus on her tea.
“I really am sorry,” Lady Beatrice whispered. “If I had known...”
“There was nothing to know.” Emma kept her voice equally low. “Nothing happened.”
“But something might have, mightn’t it?” Her friend’s eyes sparkled with suppressed excitement. “The way that he looked at you...”
“Beatrice, please.”
Emma glanced around anxiously, but no one seemed to be paying them any attention. No one except Lady Anne, whose sharp gaze missed nothing.
“More tea, Miss Everton?” Lady Anne’s voice carried just far enough to draw notice. “You seem quite flushed. Perhaps the dancing was too... vigorous for you?”
Emma felt heat climb her cheeks but kept her voice steady.
“Not at all. Though your concern does you credit.”
“One must be concerned for those less accustomed to proper society entertainments.” Lady Anne’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “But then, Lord Limnwood seemed quite willing to... guide you through the steps.”
Before Emma could respond, Lady Agatha’s cool voice cut in.
“Indeed. My niece is fortunate in her partner. Though I noticed that Lord Limnwood maintained perfect form throughout - unlike some who seemed more interested in drawing attention than in dancing correctly.”
Lady Anne’s face tightened. She opened her mouth to respond, but Lord James’ arrival interrupted her.
“I say, is that Cook’s famous chocolate cake? I declare, the Duke’s table puts all others to shame.” He dropped into a chair beside Lady Beatrice. “Though I’m more impressed by how well everyone managed the waltz. We’ll all need to improve, as I’m quite sure we’ll see it being danced, more and more, at most society events. Even poor Lord Henry improved by the end. Don’t you agree, Limnwood?”
Emma couldn’t help looking up as Lord Limnwood joined their group. Their eyes met briefly before both looked away.
“Indeed.” His voice gave nothing away. “Monsieur Girard is an excellent instructor.”
“Though some pupils clearly needed less instruction than others,” Lady Anne observed. “You and Miss Everton seemed perfectly... in harmony.”
Emma saw Lord Limnwood’s shoulders stiffen slightly.
“Miss Everton follows well.”
The words seemed to hang in the air between them, laden with meaning that had nothing to do with dancing. Emma’s hands trembled slightly as she set down her teacup.
“If you’ll excuse me.” She rose carefully. “I believe that I left my shawl in the music room.”
“Let me escort you,” Lord Limnwood said automatically.
“No!” The word came out sharper than was really appropriate. She moderated her tone. “Thank you, my Lord, but I’m sure I can manage.”
She felt his eyes on her as she left the room, and heard Lady Anne’s quiet laugh. But she couldn’t stay there another moment, watching him retreat behind his walls of propriety while her own heart betrayed her with every beat. In the hall, she leaned against the wall, closing her eyes. What was happening to her carefully ordered world? A few days ago, she had thought Lord Limnwood cold, proper, and completely unlikeable. Now...
“Miss Everton?”
She started at his voice. He stood in the doorway, his expression unreadable.
“My Lord, please. We should not...”
“I know.” He ran a hand through his hair in a gesture that seemed unconscious. “But I must say... that is, I should apologise...”
“No.” She straightened, forcing herself to meet his eyes. “We both... that is, nothing happened that requires apology.”
“Doesn’t it?” His voice roughened. “I behaved...”
“Quite properly, I assure you.” She managed a smile. “After all, nothing actually occurred.”
“But something might have.” He took a step closer, then stopped himself. “If Lady Beatrice hadn’t...”
“But she did. And now we both know better.” Emma lifted her chin. “Shall we agree to maintain perfect propriety henceforth?”
His eyes darkened.
“Is that what you want?”
“What I want...” She caught herself. “What I want is irrelevant, my Lord. We both know what society demands.”
For a moment, she thought that he might argue. Then his expression closed again.
“Of course. You are quite right.” He bowed perfectly. “I shall see you at dinner, Miss Everton.”
She watched him walk away, his spine rigid with proper bearing, and wondered if her heart would ever stop aching again.