Chapter Thirteen #3
“I don’t know these steps,” he protested as I dragged him to the worn wooden floor, where people were already lining up for a rousing Scotch reel.
“Neither do I,” I replied, and threw my hands up into the air. “But that’s half the fun, isn’t it? Not knowing what you’re doing and letting the music take hold of you!”
“Lady Rosalin…”
I pouted prettily. “Don’t be a spoilsport, Mr. St. Clair.”
He sighed, his eyes falling to my jutting lower lip. “Don’t give me that lip, for the love of everything holy. Bloody hell, why can’t I say no to you?”
Beaming, I batted my eyelashes. “Because I’m adorable?”
He shook his head in resignation. “Because you’re adorable.”
We followed the lines of dancers, the women circling the men, skipping in a loop that closed in, then opened up.
Tarik joined the men, and we ended up facing each other, his face so bright and unguarded that I found myself hooting as our legs kicked out, and then our arms intertwined like vines as we spun and spun and spun.
The music was ceaseless, a visceral drumbeat that echoed in my soul, in my bones, in my very pulse.
Until the roof and the lights made me dizzy…
and all I could hear was my own giddy laughter.
Tarik twirled me in his arms, and I was lost and safe and the only place I desired to be.
I never wanted him to let me go. “Your eyes are so beautiful, did you know?” I told him with a soft hiccup when we slowed, the last strains of music fading.
“They’re endless like the depths of an ocean shot through with rays of sunlight. I could stare at them forever.”
We paused for a moment as he drew me back to a small alcove on the far side of the adjacent room where it was less loud. A cup pressed to my lips. “Drink this; it’s water.”
The cool liquid slid down my parched throat. “Do you not believe me? About your eyes?”
He smiled, that torturous dimple flashing. “I do. I love yours, too.”
“Why?” I wrinkled my nose. “They’re so boring. Just plain dark brown.” I nearly poked myself in the eye, but he redirected my wrist at the last moment, saving me from injury.
Tarik cupped my cheeks. “On the contrary, chérie. They’re a deep, intense, mesmerizing brown with flecks of chocolate and honey that I would willingly drown in if I could.”
Stifling a snort, I giggled and then blushed hotly as the French endearment lodged itself deep. “Sometimes you say the most romantic things, monsieur!”
“It’s the truth.”
“Say that in French,” I said dreamily.
“C’est la vérité, ma belle.”
That velvety accented voice calling me his beauty at the end made me feel like swooning. “You think I’m beautiful?”
His eyes softened. “Oui. Plus que les étoiles dans le ciel.”
More than the stars in the sky.
Gracious, who knew that my buttoned-up tutor had such a charming, fanciful side?
Brimming with elation, I flung my arms around his neck, reaching up on my tiptoes as we swayed together to the strains of the fiddles in the other room, which had shifted to something softer and sweeter.
I pressed my cheek to his chest, lulled by the sound of his steady heartbeat.
“What if we could run away? Go live in a tiny village somewhere. You could teach and write a book on mathematical theories, and I would invent magnificent telescopes, discover a thousand stars and comets—” I broke off.
“Since it will be just the two of us, I suppose I could keep things tidy and cook.”
Lips twitching, Tarik shot his brows high. “You can cook?”
“Well, no. But I can learn,” I said brightly. It couldn’t be so hard, could it? Half of doing anything was having the confidence to start, though in my befuddled state, I wasn’t quite sure what that would entail. “Wait, can you?”
“I know a few French dishes.”
I scrunched my nose, deep in thought. “Perhaps if we don’t want to starve, you might have to be the cook at first and then you can teach me. There! It’s settled.”
“You’ve thought this through,” he said smiling.
“One can accomplish quite a lot with thorough planning.”
He chuckled, his blue eyes warm and open as we swayed back and forth.
There were a few couples near us, dancing as scandalously close as we were, though there were no vigilant patronesses to frown or warn us about remaining twelve inches apart.
I felt happy and unfettered in a way that I had never been, not even at Trinity.
“I suppose that’s fair,” he said. “So, do you truly want to be a star-and-comet hunter? Is that your dream—to discover celestial bodies?”
“One of them. Did you know Caroline Herschel discovered eight comets?” I sighed and pulled away from him to spin myself slowly while staring up at the peeling patchwork ceiling as if I could see to the infinite night sky beyond it.
“A tiny woman with huge dreams who persevered through illness and adversity and didn’t let anything stop her.
I want to be remembered for something great like that.
Can you imagine a comet named after me?”
“I believe you will achieve whatever you put your mind to,” Tarik said, studying me from where he stood near the alcove, one lean shoulder propped up against the wall.
He sounded sincere. Genuine. I loved that about him—he didn’t diminish my dreams or belittle my ideas like most of the other older gentlemen in the ton.
My good cheer soured at the thought of my future.
“Alas, if my father marries me off to some old goat of a peer, he will determine the freedoms I have.”
“He intends to marry you off?”
I nodded. “At the end of the season to someone of his choosing, unless I can find someone suitable enough for him before then.”
“What does suitable entail?” he asked.
Something in his voice made me pause and glance at him, but instead of being open, his face was back to being annoyingly unreadable.
I almost told him to get rid of his Trinity face but stopped myself at the last second, reminding myself that I was Rosalin, not Ansel.
Thanks to that dreadful ale, my thoughts were so muddled that I’d almost given myself away again!
I shrugged. “Suitable to me, or suitable to the duke?”
“Both, I suppose.”
“What I want is someone who is smart yet handsome, decisive but thoughtful, adventurous but also safe, a brilliant, inventive mind steeped in compassion…a boy who would help a girl escape the pressures of her life, if only for an evening.” My reply emerged in a garbled rush, and I swallowed past the lump in my throat.
“You, if I’m being honest.” The words were a wistful whisper I wasn’t even sure he could hear, but from the intense way Tarik was staring at me, I was certain he had.
He’d lost his coat at some point, and his sleeves were rolled up again, exposing those strong forearms. His cravat was gone as well, putting his bare neck on display.
It gleamed with perspiration from our dance, his muscles flexing.
He’d be barred from a London ballroom for such unforgivable impropriety, but I couldn’t bring myself to ponder the asinine rules of high society.
Here, other gentlemen in this tavern seemed to relish being in a state of undress.
The women, too, were displaying a shocking amount of cleavage and skin.
But I only had eyes for him, and he only had eyes for me…
“And the duke?” he said softly.
Bridging the gap between us, I moved closer to him. I caught my lip between my teeth, my eyes burning. Because even though everything about him was perfect for me, he’d never be enough for the Duke of Delmont. “Titled. Influential. A match to strengthen our position in the ton.”
“I see.”
He didn’t see. My eyes watered, but I forced the tears back. Or perhaps he did and knew nothing could ever become of us. Of this. And that was why we were here, outside our lives and respective stations, hoping for a sliver of time that was just ours.
The tension between us was palpable as we inhaled the same air, our lips nearly close enough to kiss.
One step more and they would be touching.
Blood rushed in my ears as I contemplated doing just that, but I nearly jumped out of my skin when a loud crash of breaking glass reached us, and the moment was lost. I shuffled back, hauling air into my aching lungs.
Kissing him would be a mistake, something we couldn’t come back from.
Not even while we were pretending to be…not who we were.
Despite the loud clatter, the music and dancing in the adjoining space didn’t stop as I took belated stock of where we were standing, trying to distract myself.
I blinked and sipped my water. The more of it I drank, the clearer my mind became, and when Tarik handed me a refilled glass, I took it gratefully.
A clear head meant no more foolish blunders.
Like kissing.
I glanced up at him. God, those pillowy lips were perfect for it.
Stop gawking, for heaven’s sake!
Hot-cheeked, I guzzled my water and surveyed the tavern instead. This place was like a warren of tiny rooms. Peering over to the right, I took in the sight of green-baize-covered gaming tables in the next hall and felt an indecent thrill spark inside me.
“Look! There are card games here. Shall we try? Do you know how to play vingt-et-un?” I asked my brooding companion, with a wide, innocent stare.
“I don’t think that’s a very good idea.”
Since it worked so well for me last time, I pouted again. “One game, please, Tarik? Girls never get to play like this. Do I need to make my lip quiver to convince you?”
“You fight dirty.” A sound like an aggrieved growl rumbled through him, but it turned into a grumble of resignation. “Very well. One game, but my word goes. If we need to leave, we leave. You must promise me you will do as I say.”
Hiding my glee, I stuck out my hand for him to shake. “I promise, monsieur.”