Chapter Ten #2
Calliope wanted to say, No, because you did not ask me before and I don’t trust you and I do trust you and I feel like I know you and it is most disconcerting to discover that you have feelings, deep inside, and when you smile at me my insides melt and it is most provoking!
She did not, however, say that.
‘Yes,’ Calliope said weakly.
Montague saw the shock in her eyes, saw how surprised she was that she had accepted—but nothing could surmount the astonishment within himself.
Why had he asked her to dance?
He had not intended to. His only intention, as far as he could discern within his own mind, had been to ascertain whether she had understood the unspoken request not to speak with anyone about his childhood. His very nature.
And now he was holding out his hand.
Montague met Calliope’s eye. She was afraid, but not of him.
Of something else. Something within her.
Dear God, she was so beautiful, in that emerald green gown and simple set of pearls.
There was a simplicity in her elegance that no one, especially the most vexing Miss Smith who he’d just been forced to dance with by her father, could surpass.
And still Calliope did not take his hand.
‘Calliope—Miss Oliver,’ Montague corrected.
It was too late. He saw the gleam of anger in her eyes and revelled in it as Calliope stepped forward, thrust her hand in his, and said defiantly, ‘Come on, then.’
Every eye was surely upon him as Montague led the beautiful Miss Calliope Oliver to the new set being formed in the centre of the Assembly Room. Was not every lady envious of her? Was not every gentleman wondering how he had managed to tempt such a treasure onto his arm?
‘I thought you were too busy dancing with Brighton beauties—’ Calliope said in an undertone as they reached the set, ‘—to dance with the likes of me.’
Montague stared in surprise as he placed her in her position in the set but did not release her hand. ‘You are jesting.’
No, she wasn’t. That jut of the chin was all too familiar.
‘You cannot think… Calliope, you are the most beautiful woman here,’ he continued in a low voice, still not letting go of her hand.
The flush of her cheeks was to be expected, but what Montague had not predicted was the way her eyes dropped, just for a moment, as though she could not stand the heat from his own.
‘You tease me,’ she said softly, ‘as you always do.’
Montague chuckled, and forced himself to let go of her hand and step back into his position in the set. ‘Perhaps I do—but only with the truth.’
The musicians started up before Calliope could say anything more and he bowed, hating he would lose sight of her even for a moment. When he straightened, it was to catch a glimpse of Calliope in a low curtsey…so low he was gifted with a truly wonderful view of her décolletage.
Montague’s manhood stirred. Damn it man, hold yourself together!
The trouble was, what had felt like a chore dancing with Miss Smith was an unbridled delight with Miss Oliver.
Calliope moved with a grace unmatched, Montague had never seen the like.
When it was the ladies turn to step forward and twist their arms, Calliope did so almost without thought, as though it were as simple as breathing.
The music seemed to flow through her, transforming her not into a dance but the very essence of the dance.
It was all Montague could do not to trip over his own feet as he attempted to keep up with her.
‘You like dancing?’ he asked hopefully.
Calliope gave a genteel shrug that somehow appeared to be even more stylish. ‘I have little opportunity for it.’
‘But you must have attended dances in London,’ Montague pointed out as they stepped together and he took her hands.
Oh God.
He had bedded women before, he knew the pleasures and peaks to be found with another when utterly naked—but never before had he encountered the simple bliss of holding a woman’s hands.
This was madness!
Montague certainly felt mad. His head was spinning, despite the sedate nature of the dance. All he could think about as he slowly turned Calliope and placed a hand on her waist—as the dance demanded—was that he never wanted to let go.
She was warm beneath his fingertips and her temper sparked to flames whenever he got too close…and he wanted to.
Dear God, he was in trouble here.
‘I danced in London but rarely,’ Calliope continued, as though the earth had not moved and all certainty had not shattered. ‘We were not much in the habit of attending balls.’
Now that was a surprise. The sisters-in-law to the Duke of Glanyrafon, not attending balls? Whyever not?
‘But your father—’ All too late, Montague recalled their conversation days ago. Her father had died. ‘Your mother, then, she must have—’
‘My mother was far more interested in leaving London and leaving my sister Ditty in charge of us,’ Calliope said with a wry smile. ‘Oh, I do not blame her. Her grief, it was absolute, and Ditty…she knew what to do. She became a matchmaker, she plans proposals.’
Montague almost tripped over his own foot, a growing concern the longer he was in this woman’s company, it appeared.
Ditty—strange name—her sister Ditty had worked as a matchmaker?
‘Your sister—she is much older than you?’ he prodded delicately.
Calliope lightly shook her head. ‘Oh no, just a few years.’
‘But she cared for you—’
‘She was the eldest and Mama was… She was gone and so Ditty had to take care of us.’ A brief look of pain that did not linger but had nonetheless definitely been there. ‘She mostly looked after Thalia, my younger sister. The baby of the family.’
The question slipped out before Montague could prevent it. ‘And who was looking after you?’
He didn’t actually need her to answer, it was plainly written across her face. No one.
No one had cared for this beautiful, sparkling woman. And so she had learned not to expect it, had she? Forgotten, ignored, almost invisible in her family. No wonder Calliope wished to be an artist. To leave a trace on a world that had mostly involved hardship and being passed over.
Montague’s chest tightened. It were as though Calliope’s true heart was being unfolded before him. No wonder she was brash and fought against him, matrimony, the world.
Why believe in something, someone, if all they did was leave you?