71. George #2
“You see, Goldie, your reputation might suffer if I hold you too close to me while we dance.” I drew her another inch toward me. “Like this.”
Her breath tickled my cheek. “Your reputation may factor in.”
I chuckled, low in my chest. “Good point. Wait, are you implying my reputation is good or bad?”
“You are the big bad wolf.”
“Oof. So I have a reputation for bad behavior? Like this?” I pulled her close and sent us into a full spin, which billowed her skirt around us.
Her chest shook with silent laughter, and her hand tightened on my arm.
For a fleeting moment, the world around us disappeared.
All I wanted was to make her laugh and keep her close.
I spun us through another full turn before forcing myself to stop.
“Fun, as promised,” she said. “But probably scandalous.”
“Scandalous?”
A shiver ran through her. I felt the light tremor under my fingertips.
“That was merely improper. You have not yet seen scandalous.”
“Felt a bit scandalous.” She shook her head, and a curl brushed my cheek. “I have lived twenty years without any scandal. Jane Austen would be proud of me.”
“Damnation and Pemberley.”
She let out a laugh and drew back just enough to meet my eyes. “Strong words.”
I held her gaze. “Maybe it’s high time you turn a bit reckless.”
She didn’t waver. Her hazel eyes filled my vision for ten measures or more. It was a wonder I didn’t plow us straight into another couple.
Slowly, I leaned in, stopping only when my lips brushed her ear. Her breath stuttered. Pemberley indeed.
“Sometimes a little scandal is needed to shake things up,” I said. This was not a good idea.
She scoffed softly. “Yes, that is what all the matriarchs say.”
Challenge accepted. “Prepare yourself to disappoint stuffy old Jane.”
“George, what?—”
I pulled our clasped hands into my chest and used my other hand to flatten her against me. Warm and scandalous. Then I pressed my cheek to her wig and sent us into a series of spins, which ended only when I became dizzy. Or dizzier.
Reckless indeed.
I told myself the spinning would make it difficult for any observer to see how fused together we were.
We needed to be close to pull off the quick turns without wobbling.
It was all about safety, center of gravity, and such.
But somewhere in the far reaches of my mind, I understood these were excuses.
Under the cover of my mask, I’d lost my inhibitions, and it was not safe. Not safe for anyone.
My heart pounded with the exertion and the closeness and the mischief-making. We stopped spinning, but the dizziness clung to me. My lips moved without thought, and I confessed, “You do spin me around.”
Reluctantly, I relaxed my grip for propriety’s sake and stretched our hands forward. This was Sarah in my arms. Impulsive lunatic. When the music ended, we bowed to each other.
Macy’s voice floated over. “Nothing like a little scandalous behavior to liven things up.”
Buddy added, “I can spin you like that, my dear, if you like.”
“I bet you can, Buddy. I bet you can.”
Sarah danced another two sets—the second with Buddy while I paired with Macy.
Macy laughed. “You can’t look away from her, can you? Aren’t you a smitten kitten? Makes me glad in my heart to see someone turn you on your head after all the women you’ve left crushed and sobbing.”
“You mistake my costume. I’m not a kitten. I am the big bad wolf.”
She chuckled. “Right.”
“Speaking of smitten, Buddy is certainly under your spell. A good man, you know?”
“I know, George. He’s a keeper.”
We joined Sarah and Buddy at the edge of the floor and made our way to the refreshments. When the dinner dance was called, Buddy and I risked a second dance with our favored ladies, leading them back to the floor for the slower hesitation waltz.
“Are you having fun?” I asked as she moved into my arms.
“You have delivered on your promise, have no fear.”
But she had put a name to it. Fear. It writhed up and down my back.
Squeezed my heart. Always and ever before, when I danced like this and favored a lady with attention, it was the beginning of the end of our acquaintance.
She would grasp at an impossible dream, and I would push her away.
The fire would fizzle. The affection cool.
Disappointment always followed. I was risking this with Sarah.
A lump lodged in my throat as I considered how my lack of restraint could ruin our friendship.
But no.
I’d never danced like this. Never cared like this. Never had a friend like this. I smiled at the woman in my arms.
“Good,” she said. “That is not your impish smile.”
“You have named my smiles?”
We swayed to the music. Step, slow slide, step, slow slide.
“Not names like Mortimer or Mr. Bubbles.”
“I shall have to work on my Mortimer smile. I do like a challenge. But pray tell, what smiles have I already mastered?”
“I believe everyone here is familiar with your dazzling lady-killer smile.”
“Yes, I have a patent on that one.”
“And of course your impish smile, which means mischief of some kind is looming.”
I gave her my best mischievous smile and lengthened my stride to see if her long legs could match mine. The slow slide of each step was maddening, igniting a spark that set my long-suppressed desires ablaze. She matched me step for step.
She tilted her head. “And then there is my favorite.”
“Which one is that?”
“Your goofy smile.”
“You think me a fool?”
“I did not say foolish smile.”
I pretended to pout. “Same difference.”
“I call it your goofy smile because it is uncontrived, candid, sincere. The natural state of your face when you are truly happy. The one smile that is sure to make me smile in return.”
I sent us into a turn. “I’m not sure if I should be flattered that I can make you smile or concerned that you have used goofy to label my most natural state.”
“Goofy is good, George. Goofy is real. I like goofy.”
My heart lifted as the dance ended and we moved toward the dining area. I grinned at Sarah, and it must have been my goofy smile, for she returned it with a charming smile of her own.
After dinner and suffering through two dances with other partners, I convinced Sarah to stroll with me around the periphery of the ball.
“Everyone is hoping for a closer look at Goldilocks, the belle of the ball. It would be an act of public service.”
“If you are trying to make me blush again, I am determined to resist. You might as well give up.” She took my arm, and we set forth.
“Look around us,” I said. “Notice how people avert their gaze so they aren’t caught staring. They cannot look away. From you.”
She squeezed my arm. “You exaggerate.”
“You’ve bewitched us all.”
Sarah turned her head as we walked. “You’re right. They are staring. But it must be at you. You always draw the eye.”
“You are sweet to think I could be so interesting. Sweet and completely mistaken.”
“But why? It’s only a costume.”
“It’s a beautiful woman lit from within by her beautiful soul.”
“You… you exaggerate. Oh, no. Freddy. He’s been lurking, and I’m certain he wants to ask me to dance.”
“Why does every woman avoid dancing with him?”
“Sweaty hands,” she said. “Sopping sweaty hands.”
I pulled her through the open doors to the veranda, where a few couples milled about in the low light. Freddy peered out the door, and I spun her into a shadowed corner out of his line of sight.
“That should take care of Freddy.”
With the spin, I naturally drew her close into my arms as if we were dancing. I froze with her inside my bubble. Unable to release her. Unable to move.
Sarah’s hands rested lightly on my shoulders. She said, “But it’s a disguise… No one sees me—not really. Much less my soul.” Her breath tickled along my neck.
With a single finger, I tilted her chin upward with agonizing slowness. “I see it, Sarah. And it shines like a beacon. I’m blinded.”
Her chin trembled beneath my touch.
My hand cupped her jaw. Her skin was smooth and soft.
Madness. I bent my neck. This was madness.
I hesitated with my lips an inch from hers, holding back from the sweetness of closing the distance and tasting her kiss. I struggled against the pull.
The trembling spread from her chin through her whole body. Or maybe I was the one trembling.
Damnation. I was risking everything.
I ran my thumb over her lips. So soft.
Stop. Stop. Stop.
I closed my eyes, drew a deep breath, puffed out my cheeks, and counted slowly to seven as I exhaled. I straightened my neck and lowered my hand. I was mortified.
I’d almost kissed Sarah. I opened my eyes and found her staring at me—not blinking.
Please.
I summoned a shaky smile. Mortimer the mortified smile.
She blinked, and her lips curved slightly. She whispered, “I was wrong… You can still make me blush.”
Our soft laughter floated into the night. The tension broke, and relief flooded through me. I had stopped in time. I hadn’t ruined everything.
In the wee hours of the morning, I handed her down from the carriage, and we made our way up her walk, arm in arm. At her door, I kissed the back of her hand. And if I pressed my lips to her warm, soft skin longer than required, at least I resisted trying for her lips.
She opened the door, and I backed through the hedge toward home.
“Good night, Goldie.”
“Night, George.”