Chapter Twelve #3
She drew in a swift breath as he propelled them through the steps, the fingers of the hand upon his shoulder pinching even through the fabric of his coat.
But slowly, step by step, the stiffness of her legs relaxed, and her spine lost its rigidity.
By the third turn, she had ceased attempting to glance over her shoulder to ensure that he wasn’t about to slam them into some obstacle or another.
“See?” he said. “You can waltz.”
Kate tipped her head back and laughed. A pure, clear sound, light and airy and so far removed from the agitated, awkward sound which had passed for it earlier. “I’m not waltzing,” she said. “You are.”
“It’s as good as waltzing yourself.” Another turn, and she leaned into it this time, finding the rhythm of shifting her weight whenever he lifted a foot beneath hers. Learning at last, he thought, to move with him in a way she hadn’t been able to manage before. “It’s not so difficult now, is it?”
“I’m not waltzing!” Kate repeated, but there was amusement in her voice rather than trepidation, and her hand held his instead of clutching it in an anxious death-grip.
“You’re almost waltzing. You will waltz.” The night was still young. There were several sets still remaining. Two, at least, were certain to be waltzes. “I’ll ask you, once we are both safely indoors again.”
“You’re meant to be dancing with eligible young ladies,” she said. Had he imagined the faint trace of wistfulness within her voice? “Miss Applegate, or—”
“It can’t be Miss Applegate. Two dances would be tantamount to announcing an engagement, and it’s a bit early for that, don’t you think?
” The moonlight gilded her face in silver and cast shadows beneath the silky fan of her lashes, which had lowered over her eyes.
“You can save me one waltz, Katie.” Just one.
Even just once more, to cement the memory of it in his heart. “Doesn’t it feel like flying?”
“Yes.” A reflexive little squeeze of her hand in his. “Yes, it feels like flying,” she whispered.
Too soon the music ended, the sweet song of the strings fading into the soft rush of the breeze.
He couldn’t keep her out here indefinitely; even Rebecca would run out of ready excuses eventually.
And no doubt she would be fretting over her inattention until she had been informed that Kate had been located.
And still, his arms did not want to release her.
His hand clung to hers, reluctant to loose its hold upon hers.
In just a few moments, he would have to return to the ballroom and send Rebecca out to Kate.
But he didn’t want to do it. If he could have found a way to stretch time itself, he would have spun these last few moments out into eternity only to feel the pressure of her feet on his, to see the moonlight shining down upon her dark hair, and to hear the last echoes of that light, carefree laughter a little longer.
It couldn’t last. But still his heart clung to the hope that one day it might—that the possibility existed, however small, that there might well be hundreds of moonlit waltzes awaiting them in a future they shared.
Kate gave a melancholy little sigh as she eased her feet off of his, and he was forced to drop his arm from her waist as she moved away once more.
“You should go,” she said, her voice muted.
“Now, while everyone within is finding their next partners. No doubt there are still more than a few ladies hoping you will ask them for a dance.”
She was right. He knew she was right. And still his hand held hers like a lifeline.
She would never know the internal war he raged to force himself to release it, when he wanted only to keep hold of it forever.
There were so many words he wanted to say, and they sat so heavily upon his tongue that it was difficult even to draw in a breath around them.
Words which would likely, at this particular juncture, yield only one more exasperated recitation of Be serious, Elliot.
Tomorrow, perhaps, he could take those words in stride. But not tonight.
He flexed his fingers at his sides and steeled himself to go back inside.
To leave Kate here beneath the milky glow of the moon, and to reenter the ball, all the while pretending that a moonlit waltz in a deserted garden hadn’t been transformative.
That it hadn’t been the grandest feeling in the world.
That it had been something less than extraordinary to glide about the grass with Kate in his arms.
Somehow, through sheer dint of will, he managed to swallow it all down. The longing, the unsaid words that weighed upon his tongue and his heart. And he said, “Stay right here. Rebecca will come retrieve you shortly.”
Kate’s nose scrunched, and she gave a small shrug. “I have no choice but to stay. I wouldn’t even know which way to go,” she said.
Good. At least she would be safe. Elliot turned to go. Caught himself. Turned back round once more. “And…you’ll save me a waltz.”
A roll of her eyes, but her lips twitched with helpless amusement. “Fine,” she said, with a little huff. “One waltz. If I must step upon someone’s toes, I suppose it’s only fitting that they should be yours.”