CHAPTER THREE THE FIRST LESSON #3
The answer revealed more than he intended.
Eleanor heard it in the slight flattening of his voice.
She followed the next turn without counting.
Gabriel’s hand tightened fractionally at her back, approval communicated through touch rather than words.
The response pleased her more than it should have.
“You decide when to look at your partner,” he said. “Do not stare continuously. It suggests either infatuation or suspicion.”
“What if I feel both?”
“Then you are dancing with a politician.”
Eleanor looked over his shoulder toward the windows.
“Better,” Gabriel said. “Now return your gaze when you want his attention.”
She waited through two turns before looking back. Gabriel’s eyes were already upon her. The intensity startled her. She felt the reaction in her breath and knew he had felt it too because his thumb moved once against her back.
“Do not look away immediately,” he said.
“You said staring suggests infatuation.”
“You are not staring.”
“How do you know?”
“Infatuated women look at me differently.”
“Of course they do.”
He smiled. “You disapprove of the women or of me?”
“Neither. I question your sample.”
“My sample is extensive.”
“That does not make it representative.”
“You are attempting to transform flirtation into mathematics.”
“Mathematics is less likely to invent its own importance.”
Gabriel moved her through a sweeping turn.
Their bodies came closer as her skirt caught briefly around his boot.
His palm pressed more firmly into her back to steady her, drawing her against him for one suspended second.
Eleanor felt the solid warmth of his chest, the strength in his thigh and the subtle change in his breathing.
Then the fabric released. He guided her away as though nothing had happened. Her body did not agree.
Heat collected beneath her skin, moving from the place his hand rested toward her breasts and lower, until each turn of the dance seemed to carry awareness through her.
“You are counting again,” Gabriel said.
“I am not.”
“You have a crease between your brows.”
“I am thinking.”
“That is the problem.”
“Thinking is rarely the problem.”
“It is during seduction.”
Eleanor frowned. “You expect women to become mindless?”
“No. I expect them to remain inside their bodies long enough to understand what those bodies are telling them.”
The answer unsettled her. Her father treated the body as a necessary inconvenience attached to intellect.
He forgot meals, ignored cold rooms and regarded illness as poor discipline.
Eleanor had learned to do much the same.
Hunger could be postponed. Fatigue could be reasoned with.
Desire had never been relevant enough to require consideration.
Now every point of contact with Gabriel insisted upon relevance.
“What is yours telling you?” she asked.
His step altered. Only slightly. Another partner would not have noticed, but Eleanor had spent years detecting changes men believed invisible. Gabriel recovered before the next turn.
“That your questions require better timing.”
“Natural talent rarely requires such vigilance.”
He missed a step. His boot struck the edge of her slipper, and his hand tightened at her waist as he corrected them both. They stopped. Eleanor looked down at their feet.
“You stepped upon me.”
“I did not.”
“You did.”
“I redirected you.”
“With your boot.”
“An advanced technique.”
She looked up. Gabriel was smiling, but the expression had arrived too quickly, before the silence could reveal the truth beneath her observation. Eleanor studied him.
“When did you learn to make everyone believe they are the most fascinating person in the room?”
The smile remained.
“I was born considerate.”
“No.”
“No?”
“You ask questions before another person notices you have avoided answering one. You smile before silence becomes uncomfortable. You use self-mockery whenever a conversation approaches seriousness, and you direct attention toward the desires of others so they never ask what you want.”
Gabriel’s face did not change, yet the room seemed to still around them.
“That is a great deal to deduce from a waltz,” he said.
“I noticed before.”
“Then I have failed to be sufficiently mysterious.”
“You are mysterious only to people who mistake charm for transparency.”
The hand at her back grew motionless. Eleanor wondered whether she had gone too far. The terms of their agreement prohibited mockery, not analysis. Gabriel released her and stepped away. The sudden absence of his warmth felt sharper than expected.
He crossed toward the wine table. “You require practice in conversation.”
The shift was smooth enough that another woman might have mistaken it for natural progression.
Eleanor knew she had touched something he did not want examined.
She followed, but did not press. Gabriel poured himself wine at last. He drank half the glass before turning toward her with the familiar amusement restored.
“Sit,” he said.
“You use commands frequently for a man who dislikes obligation.”
“I use them because polite requests invite discussion.”
“You have selected the wrong pupil.”
“I am becoming aware.”
They sat opposite one another near the fire.
Eleanor chose an upright chair. Gabriel took the end of a small settee, one arm resting along its back and his legs extended with deliberate ease.
Even seated, he arranged himself attractively.
Eleanor suspected he did nothing without knowing how it appeared.
“Flirtation is not the same as invitation,” he said. “Its purpose may be pleasure, distraction, information or refusal.”
“Refusal?”
“A blunt refusal humiliates some men. Humiliated men become persistent, cruel or loud. A clever woman can reject without allowing him to feel publicly rejected.”
“That sounds like rewarding weakness.”
“It is managing danger.”
Eleanor considered the distinction.
Gabriel set down his glass. “I will give you a compliment. You will answer according to the purpose I assign.”
“Very well.”
“Distraction first.” He looked at her hands. “You have beautiful fingers.”
Eleanor glanced down. “Do I?”
“You have already failed.”
“You offered no evidence.”
“Flirtation rarely survives requests for evidence.”
“Then it is poorly constructed.”
“Redirect the compliment.”
Eleanor thought for a moment. “You notice women’s hands often.”
“Better. You have turned attention toward my experience without revealing whether you liked the observation.”
“I did not.”
Gabriel’s gaze returned to her fingers.
“That is unfortunate.”
The words were simple, but something in his delivery made Eleanor’s skin warm. He continued before she could respond.
“Now make a man feel chosen.”
“How?”
“Suppose I say every woman in London wishes to dance with me.”
“An unlikely burden.”
“Eleanor.”
She allowed herself a pause.
“Then perhaps you should be grateful I am more selective.”
Gabriel stared at her for half a second before laughing.
“Very good.”
“You sound surprised again.”
“I expected less instinct.”
“I have watched flirtation for years.”
“Watching is not doing.”
“A wallflower chooses the wall because it offers the best view.”
The laughter faded from his eyes.
“You were never truly a wallflower.”
“I was whatever allowed me to remain in the room.”
Gabriel picked up his wine but did not drink. “That is not the same thing.”
“No.”
The answer sat between them, carrying an understanding neither chose to define. He moved to the next exercise.
“Refuse a private supper.”
“I do not wish to dine with you.”
“Too blunt.”
“I have another engagement.”
“Predictable.”
“I fear your conversation would spoil my appetite.”
His mouth curved. “Cruel, but effective.”
“Thank you.”
“You were not supposed to accept that compliment.”
“You did not assign a purpose.”
Gabriel leaned back. “You are enjoying this.”
“I enjoy competence.”
“Yours or mine?”
“At present, mine.”
He looked at her over the rim of his glass. The glance itself was flirtation, Eleanor realised. Not merely because he was beautiful, but because he used silence as invitation, allowing her to decide whether to enter it. She did.
“Your technique depends heavily upon appearance,” she said.
“Does that trouble you?”
“It seems inefficient. Beauty changes.”
“Mine has shown admirable loyalty.”
“Age will test it.”
“Then I shall develop character.”
“That may require more time than remains.”
Gabriel smiled, but the expression softened at the edges.
“Now distinguish desire from entitlement,” he said.
“How?”
“Desire asks. Entitlement assumes.”
“That seems simple.”
“It is not. Desire may be forceful without becoming coercion. Entitlement may hide behind courtesy. A man can ask politely while making refusal dangerous.”
Eleanor thought of scholars who requested her notes with smiling certainty that she would surrender them. She thought of her father placing manuscripts upon her desk and calling the demand an opportunity to assist him.
“What should I look for?” she asked.
“Whether he notices your response. A man who desires you watches for willingness. A man who feels entitled watches for resistance.”
“And if he sees resistance?”
“Desire stops. Entitlement calculates how to overcome it.”
Gabriel’s voice had changed again. There was no amusement in it now.
Eleanor looked at him. “You have seen the difference often.”
“Yes.”
“Have you always respected it?”
His gaze held hers.
“Yes.”
The answer contained no charm and required none. Eleanor believed him. Gabriel stood and carried both wineglasses to the table, though Eleanor’s remained nearly full.
“A confident widow may be expected to tolerate a kiss,” he said.
The heat that had settled beneath Eleanor’s skin sharpened. She kept her hands still upon her lap.
“Expected by whom?”
“The club’s members. Her escort. Anyone attempting to determine whether the relationship is genuine.”
“You said no one would touch me without permission.”
“They will not.”
“Then the kiss would come from you.”
“Yes.”
The word filled the room. Eleanor rose slowly. Gabriel watched every movement.