Chapter 5 #2
She wanted to touch him, to feel the slight, amber shadow of stubble at his jaw against the soft pads of her fingers; but she restrained her hands.
“And you think you’re the right partner for me?”
He bit back a smile; but she could see the glimmer in his eyes as his blue gaze hit her like a splash of warm water. “Well, we’re not apt to find out how compatible we are hidden in this library, are we?”
He stood, holding out an expectant hand. Despite her misgivings, she accepted what he offered.
Had Fitzwilliam Pomfrey, 13th Viscount Ludlowe, been a second son, Noelle thought, rather than a pampered only child, he would have made a first-rate general. Or a dictator, perhaps.
He marched into the ballroom of her ancestral home and removed his coat, throwing it onto a damask-upholstered chair where it landed with perfect aim. He clapped several times to get everyone’s attention and said: “Let’s all agree on something. Lady Noelle is, at present, a hopeless dancer.”
Lawrence snickered from somewhere to the Viscount’s left, and Noelle wished she had one of her knives so she could throw it at his feet. Just to make him squirm a little. (Although, which ‘he’? She wasn’t sure. Just all of them in the room given the right provocation, probably.)
“You haven’t even seen me dance yet,” Noelle objected, only shortly curbing the urge to stomp her foot. But, really.
“Not in a year or two, but I’ve got an imagination.”
Fitz looked her up and down, his arms crossed at his chest.
Had he had such a broad chest when she’d seen him last?
Even with the shirt and tailored waistcoat, the outline of his broad shoulders…
she looked away before he could notice the direction of her stare.
She vaguely recalled that he was speaking.
“Now that we are all of the same accord, we can all stop making her feel lousy about it and tell her what she can do to improve.”
The occupants of the ballroom all spoke at once.
“She is too timid.” Moria.
“She doesn’t stay on the beat.” Olivia, sheepishly.
“It’s as though we’re not even dancing to the same song.” Moria, again.
“She isn’t responding to feedback very well.” Kathleen.
“She tries to dance by moving only her feet and needs to move…well, the rest of her body.” Henry, Her brother-in-law, with a mouthed, “Sorry, darling.”
“She doesn’t let me lead.” Jasper.
Noelle’s spine stiffened, then she felt Fitz’ eyes on her.
“Alright, that’s enough.” He said over the voices in the ballroom, voices she was related to. Noelle checked her back to ascertain that there were, in fact, no knives in it.
“Lady Noelle?” he said, stretching a hand out in front of her. She took it hesitantly. Lawrence was shooting daggers with his eyes at Fitz’s back, but that only encouraged her.
“Wait…” he paused, searching her face as though something was missing. “Where are your glasses, Lady Noelle?”
She shrugged. She’d shoved them into Moria’s sewing basket a few moments ago, but she wasn’t about to admit that to him. He saw through her anyway.
“You are the worst liar I have ever seen. Please never take up gambling.” He called over her shoulder: “Someone find the lady’s glasses, please!”
Miss Kelley reached a hand forward, Noelle’s spectacles balanced on her palm.
He smiled that bright, lethal smile at the redhead and offered his thanks.
Without a moment’s hesitation, he placed the spectacles perfectly on Noelle’s face.
When he had completed his task, he gave her another of his breath-stealing smiles.
The gesture was so familiar and intimate; it stole her breath, her ire, and her words.
She felt as though she’d been robbed of everything but given so much more.
“There, that’s better. Now you’re perfect.”
He hadn’t told the truth; he wasn’t the one in danger of falling; it was her who was in danger.
She shifted in his arms as Miss Kelley played the piano. Jasper partnered with Olivia, and Moria partnered with the Marquess of Thorne, their brother-in-law, as Kathleen shouted instructions and corrections.
Maybe if Noelle injured Fitz’s feet, she could end these dance lessons. Better, still…Maybe if she injured her feet, she could still participate in the season without dancing at all.
He pulled her close with an adept hand. “Don’t even think about it.”
Her chin pulled back and her eyes flew to his in disbelief, but she didn’t speak.
He said near her ear: “You’re not hard to read. If you step on my feet, you will live to regret it.”
Noelle let out a sigh that came out sounding more like a groan. This only encouraged him further.
“Loosen your limbs, lean more of your weight into me. Let me guide you.”
Fitz hovered just above her. Most men did not fit with her this well. She was tall, but he was taller. She had long arms and legs, but his were longer.
She did as she was bid, feeling the masculine outlines of him even through layers of muslin and linen.
He smiled down at her as though he could read her every thought.
Perhaps they were printed somewhere on her person like a broadsheet; but he had always made her feel that way, even when she felt others didn’t truly see her.
The reassuring keen of his voice crashed over her as he said, “Not that much, love, it’s a balance.”
There was a snicker from somewhere nearby; and Fitz tensed, then stopped his movements altogether. Noelle could feel the tightening of his muscles, especially in his upper arms. It did strange, fluttering things to her insides.
“Lady Moria, pet, there’s no reason for you to be the prettiest girl in any room if you’re also endeavoring to be the meanest,” he spoke.
Moria’s jaw fell, and then she picked it back up. Noelle pressed her lips together to hide a smile. He’d spoken her words aloud.
“Pomfrey! You will apologize to my sister,” The Earl called from across the dance floor where he twirled Olivia. The exceptionally tall Jasper with the most diminutive of the siblings was quite the wholesome image, Noelle thought, quite objectively.
“For what, my Lord? For calling her ‘pretty’?” Pomfrey questioned; but the Earl answered with only an unblinking, fiery gaze.
Fitz sighed. “Fine, West. Cease your glowering. I will if Lady Moria apologizes first. For laughing. It’s childish, and it isn’t helpful to her sister’s cause.”
Noelle brought her eyes up, dragging them from the broad expanse of his chest, up the fine column of neck encased in a perfectly tied cravat, slowing to marvel at the jutting terrain of his jawline, and finally, to his face.
It was impossible to look at him and not find him handsome, obnoxiously so, some might say.
He had the kind of smirk that made for a perfect imaginary throwing target.
The way he stood up for her painted a new layer to his image.
A layer of softness now contrasted with his crisp lines and sharp edges.
From somewhere across the ballroom, she could feel Miss Kelley’s eyes on her. Noelle supposed she was obvious; but it was hard to care when he held her against him, his hand at her back, and championed her cause.
“Once more, from the top.” He said in an authoritative stage whisper.
Noelle nodded, settling into the familiar steps of the dance. She could learn how to let a man like the Viscount lead.