Chapter 7
“Dancing was not something to take lightly. In the space of a single dance, fortunes were gained and reversed, betrothals were secured, and reputations were built and lost. A dance seemed something with little cost, but Adelaide knew the stakes were high.”
Adelaide, Chapter 9
“Imagine you and I are tied together,” Fitz whispered next to her ear.
Oh, Noelle could imagine it. Had been imagining it.
Usually she loathed every second of the quadrille, and she hadn’t exactly looked forward to this dance after their spat in the library two days ago.
She was rethinking her stance now that this gracefully masculine man twirled her about the stony garden terrace under the stars for a fourth dance lesson.
Amidst the layer of grey clouds dotted with patterns of silvery stars and fractures of moonlight was the golden warmth of Fitz piercing the cold of an early spring evening.
Mistaking her shiver for cold, Fitz moved closer. Lady Noelle followed him as he leaned her back, his eyes carving out a trail from her eyes, down her chin to her throat, to her bosom and her navel, then twirling her in front of him just as his eyes discovered her hips.
Discovered…was the wrong word. If eyes could claim territory, his surely did. Her slippered feet colliding once more with earth, with the stone floor of the terrace, coincided with a tumultuous flare of the piano keys just inside the open French door of the ballroom of her family’s estate.
She was supposed to be annoyed with him. Disappointed in his behavior, most definitely. That was before he touched her. Her heart outpaced her thoughts. Before she knew it, she’d stepped on Fitz’s toes, catching them beneath the hem of her bell-shaped skirts.
“Suppose that was my fault,” he let out with a groan.
He leaned down and corrected her spectacles so that they perched in their proper resting place on her nose, giving her one of his rare, fetching smiles. A smile that fetched her heart and retrieved it into his warm coat pocket for safekeeping.
She took a steeling breath. He was a cad, a libertine, one of London’s darling young Lords. She was not sure she wanted him, anyone, more than she wanted to be a published author.
He made a show of adjusting their posture and hands before nodding at her to continue dancing.
She could feel his hand at the small of her back, as close to her as propriety would allow.
Fitz had suggested that perhaps they practice the quadrille, the dance which would surely be Noelle’s downfall, in private.
They’d been allowed to dance on the terrace, with her family just inside.
But they were surrounded by starlight peeking through the clouds, and the scent of jasmine and roses nearby.
She recalled that his hand was at her back.
She did her level best to compose herself, and to relocate the rhythm of the music; but not without difficulty.
How did he do this to her? All the time she’d spent reading, composing a literary work, editing, and editing and editing her words again…
yet somehow she wasn’t immune to a beautiful man.
She studied the graceful cleft at the base of his throat, then up toward his jaw, settling on his lips. Even resting pursed together, they were gorgeously full, the color of sugared plums. She wondered how those lips would taste. Stop it, her rational, learned brain commanded her body.
She nearly misstepped again and her gaze traveled back up to his eyes. The way he looked at her she felt stamped, marked by the fiery promise of his gaze. Fitz moved to the side, and Noelle followed him. She faltered, and he recovered.
“Something the matter, Lady Noelle?” He said near her ear, she turned to look at him.
“Something in your pocket grazed my leg,” Noelle said in a low, accusatory tone.
Fitz paled. “My apologies,” he ground out, his eyes avoidant.
“What are you carrying in your pocket?”
The well-hewn curve of his jaw clenched. “A…brass timepiece?”
She dismissed him with a slight shake of her head. “I don’t think so.”
The mischief in his eyes returned as he lowered his voice. “I could show you…but not here.” His voice was husky, a sultry rumble of heat against her ear that left more ripples against her skin that she felt deeper inside. “You might say I…. carry a pet snake.”
She looked up at him, her irritation flared amidst the ever-annoying temptation to either kiss or slap that questioning blonde brow of his. The feel of his hand clutching her to him blurred their two bodies into one, gliding across the uneven stones.
This really was too much.
“Put some distance between her at once before I call you out and call for my second,” Lawrence said, close enough to grasp Fitz by his brawny shoulder. Both startled at his presence on the terrace like some phantom.
“I am your second,” Fitz said, turning to look down at his friend’s hand upon his shoulder with cool disdain.
Still, he did as his oldest friend had requested.
She could barely find her bearings as that tautly shaped arm gripped her tighter to maintain his lead with the distance put between them.
Through layers of fabric, she could feel the well-made bulge of his muscular arms about her.
He rotated her in front of him, stepping closer to her.
“I think you’re making progress, my bewitching Clydesdale,” Fitz said, lighting her up with a smile that reached to his eyes, beyond them.
“Just think of the progress I might have made with a suitable teacher,” she said through gritted teeth.
The movement of his head tilting back in laughter, shaking his head at her with narrowed eyes, struck her. The others came to the open doorway to ogle at them, likely wondering what had made Fitz laugh.
She could feel the weight of their eyes and was reminded that the two of them were not alone. Moria danced onto the terrace beside them, utter grace and elegance, on Jasper’s arm. She strove to distract Fitz’s attention, but he merely gave Moria a passing glance.
Why had Fitz agreed to help her? It had not gone unnoticed that he had given her his full attention in the ballroom, barely sparing a glance for the others. Noelle had never anticipated that she, the withdrawn and scholarly wallflower, would be the object of such a Rake’s rapt fascination.
“That’s the problem with you,” he whispered, leaning closer to her ear, “you think too much, Princess.”
Commendably, she didn’t falter this time. “Maybe I think enough for the both of us, my lord.”
He tilted his head as if in thought, his hands still trained on her waist, his movements still in sync with Miss Kelley’s music.“Maybe that’s what I like so much about you.”
She wanted to pull away. She wanted to flee. She wanted to hide the blush that must surely be painted on her face. Suddenly she felt very conscious of that blush, of her entire body, her facial expressions, her height.
The music had stopped, but he didn’t let her go.
From somewhere over her shoulder, Noelle could hear indistinct conversation between Kathleen and Miss Kelley.
She knew she ought to listen to their thoughts.
Marriage was her aim for the season, to be sure; but when he bowed over her hand at the conclusion of the dance, his eyes trailed over her a moment longer than they ought and stole her thoughts.
She felt frostbitten by the coolness of those eyes. Her toes curled in her shoes.
Just as she worried someone would have an opinion on this overtly familiar exchange just as they had over his dancing too close, Miss Kelley’s young ward offered the perfect distraction as he collided with a large potted fern.
Both Noelle and Fitz let out a laugh, her hand instinctively flew to cover her mouth as the others rushed to help the fallen child and called for a servant to salvage the toppled plant.
“Thank you for the dance lessons,” Noelle breathed, placing a hand on the sleeve of Fitz’s coat.
For a moment, she wasn’t sure if he’d heard her as he stared down at her hand as though it had branded him.
“Her Majesty mentioned dancing in her letters, or, rather, prospective partners,” she looked away self-consciously.
“I was afraid I’d embarrass her, or myself, if she suggested a partner and I made a mockery of the dance.”
His blue eyes caused a cold panic to spread across her skin as they turned on her. “You don’t have to thank me,” he said with a shake of his head for emphasis, “However, I do have a request.”
Her eyebrows shot up. His dimple conveyed that he enjoyed how much he surprised her, and was about to surprise her even more.
“I don’t care if that short little empress wants you to dance with the prime minister himself,” he gave her hand on his elbow a firm squeeze.
“Your first dance of the season,” a knowing smile spread across his lips, “is mine and mine alone.”
And with a bow, he strode from the room as though he hadn’t just left her with a declaration of his intentions.
Whether they had guests in residence or not, the Pembrooke family had a strict schedule: morning rides when the weather permitted, breaking their fast together, followed by music or dancing, promptly followed by sport which preceded (and sometimes replaced) teatime.
Shooting, fencing, billiards, archery, lawn bowling, badminton…they did it all.
“I see why the lot of you are all so remarkably fit, you’re hardly ever still,” Viscount Ludlowe remarked, joining them on the shooting range.
Noelle looked to her surroundings for anything else to focus on except the splendor of him, coatless, the linen of his shirt stretched over the finely hewn muscles of his back and shoulders, when her eyes alighted on the hesitant governess.
“It’s your shot,” Lady Noelle leaned beside the woman to inform her, just as a footman lifted and then released a pheasant into the air. Just as Miss Kelley missed, a second shot knocked the bird clean out of the air.
The Earl. Noelle had warned the governess as much, but the woman’s sharp intake of breath signaled her surprise.
“You are an exceptional shot, my lord.” Miss Kelley complimented once she collected herself.
Noelle and Olivia shared glances, jabbing each other in the ribs with their elbows.