Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“Icannot believe you do not know how to dance,” William said, staring at her in complete disbelief.
He stood in the center of the drawing room, looking at her as if trying to solve a riddle that defied all logic.
He went on talking, pacing a few steps across the wide floorboards as he listed all the ways a woman of her standing should have learned years ago: private tutors, town assemblies, seasonal balls, and family gatherings.
None of it made any sense to him. How could she attend a London Season and somehow escape the most basic expectations of polite society?
Seraphina stood a few paces away, barely hearing half of what he was saying.
A sudden, strange wave of heat was rising up her neck, making her skin feel uncomfortably warm.
Her heart was beating entirely too fast, fluttering in a panicked, irregular rhythm that made it hard to draw a deep breath.
Her palms felt clammy, and a light flutter in the pit of her stomach made her feel slightly lightheaded.
‘A fever,’ she thought, silently cataloging the symptoms as he continued his lecture. ‘I believe I have taken a feverish chill.’
The symptoms had begun the second she walked into the room.
When William had summoned her down to the drawing room, she had expected another discussion over the threat letters.
Instead, she had stepped through the doors to find that the furniture had been completely rearranged.
The armchairs and side tables had been pushed back against the walls, leaving the wide expanse of floorboards cleared and waiting.
The moment she realized why he had cleared the space... the instant her mind registered that they were about to dance, that he was going to hold her and step into her personal space, that sudden, overwhelming heat had flooded her veins.
She tried to convince herself that the timing was a pure coincidence. It had nothing to do with the fact that she was about to be in breath-to-breath proximity with him. No, the physical reaction was purely physiological, a delayed response to the damp air outside.
Why else would the mere prospect of dancing with him cause her heart to pound like a trapped bird? Why should the thought of his hand on her waist send such a strange, alarming flutter through her stomach? It made no logical sense.
Unless, of course, her mind was simply revolting against the danger of physical contact.
William was a Duke, burdened with the responsibilities of his estate, his family, and his standing.
He could not afford to be laid low by an illness.
If she allowed him to take her hand, if she permitted him to step close enough for their breaths to mingle, she risked passing her indisposition on to him.
Yes... that was the rational explanation.
Her body was panicking because she was trying to protect him.
She was frightened of making him sick, frightened that this fever might be catching.
It had nothing whatsoever to do with his physical presence rattling her.
She had spent enough time tending to her sisters to recognize the signs.
A sudden rise in temperature, a racing pulse, and a strange weakness in the knees were classic indicators of an oncoming chill.
It was the damp rain outside, summer finally catching up with her body.
She kept her posture rigid and her face completely still so he wouldn’t notice how flustered and hot she suddenly felt standing opposite him in the expanse of the room.
“—and it is not as if you grew up in a convent,” William was saying, throwing his hands up in a gesture of exasperation. “Even if you avoided the ballrooms, what on earth did you do when you actually went out to assemblies with your sisters? How did you escape without a single partner?”
Seraphina forced herself to swallow past the dry tightness in her throat, pulling her mind back to his questions.
“I used tactics,” she said, her voice a little higher than usual before she cleared her throat.
“When Euphemia dragged me to ballrooms, I either found a dark corner behind a curtain to read, or I talked to my suitors about steam engine valves until their eyes glazed over. They were so bored they forgot to ask me to dance, and I managed to slip away.”
William raised an eyebrow, as an amused twitch touching his lips. “So you were a wallflower by choice?”
“I was not a wallflower,” Seraphina countered quickly. “A wallflower wants to be asked to dance and gets left behind. I actively avoided the floor. There is a difference.”
“Society doesn’t see a difference, Seraphina,” William said softly as he stepped closer. “They just see a lady standing against the wall. But that still doesn’t explain your childhood. Most girls are forced into dance lessons by seven or eight. What were your tutors doing?”
“Euphemia was the one who insisted on dance lessons,” Seraphina explained, looking down at the floorboards between them.
“She begged Lady Byron to hire a master from town when we were young. Euphemia loved the music and the dresses, and she even dragged Leonora in to learn with her. But whenever the music started, I snuck off to read in the garden or do experiments in the shed.”
William frowned, his amusement fading into confusion. “So, Lady Byron allowed that? I can’t imagine any guardian letting a young lady skip her lessons like that. Most mothers in town would have locked you in the drawing room until you learned your steps.”
“Lady Byron did not care,” Seraphina scoffed.
“In fact, she enabled it. She had no interest in seeing me become an accomplished lady or making a big match in town. As long as I was out of her way, reading old books and becoming a bluestocking, she was perfectly happy. It kept me quiet and out of her hair.”
William went quiet. The teasing look left his eyes, replaced by a shadow across his jaw as he processed her words.
“She failed you then,” he said quietly.
“I don’t agree. She gave me peace,” Seraphina corrected, though the truth in his tone settled uncomfortably in her chest. She smoothed down her skirts, trying to shake off the strange, warm weakness still lingering in her legs.
“In any case, it doesn’t matter now. If we are going to these balls to connect with society and figure out who is sending those letters, I cannot stand against the wall. We need to look like a proper couple.”
“My point exactly. Which is why I summoned you here.”
The most sensible option was to refuse. She could simply tell him that she needed rest, retreat to her bedchamber, and avoid the dangerous prospect of his hands on her body altogether.
But declining now would require an explanation.
William was far too observant. He would ask questions, probe her sudden reluctance, and demand to know why a woman who had just claimed to be ready to do her part was suddenly shrinking from a simple dance lesson.
Explaining would only create an unnecessary complication, one she did not have the energy to navigate.
No, the most efficient course of action was to simply breeze through it. She would endure the lesson, keep as much physical distance between them as the steps allowed to ensure he did not catch whatever indisposition was affecting her, and get it over with as quickly as possible.
She squared her shoulders and faced him in the middle of the room. “So I am ready for you to teach me.”
William looked at her for a moment before nodding. He took a few steps toward the open center of the floor, and then stopped again.
“All right,” he said formally. “We don’t have time to make you a master at this, but I can teach you enough so you don’t embarrass yourself. We’ll start with the basic steps.”
He held out his hand to her. Seraphina hesitated for a second before placing her palm in his. His skin was warm, his hold was very firm, and the moment his fingers closed around hers, that heat shot straight up her arm again.
He stepped closer, placing his right hand gently against her back to guide her frame. The touch was completely respectable, but through the fabric of her dress, it felt like a hot iron against her skin. Her pulse spiked instantly.
“Keep your eyes on my shoulder, not my feet,” William whispered as he looked down at her. “If you look down, you’ll lose your balance. Just follow my lead.”
He took a slow step forward. Seraphina, distracted by how close he was standing and how loud her heart was beating in her ears, moved her foot a second too late. Her toe bumped right into his boot, and she stumbled forward.
“Careful,” William muttered, his arm instantly tightening around her waist to catch her before she went down.
She ended up pressed right against his chest, her hand grabbing his shoulder to steady herself. She could feel the weight of him, the rise and fall of his breath, and a subtle scent she could not make sense of clinging to his coat.
“For someone who claims to be so logical...” William said, holding her tightly. “...You’re not paying attention. Are you all right?”
“I am fine,” Seraphina said quickly, stepping back out of his hold. Her cheeks felt like they were on fire. “But I... I think I am coming down with a fever.”
William stopped, looking at her with a raised eyebrow. “A fever? You were fine yesterday.”
“Fevers come on quickly,” she insisted, pressing two fingers to her throat where her pulse was jumping wildly. “I have a sudden rise in body temperature, my heart rate is abnormally fast, and I feel lightheaded. It’s a seasonal chill from the rain.”
William stared at her for a moment. Then he reached out and pressed the back of his hand gently to her forehead, then down against her cheek.
His touch was cool, but it only made her face burn hotter.
“Your forehead feels normal,” he noted, his thumb lightly brushing her cheekbone before he pulled his hand back. “Though your cheeks are very red. Are you sure you’re not just nervous?”