Prologue
The library, Felix Alexander Martin’s sanctuary, had been transformed into a miniature ballroom.
The piles of books he’d greedily consumed day and night had been neatly stacked along the walls.
To his despair, all the furniture had been removed and replaced with a piano forte, where Monsieur Beaumont’s assistant sat at the ready with his hands poised over the ivory keys.
With a nod, the renowned dance master, Monsieur Beaumont, began the one lesson Felix dreaded every week.
Felix raised his arms and assumed the ridiculous position with an imaginary partner.
Heat flooded his cheeks. It was terrifying enough to have his father witness his clumsiness, but to have two extra pairs of eyes upon him was absolutely mortifying.
He attempted to perform the steps he’d memorized.
"Non, non, non!" Monsieur Beaumont's voice cracked like a whip. "You stomp like the horse, Master Felix! Light on your feet! Allez, be Light!"
Felix closed his eyes, shutting out the late afternoon rays of sun that slanted through the tall windows that illuminated dust motes that danced far more gracefully than he ever would. If only he could twist an ankle and be refined to his bed to read.
His twin brother, Reginald, elbowed him in the back as he executed a perfect turn, grinning at their instructor with the easy charm that came as naturally as breathing.
Felix had no such gift. His limbs were an inch too long, his feet a size larger than they should be, and his entire body was a collection of awkward angles that refused to cooperate.
His brother was perfectly proportionate.
They may appear identical to others, even their own father, but Felix was keenly aware that his brother should have been born first. Reginald should be the heir to the dukedom, not he.
"May I suggest, Monsieur Beaumont, that the boys take a respite?
" his father, the Duke of Strandon, commanded from near the door. His father strategically took that position to ensure neither he nor Reginald bolted from the room. Around friends and family, his father was always the charming and clever duke. He only adopted a cool and distant persona when in the company of strangers. His father turned to his guest and closest friend, Baron Swyft. While the baron was not a lord in Parliament, his father treated the Scottish baron as one, given Baron Swyft was Scotland’s wealthiest noble.
His clan occupied land that bordered England.
Baron Swyft, who had arrived at nooning with his daughter in tow, smiled and said, "I’ve a braw idea," Baron Swyft’s Scottish burr was warm and filled with amusement as he turned to his daughter and suggested, "Nicole, lass, why don't ya show the lads how it's done?"
Felix's gaze snapped to the girl who'd been sitting quietly in the corner eyeing the stack of his favorite books. Her feet swung above the floor as she perched on a chair far too large for her small frame. Felix had quietly observed Nicole’s walnut-brown hair that refused to stay in its ribbons and her eyes the color of a summer sky, during their luncheon, although the girl barely ate a thing. It was no wonder she was thin as a stick. His whispered suggestion that she eat more had only garnered a glare from her. She’d then turned and directed her attention to Reginald, who happily entertained her for the rest of the meal.
Nicole hopped down and marched across the floor with the confidence of a general leading troops into battle. Felix’s chin fell to his chest when she stopped directly in front of him and tilted her head back to meet his gaze.
Brow slightly knitted, she said, "You're thinking too much."
Felix closed his mouth and blinked twice. "I beg your pardon?" Who was this chit speaking to him in this direct manner? Girls were giggly and never dared to look him in the eye, especially when he loomed over them like a giant oaf.
She pointed her finger at him and then tapped her temple. "You're thinking about your feet and where they should go and worrying over what everyone's thinking about you." Nicole held out her small hand. "Stop ruminating and dance with me."
Monsieur Beaumont made a noise of protest, but his father waved him to silence.
Felix stared down at Nicole's outstretched hand as if it were a serpent. "I'll… I’ll step on your toes."
"Probably," she agreed cheerfully. "But I don't mind. My toes are quite sturdy."
His gaze fell to the floor as she wiggled her toes in her flimsy slippers and then his attention focused upon his polished boots.
Surely, she’d end up injured. Despite himself, Felix’s lips twitched.
He glanced at Reginald, who shrugged and walked over to the seat Nicole had vacated.
With his father and the Baron blocking the exit, he had no choice.
Felix slowly placed his hand in hers. Nicole’s fingers were warm and small, but her grip was firm.
She positioned his other hand at her waist—or where her waist would be when she grew into one—and she began to hum the waltz Monsieur Beaumont had been attempting to teach them.
"Now," she said, "focus on the music. Don't think about the steps. Listen to the melody; feel the tempo.”
Felix attempted to do as she instructed, but his feet remained stubbornly clumsy, and within three bars, he'd trodden on her toes twice. Ugh. Why must a duke know how to dance?
"I'm terribly sorry," he mumbled, beads of sweat forming along his forehead. Mortification set in, and his feet refused to move.
"It's all right." Nicole's smile was bright and entirely without judgment. "Shall we try again? This time, try and look at me, not at your feet."
"I don’t—"
She squeezed his hand and ordered, "Fine, you don’t have to look at me. Simply focus on anything but your feet."
Growing up without a mother, he rarely spoke to females.
He couldn’t be certain, but he gathered he’d offended her, and so he did what Nicole ordered him to do—he focused on her and nothing else.
Her eyes were impossibly blue, and the more he studied her, the more he saw.
Nicole was full of bravery and kindness.
The tight knot in his chest began to loosen, and he inhaled deeply.
The sweet scent of honeysuckle filled his senses and lightened his mood.
She continued to hum, and this time, when she moved, he moved with her.
One step. Two. Three. Four. He was dancing!
It wasn't perfect. He still stumbled occasionally, and his timing was off more often than not.
But his dance partner never faltered, never frowned, never made him feel like the awkward, tongue-tied boy he knew himself to be.
Nicole simply smiled and hummed and danced, and somehow he managed not to make an utter fool of himself.
When the impromptu waltz ended, Reginald applauded. "Well done, brother. You didn't fall once!"
Felix barely heard his twin. His gaze remained upon Nicole, who was still holding his hand, still smiling up at him with those impossibly blue eyes.
"See?" she said. "You're not a terrible dancer. You merely needed the right partner to assist you."
He returned Nicole’s unbridled smile with one of his own.
When she let go of his hand and returned to her father’s side with a hop in her step, the knot in his chest synched once more.
Felix watched Nicole leave, flanked by his father and hers, and in that moment, she stole his heart.
Rooted to the spot, Felix was consumed by his thoughts.
Nicole makes the impossible possible. She makes me feel like I can accomplish anything—even dance.
He needed to be careful around her, keep his distance in case he became too comfortable about her, even if that meant he’d never regain his heart again.