Page 68 of A Spinster for the Cold Duke

“Then I will have to be stronger than my desires,” she said finally.

Joanna reached across the space between them and squeezed her hand. “Whatever you decide, whatever happens, you know that I will be here for you. You are not alone in this, Annabelle. Whatever comes, we will face it together.”

“Thank you,” she whispered. Her voice grew thick with unshed tears. “I fear I may need that support more than I care to admit.”

CHAPTER 24

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Lady Celia!” Lady Oakley’s exasperated voice carried across the parlor as Annabelle approached the doorway. “You must lead with confidence, not merely shuffle about like you’re avoiding stepping on eggs!”

Annabelle paused at the threshold, clutching Emma’s letter and the small painted beach scene that had arrived that morning. Through the doorway, she observed Henry attempting to guide his daughter through what appeared to be the most torturous waltz in London’s recent memory.

“Papa, I’m sorry!” Celia’s voice was tight with mortification as she stumbled backward, her slippers finding his polished boots with unerring accuracy. “I don’t know why my feet won’t cooperate!”

“Perhaps,” Henry said through gritted teeth, his jaw visibly clenched as he maintained his composure, “we might consider a different approach to this particular lesson.”

Lady Oakley threw her hands up in theatrical despair. “Different approach? My lord, dancing is not a mathematical equation to be solved through alternative methods. It requires grace, rhythm, and—oh!” Her sharp eyes caught sight of Annabelle hovering in the doorway. “Annabelle! Perfect timing, my dear. Come in, come in.”

Annabelle stepped reluctantly into the room, keenly aware of Henry’s immediate attention shifting to her presence. The memory of their last encounter flooded her senses—his mouth on hers and then…on her most intimate place.

“Grandmama,” she managed, her voice carefully neutral. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“Nonsense! You’re precisely what we need.” Lady Oakley gestured toward the father and daughter who had mercifully ceased their awkward attempts at choreography. “Lady Celia requires a proper demonstration of how a waltz should appear when performed correctly. Perhaps you would be so kind as to partner with His Grace?”

“I’m certain Lady Celia would benefit more from your expertise,” Annabelle deflected, though her pulse quickened at the suggestion. “Surely you could demonstrate?—”

“My joints are positively screaming today,” Lady Oakley declared while pressing a dramatic hand to her lower back. “The dampness, you understand. Besides, you and His Grace danced so beautifully at the Southall ball, did you not? I heard several ladies remarking upon it.”

Celia’s eyes widened with sudden excitement. “You danced together? At Lord Southall’s ball?” She turned to her father with an expression of pure delight. “Papa, you didn’t tell me anything of the sort!”

Henry straightened. His posture became even more rigid than usual, but Annabelle could see his ears begin to turn red. “Must I tell you every single thing I do?” he said simply, though his gaze never left Annabelle’s face and his eyes intently tracked her every move. “Miss Lytton was kind enough to accept my invitation.”

“Oh, how wonderful!” Celia clapped her hands together. “Was it terribly romantic? Did you?—”

“Perhaps,” Annabelle interrupted quickly, stepping forward before the girl could launch into more enthusiastic inquiries, “we should focus on the lesson at hand.” She set Emma’s letter carefully on a nearby table and turned to face Henry. “Shall we demonstrate the basic steps?”

The Duke was ever so eager to comply with her request, and Annabelle willed herself to ignore the memory of that night at the ball as it kept pushing itself to the forefront.

She could not lose her senses here.

But the moment his hand touched her waist, Annabelle felt her carefully constructed defenses begin to crumble. The warmth of his palm seemed to burn through the fabric of her dress, and when his other hand captured hers, the memory of those samefingers touching her in far more intimate places made her breath catch.

“Remember,” Lady Oakley instructed from her position near the window, “the gentleman must lead with authority while the lady responds with grace. Watch how they move together—see how natural it appears when done properly.”

Henry’s eyes never left hers as they began to move, and Annabelle found herself lost in the familiar rhythm of the waltz. But this was different from that night at the ball, more intimate somehow and perplexing. There was something about the way he held her, the subtle pressure of his fingers, and the heat radiating from his body as they turned together in perfect synchronization that awakened all her senses.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, so quietly that only she could hear. “You’re beautiful.”

The compliment sent a shiver through her that had nothing to do with the temperature of the room. She could feel herself melting into his embrace. Her body remembered the exquisite pleasure he had given her just nights before.

The way his mouth had worshipped her, the things he had whispered against her skin, and the overwhelming sensation of being completely and utterly consumed by him…

But then Celia’s delighted giggle penetrated the haze of desire, and reality crashed back with brutal force.

This was Henry’s daughter watching them, learning from them. This was the girl whose future could be destroyed if anyone discovered what had transpired between Annabelle and her father.

Annabelle stiffened abruptly and pulled back from Henry’s embrace with such sudden force that he nearly stumbled.

“There,” she said, her voice admirably steady despite the chaos in her chest. “You see how it’s done, Lady Celia. The key is to trust your partner and allow the music to guide your movements.”

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