Page 67 of A Virgin for the Duke of Scars
“You look as if you are a thousand miles away,” he noted when she missed her steps once more. “Tell me what you are thinking.”
“I was thinking about Margaret,” she said, which was partially true. She then paused to gather her thoughts. “I never imagined that I would have so much to learn about high society. So much has changed in such a brief period.”
“It would do you good to have some fun, then,” Aaron said. “Come, step on my feet.”
Theresa looked at him hesitantly, but he held up his arms in the frame that would hold her while they danced. She stepped closer to him and put her right hand in his and her left hand on his shoulder. He pulled her close, his hand lower on her waist than she thought was decent.
“Your feet, dear wife,” he reminded her. “You had trouble with the steps, so I will walk you through them.”
After another moment’s hesitation, she stepped as delicately as she could on his feet. He started counting the steps again, but this time, they did not have to stop for her clumsiness.
She laughed as they twirled around the room, the dance finally coming alive for her in a way it had not before. Aaron’s face seemed to light up at the sound of her laughter.
How handsome he was when he looked happy. How much she would like to see him without his mask on.
“Now that you have experienced the dance for yourself, try it on your own,” Aaron said as they came to a halt.
Theresa took a deep breath and tried to remember the sensation of moving in sync with Aaron when she was atop his feet. He guided her steps, counting slowly so that she could follow his lead.
With no memories of the convent to haunt her, she found that she could indeed remember the steps of the dance this time. She was light on her feet, with a surprising touch of grace.
“Faster this time,” Aaron urged, speeding up the steps.
They repeated the set a few times until she got the hang of the dance and could finish it several times.
Theresa collapsed into the chair in his study, trying to catch her breath. She could feel dampness at her hairline, sweat beading on her forehead from the exercise.
It was the first time she had ever broken a sweat doing something she enjoyed so much, apart from riding. Before, the only strenuous activities she partook in were chores.
Now, she felt nothing but exhilaration at her mastery of the dance.
“Do you think I will be able to handle myself well at a party when I have had so little practice?” She asked as her breathing evened out.
“I think you will do just fine, dear wife,” Aaron replied. “May I say that you are quite graceful when you want to be?”
“Thank you.” Theresa smiled. “Not just for teaching me, but for letting me steal you when you wanted time alone. I know thatyour rule was that I should never set foot in the tower, but I needed you.”
“You should not apologize for wanting to spend time with your husband.”
“All the same, I have enjoyed our afternoon together, and I am sorry that you did not get to enjoy your bath.” She paused and took him in. He was sweating just as much as she was. “All of this exercise and the heat in this study cannot be good for your scars.”
“You should not concern yourself with them,” he assured her.
Theresa was already reaching for his hand, refusing to take no for an answer. She thought about what might make him more comfortable and alleviate the discomfort from his mask, even for a little while. She would make him a poultice to put on his scars before she drew him a fresh bath.
They walked into the kitchen, which was blessedly empty of the cook and maids. Theresa was grateful to prolong their time together for a little while.
She was thrilled that she might finally see beneath his mask, the one thing holding them back from true intimacy.
Without a word, she started to dig through the cabinets in search of the ingredients she needed for the poultice she had learned tomake at the convent. She found honey and the other ingredients and mixed them in a small bowl with her fingers.
When she was finished, her fingers were sticky with honey, and she licked them clean.
“Where did you learn this?” Aaron asked as she sat beside him at the table.
“At the convent. Sister Edith taught me how to make it,” she answered. “She used to put it on my… scars. To help me.”
Aaron’s eyes flashed beneath his mask, a frown on the lower half of his face not obscured by the mask. The joy vanished from his face at the mention of her life in the convent, something she was certain she had never seen.
