Page 19 of Sinful Persuasion of a Lady in the Making
Chapter Eight
They rose in silence and he led her through the garden and back inside, then to the dance floor, where other couples already lined up. They took up position just as the waltz started up, and they almost rushed to find their starting point.
That made her chuckle, their seeming ineptitude a refreshing change from the rigid order and strict rules of society life. Still, they found their way, he with a hand around his waist, her with one on his shoulder. They stood close, enticingly so. It was not quite as close Lord Frederick had pulled her, and yet she felt closer to Lord Hartwood than she ever had to that brute.
He smiled at her as they began to twirl, his lips twisting into a conspiratorial smile that told Jenny he understood her reticence with this world. That they were in this together. His hand felt warm but dry, his palm soft and his nails well clipped. And he moved her perfectly in time, his movements smooth and swift, a dancer of some experience, no doubt.
She held her breath, telling herself not to swoon.
I’ve only just met him, for goodness sake!
And yet, she found it difficult not to. The sight of him took her breath away, the shards of blue in his eyes mesmerizing. And the shape of his body… she tried not to look but her eye was drawn to the bulging muscles beneath his tailcoat.
She looked over his shoulder, so firm and solid beneath her hand, her avoidance of his gaze so different from her avoidance of Lord Frederick’s. Now, she couldn’t look Lord Hartwood in the eye for fear of falling into his arms and pleading with him to whisk her away from this circus.
“You dance very well, considering this is your first ball,” he said, a mischievous eyebrow raised.
“What?” she asked, drawn back to him from her daydreams. “Oh, yes, thank you. I’ve been taking lessons.”
“Are you all right?” he asked, chuckling as he tried to catch her eye.
“Quite,” she said, gushing the words as she licked her lips. “Perfectly, in fact.”
She was more perfectly all right than she had ever been. Jenny could barely contain her joy at their dance—at meeting him, even. It had turned what had been a dreadful evening into one that perhaps wasn’t so bad, after all.
“You are different,” she said, finally allowing herself to look at him, to take in the long and well-groomed sideburns that ran along the sides of his face, the freckles that danced across his nose.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“From the other gentlemen,” she explained. “You seem… good, for want of a better word.”
She had distrusted noblemen for as long as she could remember, and to find one that she liked and could, maybe, learn to trust, was a revelation. Lord Hartwood was a good man, she was not lying when she said that, and from the proud grin that spread across his cheeks, she suspected he hadn’t heard those words often.
“Why, thank you,” he said, his tone showing his genuine pleasure. “I’m afraid it is not often that I am told so.”
So wondered at that, such an odd statement to make, but she didn’t want to pry. She suspected she had done too much of that already, and she had no desire to ruin what was swiftly becoming a perfect evening by learning something she wouldn’t like.
They turned once more, his arm gently pressing into her waist to guide her, strong and masculine, protective and confident. She felt a tingle rush through her, starting at his touch and radiating out across her whole body. She wanted to gasp at the feeling but she swallowed it down, refusing to let it surface.
But there it came again. It felt, to Jenny, like ripples or pinpricks, all over her flesh. She wanted more of it, for him to touch her in different places and make her shudder with the sensation. She wanted to feel his embrace, and perhaps those soft, plump lips caressing her own.
She shook her head, forcing the images away. In her new life, she was not meant to think of such things, for ladies did not. Jenny almost snorted.
Of course they do. They’re just not allowed to admit it.
She looked at him and smiled once more, determined to focus on the moment, instead of letting her mind wander, but he looked a little concerned about something, his brows furrowed and his lips twisted.
“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” Lord Hartwood said. “But it appears we have quite the audience.”
He was right.
All around them, couples had stopped dancing or had gathered at the side of the ballroom floor to watch them with interest. Once again, fans were raised to hide gossiping mouths, or gentlemen leaned into each other to talk quietly, eyeing them up and down.
Jenny inhaled sharply, all at once stiff and alert.
“Keep your smile,” Lord Hartwood whispered to her through his own stiff smile. He eyes, once bright with happiness, had dulled with the sight of the other guests. “Ignore their stares. Stay tall and straight and don’t stop dancing.”
“But—”
