Page 23 of To Tame the Wild Rake
Still, she was a graceful dancer, which beguiled the minutes until he was able to deliver her back to her chaperone with thanks for her company.
Then, at last, it was time for the supper dance. Thanks to a heavy dollop of charm to the hostess and a bribe to the musicians, it was a waltz. Possibly a mistake, since holding Charlotte in his arms struck Aldridge speechless for several minutes.
Aldridge gathered himself when he realised that Charlotte was stiff and awkward, holding herself as far apart from him as the dance allowed, her hand trembling in his. It occurred to him then that he had never seen her waltz.
How could he put her at ease? She broke the silence before he found the right words. “Does your burn pain you?”
A teasing smile might lighten the mood. “I am well, my lady, but pleased to know you are concerned for me.”
She lifted her eyebrows, fixing him with an admonishing glare. “Do not make light of it, Aldridge. Of course, I am concerned.” Her eyes slipped sideways, focusing somewhere over his shoulder. “Our mothers are friends.”
“We are friends,” he dared to insist. “You came to me for help, remember.”
She stiffened still further. For a moment, he thought he had pushed her too far. Then she relaxed a little, sweeping into the next figure of the dance with more ease than she had shown so far. “Yes, I suppose we are.” Her smile was a benediction. “Have I thanked you, Aldridge? I do thank you.”
He had been prepared to argue his case, and her sudden capitulation took his wits away, but he gathered them in the next turn, saying, “I served my family, Lady Charlotte. Tony is a Haverford responsibility.”
She shook her head. “You came immediately, without questions, without knowing what I wanted. I will never forget.” The colour rose in her face, hinting that the situation in which she’d found him was part of what she would not forget. Aldridge was very tempted to probe that tender memory, but he’d be a fool to risk their truce.
“I will always come without question,” he assured her, only hearing the more salacious meaning after he’d said the words. Fortunately, the lady merely gifted him with another smile.
Charlotte seldom waltzed. She loved dancing, but the waltz required too much touching, too much trust in her partner. She hated being at the mercy of a larger stronger male beast, and if she had known that the supper dance would be a waltz, she would never have agreed to Aldridge’s invitation.
But they were on the floor before the music began, and she could not leave without embarrassing Aldridge, so she gritted her teeth and stayed.
At first, he had been silent, and she had been waiting to suppress the usual sense of panic. But it didn’t come, and she relaxed enough to start talking. And then still further.
For the first time in her life, she was enjoying the waltz; enjoying being in the arms of a man. This man. Aldridge was a masterful dancer, but they were partners in the dance. He led, but he didn’t haul her around. He indicated his intention with the lightest of touches, and she chose to follow.
Would he be like that in bed? The thought shocked her, not so much for its impropriety as for how unusual it was. She never had thoughts like that. She would never have a chance to find out. She wasnotdisappointed at that fact. Was she?
Inevitably, the dance drew to an end. From the raised dais where the musicians sat, their host called for the guests’ attention, saying that the Lords Tremaway and Lechton had an announcement to make. The Earl of Lechton was Bentham’s father. Aldridge and Charlotte were at the far end of the ballroom, with a crowd between them and the three lords on the dais. Even standing on tiptoes, Charlotte couldn’t see them, but she had a bad feeling about this.
“Excuse me,” she told Aldridge. “I have to find Sarah and Lord Bentham.”
“They went into the supper room,” Aldridge told her, offering his arm and leading the way along the side of the ballroom, forging a path with polite words and taps on obdurate shoulders.There they are.Sarah and Bentham had just emerged from the door leading to the supper room. Sarah stopped, her eyes on the crowd. Bentham dived into it as Lord Lechton continued to ramble on about family heritage and the importance of securing the succession.
Charlotte let go of Aldridge’s arm and slipped her own around Sarah’s waist. “Do you know what is going on?”
Drew and Uncle James came up on Sarah’s other side. Whatever Lechton was up to, Sarah had the support of her family. The four of them moved back away from the crowd, to improve their view of the dais, and Aldridge followed.
Tremaway took over from Lechton, announcing the betrothal of his daughter to Bentham. Charlotte cast Sarah a concerned look as Uncle James murmured in her ear. Charlotte couldn’t hear what Sarah replied—the assembled guests were talking and clapping—but she looked irritated rather than angry or mortified.
Then Bentham’s voice was raised at storm strength, shouting, “No.” In the silence that followed, everyone in the ballroom must have been able to hear him deny any knowledge of the betrothal and refuse to be part of it. “My word is already given elsewhere.”
The disputants moved to another room and Lady Framington announced supper.
Since Sarah had no wish to be part of the gossip that would spread from this ballroom like wildfire throughout the ton, the Winshire party decided to go home. Aldridge was hovering, and Charlotte took a moment to speak to him while Drew was ordering the carriage.
“I am sorry. I was looking forward to having supper with you.”
He smiled: not the Merry Marquis’s charming and practised smirk, or the watchful but gracious spread of the lips with which he wooed his business contacts. Not even the indulgent look he kept for the youngest of the wallflowers and the oldest of the dowagers. No, this was the tender expression he turned only on his sisters, but with something extra. Something she didn’t understand.
“Look after your sister, Cherry. You can owe me supper another time. I’ll remind you. May I call on Tony tomorrow?”
Charlotte agreed, and allowed him to take her hand, lift it and mime a kiss just above the gloved fingers. She then hurried after her family. She struggled to listen to Sarah’s story in the carriage on the way home and later in their private sitting room. Her thoughts were on trying to understand what it meant: that dance, that smile, the old nickname he had given her during their illicit afternoons together when she was turning sixteen.
Illicit but innocent. Aldridge had been drunk. He’d been enjoying the favours of most of the women at Rockford’s house party, on the estate next to Applemorn. But for some reason, he’d treated the girl he met at the pond on the border between the two estates with courtesy, respect, and affection.
