Page 40 of Project Duchess
Grey and Beatrice moved a respectable distance apart as Gwyn stalked to the pianoforte. “My stupid brother says he has important things to do in town. That he shan’t waste any more time around here. He’s packing up right this minute!”
“The devil he is!” Aunt Lydia cried. “That boy will be the death of me yet.” She caught Gwyn by the arm. “Come with me. He’s leaving because ofyou, you know. And I’ve had enough of you two squabbling. We’re going to settle this right now.”
Halfway out the door, Aunt Lydia paused to say to Beatrice and Grey, “Keep practicing! The three of us will be back in a moment.”
“Somehow I doubt that,” Grey muttered. “Not even Mother can undo years of disagreement in a single moment.” He cast Beatrice a wry smile. “And I’m not sure how she expects us to dance with no music.” Calculation gleamed in his eyes. “You and I should just talk until they return.”
So he could ask more questions about Joshua and Uncle Armie to coax her into babbling her foolish fears? No, thank you. “If I hum the music, we could continue to practice the steps.”
“I’m not sure you need more practice.” He eyed her uncertainly, as if trying to figure out her game. “You seem to have mastered the minuet well enough to pass muster.”
“Then perhaps you could teach me another dance.”
“What do you have in mind?”
“Let me think.” She ran through all the dances she’d heard of until she hit on one. “How about ‘Jenny’s Market’?”
An odd look crossed his face. “‘Jenny’s Market’? Are you certain that’s one you wish to learn?”
“I’ve heard the dance is quite popular in high society. Do you know it?”
“I do indeed. Very well.”
ThankGod.Now she wouldn’t have to talk about Uncle Armie with him.
Although the way he’d said,I do indeed,with a hint of suspicion, gave her pause. Because now he was gazing at her with a heat in his eyes that made her heart drop into her stomach.
Uh-oh. She might have jumped from the frying pan into the fire. And she really wasn’t sure how.
Chapter Eleven
Grey had begun to think that Beatrice was as guileless as she had seemed until she’d mentioned wanting to learn “Jenny’s Market.”
Unless . . . “How do you know about ‘Jenny’s Market’? Have you ever seen it danced?”
She sighed. “I’m afraid not.”
That explained a great deal. He walked over to close the door leading to the hall. When he caught her gaping at him, he said, “Someone seeing us dance ‘Jenny’s Market’ without music could misinterpret what we’re doing, so it’s best to keep the servants from chattering. If we were wise, we’d also practice over by the pianoforte, since we’d hear anyone enter before they turned around to spot us in the musicians’ alcove.”
“Oh, dear.” Her face fell. “Then it must be quite a scandalous dance.”
“Without music, yes, it might be seen as something scandalous. In a ballroom with other couples, it’s perfectly acceptable.”
“Can I admit something to you?” she asked.
Absolutely. “We do have a bargain about saying what we think.”
“Well then, learning that the dance is scandalous sort of . . .” She leaned close and lowered her tone to a confidential murmur. “It makes me even more eager to learn it. Though I suppose it’s wicked of me to think such a thing, let alone speak it.”
His pulse beat a rapid tattoo. “Wicked? No. Let’s just say that your grandmother was right—youarea naughty saucebox. But it happens to be something I like about you.”
Her gaze sharpened on him. “Because you want to take advantage of it.”
“I’m a man.” He shrugged. “We take advantage whenever we get the chance. Remember that, when you’re in society and some fellow who’s less of a gentleman than I tries to get you alone. But scandalous or not, ‘Jenny’s Market’ is still merely a dance. If you want to learn it, I’m happy to teach it to you.”
She seemed to consider the matter. Then she squared her shoulders and met his gaze with a certain impudence. “All right. Why not?”
His pulse did an impudent dance of its own.
