Page 21 of How to Seduce a Duke this Autumn
Her hesitation spread like ripples across water, visible only for a breath before she lifted her chin and placed her gloved hand in his. Without a word, Adam led her to the floor, trying hard not to grip her hand tightly and run for the doors. It was all he could do not to groan at her fingers’ light pressure and the faint lavender wafting from her skin.
Oh, how he’d missed her scent.
He turned to her, offering her an assured nod as they positioned themselves for the music. The first strain began, a waltz that swelled with lush, lilting rhythms, and they moved.
She still hadn’t said a word.
Actually, thinking of it, Adam had never danced with Charlene more than once before. They’d been at countless gatherings together over the years—at least before this past year.And then he had taken a step back when she showed interest only in his brother.
It was clear within the moments that the waltz started that she was no trained dancer. Her body fought against the natural fluidity of the steps, as though coiled too tightly to give over to the music. She moved stiffly, her feet catching now and again on imaginary threads of the polished floor. The awkwardness should have annoyed him—it usually did—but instead it fascinated him.
She was a blank page with uncharted potential.
Was she really not going to utter a word to him?
He could tell that she was trying very hard not to, just as she was trying hard to keep up with him in the dance. The verbs of Latin, Adam thought, biting back a smile.She’s dancing like I once conjugated amicus, amica, amicum.Painfully methodical.
He couldn’t take it anymore. He chuckled.
Her eyes instantly shot to his, narrowing beneath her mask.
She was endearingly full of contradictions. Her dress—scandalously cut compared to the sea of pastel silks and cream flounces surrounding her—suggested she knew how to play the dangerous game of allure. The deep-green fabric hugged her waist, flaring to emphasize the tempting length of those legs hidden beneath layers of skirts. The mask, though simple, framed high cheekbones and a soft mouth that Adam couldn’t help but notice as her lips pressed together. It prompted the urge to tease her, to get her to respond. To say something. Anything. “I would have thought that a woman dressed so strikingly,” he mused, “would be able to dance well.”
She arched a brow, her lips curving in a faint, almost teasing smile. “I dance tolerably well.”
He chuckled low, the sound warm enough to brush against her skin. “And modestly, too, I see.”
“Why did you ask me to dance, Lord Rotheworth?”
“Ah,” he said lightly, though his gaze lingered on hers a heartbeat too long, “so Lady Charlene recognized me after all.”
“It’s difficult not to,” she replied, just above a whisper. Then, after a pause, she added, “You knew me as well.”
“As you pointed out,” he said, his voice softer now, “some things are impossible to miss.” Then, almost imperceptibly, he pulled her closer. She stiffened at first, but when her eyes searched his with a flicker of surprise, the corner of his mouth lifted in quiet amusement. “Although it seems your dancing could use some refinement.”
She averted her gaze, clearly intent on masking the sudden flush at her cheeks. “Flawless footwork has never been my ambition.”
“Allow me, then,” he murmured, his tone touched with mischief, “to instruct you.”
Her head angled sharply in his direction, her eyes narrowing as though seeking to uncover the hidden motive in his words. “And why,” she asked cautiously, “would you do such a thing?”
For a moment, he faltered, his usual easy confidence slipping into something unguarded. “Perhaps,” he said finally, a softness entering his voice, “I miss what we once had.”
“What was it?” she asked without looking at him, and her mask didn’t hide the blush creeping up her face.
“Friendship. Trust.” Adam swallowed hard. “Perhaps a past strong enough to warrant a future?”
“Is this what you call a polite gesture, Your Grace?” she asked, her voice low enough to keep their exchange from curious ears. “Forcing your company upon me under the cover of civility?”
“A truce, perhaps?”Was there such a thing as a truce for avoiding one another?He tilted his head just slightly, drawing her close as they began to move. “Would you rather I called it an honor, instead?”
Honor?
Charlene narrowed her gaze, but he smiled—she could tell even under the mask, from the way his mask shifted, and his forehead wrinkled.
Her heart skipped a beat, though her steps were seamless. “I would rather you hadn’t called it anything at all.”
“Perhaps,” he murmured, his tone unreadable, “but then I would have missed the pleasure of this moment.”
