Page 33 of How to Seduce a Duke this Autumn
Adam held out his hand. “We’re going to try the jump.”
“The what?” Charlene’s voice lifted, incredulous.
“You know,” he said, tilting his head. “A lift. Like in that Spanish-style dancing. Bolero, it’s called. Very dramatic. Very impressive.” He clapped his hands once, the sound startling in the stillness. “And very fun.”
Charlene arched a brow.
“If you master this, Charlene, you can master any dance.”
“A shortcut to mastering rhythm then?” She narrowed her gaze and considered the matter.
Adam’s eyes lit up as he began to explain. “It’s a Spanish dance that my mother taught me when I was a boy. Lively, full of rhythm. You’ve got the dramatic arm movements, quick footwork, and sometimes they use castanets to keep the beat. It’s as if…” He paused, swirling his free hand in the air as if summoning the spirit of the dance itself. “Elegant, but with a fire underneath. Quite theatrical.”
Charlene cocked her head, intrigued. “And they do lifts in it?”
“Well, not always,” Adam admitted, grinning. “But I think we can make our own version, to round off the dance lesson I promised you?” He held out his hand again with a playful flourish.
She stared at him. “Please tell me you’re not serious.”
“Completely serious.” He gestured to the pile again. “That’s why I raked together the leaves. They’re for you… to be safe. Should you, you know, misstep.”
“Is this what you meant with your goading to practice?”
“Practice starts with fun.”
Fun.
Was this fun? And safe? “It’s like you know I always misstep,” she muttered. In life and otherwise… “I always do.”
“So, I’ll keep you safe when you misstep again.”
Again. There it was. She was a clumsy dancer, and the leaves were to cushion them from her missteps. The entire charade at the park was a misstep. It would be better to return home, would it not?
Charlene opened her mouth, then closed it again, at a rare and temporary loss for words. “Adam,” she managed finally, “if anyone saw us out here…” If she gave in…
“They won’t.” He glanced at the leaves, his grin spreading. “The Ton’s still asleep. It’s just you, me, and, well, an impressive half-crackle underfoot.”
The half-crackle inside her chest grew into a rolling thunder.
Very well.
She wanted to jump.
“You’re impossible.”
“Leaves are meant to be impossibly jumped into when raked into this fabulous mattress.”
Impossible.
Charlene shook her head, biting her lip to keep from laughing as he flicked the leaf from his finger. Very well. What was a jump into leaves? It certainly wouldn’t hurt. And for whatever reason, he equated this to her missteps.
So he remembered that they jumped on mattresses as children—all those years ago seemed like yesterday when he smiled at her so.
“Two…”
Charlene placed her hand gingerly in his, feeling the warmth of his skin, so sure, so steady. He guided her other hand to rest on his shoulder, his fingers brushing the curve of her wrist with an ease that felt practiced, intimate. The slight pressure of his palm against hers anchored her while the back of her neck prickled with awareness.
“Three,” Adam said softly, though he didn’t move right away. Instead, his gaze dropped to her feet, then flicked back to her face. “Feet first. Always the feet.”
