Between a Rake and a Hard Place (24 page)

To dance with someone is to perceive their estimation of their own worth. The care with which one places a foot in order to achieve the best affect can reveal a good deal about the dancer. How one comports oneself on the ballroom floor mirrors one's station in life.

To waltz with someone, on the other hand, is to realize that the eyes are indeed the window to the soul and unless one is very careful, one is likely to tumble hopelessly through the open sash.

From
Le Dernier Mot,

The Final Word on News That Everyone
Who Is Anyone Should Know

“I must thank Lady Lysandra sometime,” Jonah said as he led Serena onto the floor.

“Why? She doesn't like you a bit, you know.”

“That much is obvious. But I wasn't sure you'd accept my invitation. Telling you that you mustn't dance with me was the best way to ensure that you would.”

Serena laughed as he folded her into the promenade position so that they were joined hip to hip. Even in this hold, the waltz required them to maintain eye contact. “You obviously know too much about me.”

“And yet not as much as I'd like.” He'd sounded so cold toward her at the castle ruins. There was plenty of heat in his gaze now.

Which was the real Jonah?

“I didn't know you could dance,” Serena said, a little breathless at being so close to him in public. Surely the other guests could hear her heart pounding and sense the way her insides cavorted about like a drunken faery.

“I can do many things that you don't know about.” His voice rustled over her, deep and stirring with promise. He led her through an under arm-turn and snuggled her against his hip again, though this time they faced opposite directions. They moved slowly, one step per measure in a small circle. “Where did you learn to waltz?”

“At school after the headmistress called for lights out. Though I must confess when I danced it with Lysandra, there was a good deal more giggling involved.”

He smiled down at her. “I imagine there was.”

The man had seen her naked and yet she'd never felt quite so bare before him as she did now when she was required to look into his eyes without respite before a roomful of people. Jonah turned her in his arms and they began the slow circles facing each other. The ballroom became a blur of color at the edges of her vision. The many candelabras turned into vibrant pinwheels of light.

Every bit of her was intensely aware of each place their bodies touched. The brush of her breasts against his chest set the tips aching. His hand at her waist was so warm, she felt the heat of him through the layers of fabric separating them. They moved together to the music and it reminded her of how they'd moved together in other more intimate ways. His lead was so firm, she had no chance to stumble or mistake where the dance was heading. He turned her as he willed, and she melted in his arms.

And always there were his eyes—those deep green eyes. They were flecked with gold, she realized, and fringed with lashes as dark as his brows. And behind them, there was the man.

His eyes were saying what his lips never had.

He wanted her. That wasn't in the least doubt, but there seemed to be more there as well.

Was that love in his gaze? Surely it was. She couldn't be imagining it. There was such tenderness on his features, much more than she'd have expected of someone who'd led such a life as his, one devoid of any softness or ease. And she seemed to hear a question he hadn't given voice.

Couldn't, he'd said at the castle.

Why
ever
not?
she wondered. Serena had received plenty of proposals during her first Season and they weren't all from men the ton considered eligible. Was it only the difference in their stations that kept Jonah from asking for her hand?

“I was thinking today of an old saying,” she began.

“Let me guess.” The warmth in his gaze was replaced by an inquisitive glint. “‘A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush'?”

“No.” She hadn't intended to turn this into a guessing game. “It's—”

“‘Don't count your chickens before they hatch.' Funny that so many old sayings involve feathers, isn't it?” There was no need for him to whisper. It wasn't as if they were saying anything that shouldn't be overheard, but something about the intimacy of the waltz seemed to require it.

“No, that's not it,” she hissed in frustration. He was completely spoiling the romantic mood of the dance. “And in any case, I don't mean for you to guess.”

“Oh. My apologies. Perhaps you'd better tell me then.” This time he bent his head so he could whisper directly into her ear. His warm breath washing down her neck sent shivers of wicked sensation over her skin. The romance was definitely back. “What were you thinking?”

She leaned into him a bit as they executed another turn. “I was thinking about how a ‘cat may look at a king.'”

He raised his head and frowned down at her. “And you're the cat in this scenario.”

Drat.
Well, she supposed she could see how he might have thought that, seeing as how a royal duke was only a few heartbeats from being a king. “No, I'm not the cat.”

“Am I the king then?” he asked with a beaming smile.

She wanted to tell him it didn't matter who was the cat or who was the king. The saying meant that in some instances, differences in station truly made no difference at all. That if he were hesitating because she was the daughter of a marquis and he a mere baronet, he should realize it didn't matter to her a snippet. If he asked her, she'd say—

“Well, am I?” he prompted. “Or does the proverbial cat have your tongue?”

She rolled her eyes at him. “Yes, Jonah. You're the king.”

“Good. That's all I wanted to hear.”

She clamped her lips shut.

“You're upset,” he guessed, an amused grin still tugging at his mouth. “Why?”

“Because you're being purposely silly and this is not the way a waltz is supposed to be.”

“All right. Since we've exhausted all other possibilities, in this metaphor you must have considered yourself the king and me the cat. And as far has how a waltz is supposed to be…” His smile faded and a smoldering look replaced it. “Would you rather hear how I want to pull out all your pins and shake the stars from your hair?”

She sucked in a quick breath as she imagined him doing just that.

“Or how I'd love to take my time peeling off all the layers of your clothing till you're standing before me in naught but your skin?”

Her skin prickled rosily at the thought.

“Do you want to hear how your scent is making me crowd my trousers?”

She stumbled and missed a step, but he waltzed on, carrying her with him, his glorious male hardness brushing her belly with each turning dip.

“How I want to taste and touch and torment every inch of you?”

She seemed to feel his mouth on her, licking the crease of her elbow, the curve of her breast, the dimple on her knee. Her cheeks were so hot, she was sure the entire company must be able to see her blush and wonder what he was saying to cause it.

“Do you want to hear me say I love you, Serena?”

Yes, God in heaven, yes, she wanted that. She'd never wanted anything more, but her tongue seemed stuck. She couldn't speak a word. The way one of the muscles ticked in his cheek was a warning she couldn't ignore.

Then suddenly she realized the music had stopped and she and Jonah coasted to a graceful halt as well. He made no move to release her from the dance hold.

“Sometimes, my lady,” he said softly, “a cat doesn't dare look at a king. And not because the cat doesn't wish to, but because he mustn't. Good evening.”

He executed a perfectly correct bow and turned and left her standing on the dance floor.

***

“The evening went incredibly well,” Amelia said as she and Eleanor fluttered around Serena, two busy bees trying to prop up a drooping blossom. The maid plucked out the gemstones from Serena's coiffure while Amelia counted them and stored them back in their velvet-lined case. “As well as could be expected, in any case.”

Since
the
royal
duke
wasn't here
hung unspoken in the air. Serena sighed at her reflection in the vanity mirror and stifled a yawn. It was nearly half past two in the morning and she was far too weary to fret over the Duke of Kent. She was more upset about Jonah's abandonment on the dance floor. And his cryptic turnabout of the cat saying…what on earth was that about?

Not
because
the
cat
doesn't wish to.
Did he mean he was holding himself at arm's length for
her
sake? Why didn't the man just say what he meant?

“I understand we raised a healthy sum for the orphans,” Amelia said. “The marquis seemed pleased.”

Serena nodded absently, imagining how different it would be if Jonah were plucking the jewels from her hair now. He'd gather her hair in one fist and tip back her head so he could ravish her neck and—

“You met a goodly number of new people too, I collect,” Amelia prodded, yanking her out of her increasingly naughty musings.

Time
to
throw
her
a
bone.
After all, Amelia hadn't been allowed to go to the ball or even the midnight supper that followed. “Yes, I met the Warringtons and the Coltons. Oh, and that Mr. Alcock you mentioned before.” Serena had suffered through a hitching, stumble-footed mazurka with the man. “For a thin fellow he perspires dreadfully.”

“I noticed. His handkerchief must have been positively dripping after the reel. I gather Mr. Alcock is an all around unpleasant person off the dance floor as well,” Amelia said, then turned to Eleanor once the last of the bejeweled pins was stored safely away. “I'll see to Lady Serena now. You may go.”

Eleanor bobbed a reflexive curtsey and nodded sleepily. “Yes, mum, thank you kindly.”

Once the door closed behind the maid, Serena met Amelia's gaze in the mirror. “How do you know about Mr. Alcock's dancing?”

“I was watching from the balcony behind the musicians.”

“I still say it wasn't right for you to be excluded. Father should be ashamed of himself.”

“Nonsense. I was exactly where I needed to be. Someone had to keep the pianist from drinking himself silly. Up you get.” Amelia prompted Serena to stand so she could unhook the long row of seed pearl buttons that marched down her spine. “However, you were not where you needed to be all night.”

“Oh?” She'd only fled to the retiring room once and that was when Mr. Alcock's name popped up on her dance card for a second time.

“That waltz with Sir Jonah, Serena.” Amelia's voice was tight and Serena knew her lips were pressed into a thin line of censure. “It was…ill-advised.”

“It was only a dance.”

Amelia finished unbuttoning the gown with more force than was warranted. A couple of the seed pearls plinked on the hardwood. “With a completely ineligible fellow.”

“Again. Only a dance. And if I danced only with fellows you and Father deem eligible, I'd be a hopeless wallflower.” Serena peeled off the gown, letting the silk slide down her arms and pool on the floor. She closed her eyes and imagined Jonah was doing it. A small fire sparked in her lower belly.

“You know what I mean, Serena. You and Sir Jonah were talking to each other during the waltz far more than the other dancers. What was he saying to you to make you blush so?”

Her eyes popped open. “Was I? I can't think why. Maybe I overexerted myself and you mistook it for a blush.”

Amelia raised a skeptical brow and picked up the discarded gown.

“If you must know,” Serena said, “we were talking about old sayings. Proverbs and such.”

“Well, that sounds harmless enough.” Amelia hung the gown up in Serena's wardrobe, smoothing a hand over the silken panels. “He didn't…push himself forward, did he?”

“Did he make passionate love to me on the dance floor with dozens of people looking on? Is that what you're asking?”

“Serena! What an unmaidenly thing to say.”

Jonah had made her feel pretty unmaidenly. He made her feel unsettled and dissatisfied and as if something had to happen soon or she'd burst out of her skin. But the stricken look on Amelia's face made her take a deep breath and bite back what she was thinking.

“Nothing untoward happened between Sir Jonah and me on the dance floor. We danced a scandalous dance, I'll admit, but it was over quickly and in full view of the entire company. So how scandalous could it actually be?”

Amelia sighed and gave her a quick hug. “Oh my dear, you really are an innocent.”

She helped Serena out of her stays and into her night rail, chattering about plans for lawn bowling, an archery tournament, and a picnic on the grounds for tomorrow. “And if the royal duke's courier arrives in the afternoon as your father expects that he will, there will be an announcement at supper.”

A prickle of apprehension shuddered down Serena's spine. “An announcement of what?”

“Your betrothal, of course. The marquis says all the particulars have been agreed to and the solicitors are drawing up the final documents.”

Serena's breath hissed over her teeth.

“That's right, my darling girl. It's going to happen.” Amelia gave her a longer hug, patting her hair with a free hand. “I can't wait to see the expressions on the faces of those who doubted you would ever become a royal. Mark my words. Every guest who snickered over the fact that the duke did not arrive for the ball or sent you pitying looks this evening will be standing in line to lick the sole of your slipper by tomorrow night.”