‘I do mean it. I seem to recall you dancing beautifully in London.’
‘You will find me a poor partner unless it is the Roger de Coverley at the end. The last time I took lessons was five years ago and I am certain the figures will have changed.’
‘I have a plan to deal with your lack of knowledge.’
‘You do?’ Diana started to re arrange the brushes in the water pot—smallest on the left, largest to the right. Everything correct and in its place. Simply because she had abandoned her caps did not mean she had abandoned her reason or her rules.
‘I shall teach you to waltz. You and I are going to dance a waltz together at the ball.’
‘A waltz?’ Diana swallowed hard and concentrated very hard on the middle brush, the one she had used for the red of the final rose. ‘I have no idea how to waltz.’
‘I suspected that. It is why I am here.’ He held out his hands. ‘I plan to educate you on the finer points of the waltz.’
‘You must be joking. I won’t waltz.’
‘But you agreed, Miss Diana. You agreed to dance with me at the ball.’ His voice was smooth, but there was a steely determination. ‘Unless you want me to choose another forfeit, a forfeit more suited to a wager between a man and a woman. You were the one who lost the wager. It is up to me to name the terms.’
‘You wouldn’t dare.’
‘Try me.’
Diana backed away, looking about her. ‘But where are you going to teach me to dance?’
‘Here will prove adequate for my purposes.’ He held out his hands. ‘My expertise is at your disposal. You do not want to look foolish in front of the Honourable Miranda and the Ladywell gentry, do you?’
Diana put her hand to her throat. ‘With you? Alone? In the summer house? There will not be space for more than a few steps.’
‘A few steps will be all you need.’ He quickly moved the table out of the centre of the room before placing his coat, hat, gloves and cane on it. ‘There, you see—lots of space.’
‘There must be a thousand reasons why I should refuse. It is a highly improper suggestion.’ Diana squared her shoulders and took a deep breath of air. Tried to think something else besides how Brett looked clad only in his shirt sleeves. ‘I would be dancing unchaperoned.’
‘And one reason to do it.’ Brett’s voice became the merest whisper.
‘What is that reason?’
‘The very best.’ He paused. His bare hand touched her shoulder. A shiver went down her back at its warmth. ‘Because you want to. Because you desire it.’
‘I think it is probably the worst reason.’ She backed away.
‘It will be perfectly acceptable. Have I done anything untoward? Behaved improperly?’ He inclined his head. ‘Come with me, take a risk.’
Diana kept her hand firmly at her side, concentrated on filling her lungs with air and then releasing it. The action appeared to steady the muzzy feeling in her head. ‘I fail to see when I would need to know how to dance the waltz. It is a point less exercise.’
‘The dance is all the rage on the Continent.’
‘Napoleon is all the rage there as well,’ she returned quickly, ignoring the tingling that ran through her body. ‘Does this mean we shall have him here as well?’
His face sobered. ‘He will lose. His reign will come to an end—sooner or later. But I speak of dancing, not politics—an infinitely preferable subject when conversing with ladies. You will not get around me that easily. To the matter at hand—your waltzing lesson.’
‘Sometimes, dancing and politics appear to be the same thing.’
He laughed, a rich deep laugh that circled around her and lapped at her senses. ‘Touché, Diana Clare, I know why I like you. You always argue your corner and counsel the sensible action. You are…unexpected.’
‘And this is a bad thing?’ Diana tilted her head, trying to assess his mood. He seemed intent on teasing, rather than seducing. She breathed slightly easier.
‘When taken to extremes, but I think there is hope for you yet.’
‘I shall take it as a compliment.’
‘Will you take your lesson like a well-brought-up lady?’ He leant towards her and lowered his voice. ‘Or do you wish to display your ignorance in front of Miss Bolt and her mother? I over heard Miss Bolt proclaiming that there would be a waltz at the ball. She seeks to prove a point, I believe.’
Diana pressed her lips together. The scheme sounded like one of Miranda Bolt’s. And no doubt she and her cronies would be the only women on the floor who could actually dance it correctly. She could hear the giggles and the small pitying sighs. He was right. It would be fun to wipe the smirks off their faces.
‘I have trusted you this far. I will trust that you waltz like a gentleman.’
Brett looked down at the pale oval of Diana’s face and willed her to stay. It was not deception. He would not do anything that she did not want to, but she would waltz with him at the ball and he was determined that she would not make a fool out of herself. Then he would take her out into the garden. And when the kiss happened, it would seem to come from her. He would simply give her the opportunity. And there would be nothing Simon Clare could do about it, except give him the land. A perfect, fool-proof plan.
‘Shall I demonstrate the steps first?’ he asked, moving away from her and her teasing scent—a hint of vanilla, lavender and something else. It lingered in his mind and he found himself thinking about it at odd times, wondering about her and what she was doing.
‘It is probably best. How long can learning to waltz take? A few basic steps. Once around the summer house?’
She moved away from him, crossed her arms and watched him with a sceptical expression. It would be easy to capture her and to tilt her face towards his and make it change. He took a step forward, stopped and regained control.
‘Oh, it will take several turns. I think the tea can wait until we are finished. You don’t want the servants gossiping.’
‘I suppose you are right.’
Brett heard the slight tremor in her voice. Silently, he cursed Finch and all those who had harmed her with careless actions or words. He could see flashes of the woman behind the mask she wore.
‘Solid preparation is always the foundation of a good campaign.’
‘Ah, yes, a campaign, I can see that.’ Diana clasped her hands in front of her, lacing the fingers together. In another moment, she would find an excuse and flee. The moment would be lost for ever. Brett was certain of that. He willed her to stay. To trust him and her instincts. His plan required her to dance the waltz beautifully.
‘I generally get my way in the end,’ he said softly, watching the way a curl of hair kissed her cheek.
‘Your way?’ She put her hand to her throat and took a step back wards as her eyes darted about the small room. ‘Are you certain of that?’
‘Which is why I am going to teach you to waltz. Now pay attention.’ Brett picked up a chair, held it in front of him. ‘Pretend you are this chair. Keep your eyes on my feet. You will be following my foot steps in reverse. It is terribly bad manners to step on your partner’s toes.’
He quickly executed a few steps. A burst of laughter came from behind him. He stopped. Frowned. ‘What is wrong with my dancing?’
‘You look…ridiculous. Waltzing with a chair.’
‘Then dance with me.’ He placed the chair down and turned to face his quarry. ‘It is easier if I have a woman in my arms.’
Brett waited as her tongue flicked over her lips turning them a deep red. He held his body still. Suddenly, like the sun breaking out from the clouds, her face trans formed and she held out her hands. Brett released his breath.
‘You have convinced me. What do I do?’
He stepped closer, allowed her perfume to envelope him, savoured it. Then he forced his mind to attend to business. ‘Place one hand on my shoulder.’
‘Like this?’ She raised her hand and grabbed. ‘Do I have it right?’
‘Light
ly. A caress. Not a death grip.’
She gave a nervous laugh and loosened her grip. ‘I am not used to such things. Perhaps we should forget it. There must another dance, an easier dance, you could teach me. What else is fashionable in London?’
He placed his hand on her waist, lightly. Held her there. ‘No, I want to teach you to waltz. I came here today for that purpose. Now allow me to help you.’
She trembled slightly at his touch, but did not move away. He concentrated hard as his fingers itched to draw her close and to feel the way her soft curves met his body. Suddenly he longed to undo the tiny buttons that held up her dress and to reveal more of her creamy flesh, but he pushed the thought aside, wondering where it had come from. And why it seemed to block out any other thought.
‘You only have yourself to blame if I step on your toes.’ She smiled up at him.
‘You won’t.’ He allowed his hand to increase the pressure. He started to hum slowly. ‘It is one, two, three and turn. Listen to the tune.’
He began to hum a waltz. She stood rigid in his arms, head cocked to one side.
‘Very pretty, but I doubt that Lady Bolt will allow such scandalous behaviour in her ballroom.’
‘The Honourable Miranda has her dear papa wrapped around her little finger. It will happen. Now stop trying to find excuses and start moving your feet.’
He forced his feet to move, stepping care fully, keeping the proper distance, resisting the temptation to pull her closer and to breathe in her scent. Hesitantly she followed his steps, but rapidly grew in confidence. He moved faster, feeling her limbs move in time with his.
‘I keep thinking I will stumble or fall. Are you sure it is the right tune?’ She looked up at him with a tiny frown between her brows. ‘We seem to be moving awfully quickly.’
‘I know what I am doing.’ He took a step and changed direction. Her skirt swirled out, grazing his shins. She gave a breath less laugh and he spun them around the narrow confines of the summer house again. ‘Follow my lead. You are doing well. We shall make you an expert at the waltz in no time, and then no dance shall hold any fears. All will say what an up-to-the-minute miss you are.’
Her foot steps slowed and he cursed his wayward tongue. She started to pull away, but Brett tightened his hold on her waist.
‘I doubt I shall ever be able to dance this in front of others. I have no idea what folly possessed me to agree.’
‘Relax your shoulders. It is not folly to learn new things.’ Brett smoothly turned her again, her skirts billowing out again. He wanted to keep on dancing with her, around and around.
‘Sometimes, it is. I learnt the hard way. I know what I am doing now. The lesson should end.’
‘Stay.’ He kept hold of her hand. ‘Please. You are nearly perfect. Once more around the room. I wish to be certain.’
Her foot steps faltered, slowed. He sucked in his breath. His body felt as if wave after wave of molten heat had hit it. His control began to slip as her lips were inches from his…
‘Please,’ she breathed.
Brett took it for an entreaty and gave into his desire. He lowered his lips to hers, sliding across their lush softness. He pressed his hand against her back, drew her closer, drank from her lips. A moment suspended in time and space, having no beginning or end, just the sweet temptation of her mouth. His tongue traced the outline of her lips and then the tiny parting, a gentle persuasion.
His arms went around her waist, pulled her closer, felt the melting warmth of her. He adjusted her body to his and his lips moved against hers—asked rather than demanded.
There was an innocence about her kiss as if she did not fully understand the passion that could exist between a man and a woman, the passion that threatened to over whelm him. Brett couldn’t resist deepening the kiss, flicking his tongue against hers, teasing her. She gave a little moan in the back of her throat and then she stiffened, pulling away. With his last ounce of self-control, Brett allowed her to go. Forced his body to take a step back wards and his ragged breathing to slow. It was harder to do than he imagined, but necessary. He would not force her.
The lesson was over.
This was not the time, nor the place. When she came to him, he wanted to be able to take his time and savour every inch of her. She would come to him, he was certain of that. It was only a matter of time.
‘I believe that is enough for now.’
‘For now?’ Her fingers explored her mouth and her sea-green eyes were dilated, wide and alluring, surrounded by dark spiky lashes. He gazed up at the ceiling, trying to concentrate.
His hand reached out and lifted a curl from her shoulder, tucking it back into place. ‘A lesson in waltzing was all I promised. One new thing a day.’
‘I think you ought to go.’
‘I believe that would be a good idea.’
Every particle of him longed to pull her back and kiss her, make her beg him to stay, but it would cause more problems than it would solve. She was far too tempting a morsel for something rushed. And they had been lucky. It was only a matter of time before her maid came searching or one of the servants found a reason to visit the summer house. No, the situation was far from ideal. Right now, right now, he needed to think, to clear his head.
He ran his thumb over her lips. ‘So beautiful, so beautiful.’
Brett turned on his heel and strode out of the house and away from temptation.
Diana sat, regarding the toast and tea on the break fast table with a distinctly jaundiced eye. This morning, she had taken pains, dressed in her best blue riding habit and had gone for a gallop, fully expecting to see Brett as she reached the top of the hill. Nothing. It bothered her that she had succumbed, that she had eagerly anticipated seeing him. Bother Brett Farnham and his flirtation!
‘Mind where you put that.’ Diana moved Simon’s plans away from her coffee cup.
‘The answer is in here, Diana. A bit more steam, a bit more pressure, and the engine will go.’
‘But will the boiler be strong enough?’ she asked, turning her mind forcibly away from Brett and his lips. ‘I heard one blew recently at Wylam.’
‘You know nothing about engines, Diana. Don’t even start.’ Simon snatched up the drawings, knocking over his tea cup. He gave a low curse and then apologised.
Diana spied several letters as well as Simon’s copy of the Newcastle Courant, half-buried under his massed papers, pens and ink. ‘You should have said something.’
‘I am very busy with the engine.’
Diana reached for the letters. She had recognised Robert’s childish scrawl, but frowned at the bold masculine hand of the second letter. With impatient fingers she broke the seal. Her heart dropped further. ‘Lord Coltonby has had to depart for a few days. He hopes to be back soon, but makes no guar an tees.’
‘Why would Coltonby be writing to you?’ Simon’s green gaze narrowed.
‘He and I have become friends, after a fashion. I told you that we both like driving.’ Diana opened Robert’s letter. ‘Robert has written from Dr Allen’s. He is doing Tacitus and Cicero this term. Hates them both.’
‘I refuse to be distracted with Robert’s news. Did Coltonby say why he was departing or where he was going?’
‘Is it important, Simon?’ Diana regarded her brother and willed the sudden hollow feeling inside her to go. ‘He has left the neighbourhood.’
‘It means that I have the measure of the man. Lord Coltonby will be no threat to us. He is much the same as Biddlestone.’ Simon bent his head and made a few more notations on the plans. ‘And it was far easier than I dared hoped it would be. If you will excuse me, sister, I have work to do.’
‘But don’t you want to read Robert’s letter?’ Diana held the missive out. ‘He has mentioned Henry again, the lad who gave him so much trouble last term.’
A pained look crossed Simon’s face. ‘Later, when I have time to answer it. Or, better yet, you answer it. You know what he wants to hear. I am no good at such things.’
>
Diana stared after her brother. A great feeling of hopeless ness swept over her. There had to be something she could do to help Simon and Robert, but the one person she felt instinctively would give her some advice had gone away. It bothered her that within a few short days she should come to value his opinion. She tapped the letter against her mouth, pondering.
She had to go to the ball, even if Brett was not there. She was tired of hiding in the house. Tired of wearing browns. Tired of running from life.
‘I have changed my mind about the brown silk, Rose,’ she said when the maid came in answer to the bell.
‘Yes, miss?’
‘You were right after all. It is only fit for the rag-and-bone man.’
‘You are not going to the ball?’
‘Do you remember the gown that I was going to wear to Vauxhall Gardens, but decided against? The deep rose silk?’
‘Yes, miss, it complimented the colouring in your cheeks.’
‘It came home with me, didn’t it?’
‘Yes, miss. It is in the attic.’ Rose’s eyes widened and she clapped her hands. ‘You want to wear that.’
‘It is a bit out of fashion, I know, but I think it will suffice.’
‘It could be altered…’ The maid screwed her face up. ‘I mean, the ball is less than a week away, miss, but it could be done.’
‘Do it, Rose.’ Diana caught Rose’s hand. ‘Do it for me. I am through being over looked and disregarded.’
The white waist coat he wore for Almack’s or the patterned one he wore for other balls? Brett checked his appearance for the fourth time. The white one. He wanted every thing to be perfection. Diana Clare would keep her part of the bargain and dance with him. To waltz in anything but his best would not do.
Over the past few days as he had travelled to the various stock markets in Northumberland conducting business, Brett had found it difficult to banish Diana from his mind. The temptation to taste her lips again nearly over powered him and his mind had wandered. In Rothbury, he had ended up missing the one horse that he had wished to acquire. Not a fatal error, but disturbing nevertheless. Normally distance made him forget, but it had only in creased his longing. Her eyes and her mouth had invaded his dreams.
A Question of Impropriety Page 11