He cleared his throat. “Have you already promised your next dance to someone else, my lady?”
“I have.”
“Ah.” He let go of her hand.
Confound it!
“But not the one after that,” she said with a smile.
“Will you promise it to me?” Hero asked.
She nodded, and her cheeks turned pink. “I will. I would like to dance with you very much.”
He told himself not to read too much into her words. It was warm in the ballroom, and Beatrix was a kind woman. Perhaps, she was simply being polite and showing she forgave him for the other day.
It was the most logical conclusion for him to draw from the moment.
Yet an urge had begun to build within him that seemed to snuff all logic from his mind.
How was that so?
∫ ∫ ∫
1 6
The third dance was a cotillion. It was a lengthy number with many steps. Easy steps, stunning figures, and long chains would be formed through the song, but Beatrix cared for nothing more than the gentleman who would partner her.
Hero had dressed in formal black for the Reddington Ball, yet she’d have never mistaken him for anything but a soldier. It was in the way he held himself as he gripped her hand and the serious set of his eyes.
They stood side by side.
He didn’t look at her. Instead, like many others, he stared ahead and waited for the music to begin.
The cheery tune was struck, and the dance began.
It was difficult for them to speak through most of the first part. The women separated from the men and formed stars around the men who circled, then they switched, and the men did the same. But soon she and Hero were together again.
Hero placed a hand on her shoulder blade as they stepped in harmony with the others around them. “Beatrix, I must apologize for my behavior at the square the other day.”
She frowned. “Hero, you’ve no reason to apologize.”
“I do.” He looked nearly pained. “It was, as you said, inappropriate of me to make such a vulgar offer.”
Vulgar?
“Hero, I don’t think—”
He spun her away, but then moments later, they were together again.
His eyes were hard. “Please, allow me to explain.”
She resigned to listening.
“It was forward of me to ask that we share the dessert. I only hope that you and I can get past that embarrassment and move on with our friendship.”
She stared at him and tried to understand the situation. Had she been embarrassed? A little, but she’d not thought him vulgar in the least. She’d not detested his offer. Actually, she’d wanted nothing more than to do exactly as he’d offered.
No. She’d wanted more than that. She’d wanted to taste the dessert right off his lips. She’d wanted to stroke her tongue against his, sure the taste would be far more fulfilling than whatever was in her cup.
She’d wanted to hold him to her.
She’d wanted to say yes to his offer and to see where it would have led.
“Hero, you were only being gallant when you offered the chocolate to me. It was your honor that made you offer it.”
His hand tightened on hers. “No, it wasn’t.”
Her skin tingled, the sensations traveling outward from where his hands touched her. Down her back and arms.
She was swept away again before she could respond and given time to think. Yet all the while, his eyes never left hers. She knew what he sought now. Forgiveness. Yet, what had he been after in the square?
What if he’d been about to proposition her? He’d given her far more than she deserved. Perhaps he felt as though she should pay him with her body.
Never.
Though she wondered if he’d desired her.
“I accept your apology,” she said when they were together again.
He visibly relaxed. “You can be sure that such a situation will never happen again.”
She should have rejoiced at that moment or at least felt as calm as he appeared, yet instead, she felt on edge, as though she were losing something vital to her existence.
But that was foolish.
“You dance well,” he said a moment later. “You must have had very good tutors.”
She smiled. “My father taught me, actually. And yes, I believe him to have been the very best tutor.” Her brother had been part of those lessons. Those had been some of her fondest moments.
“Did he teach you to waltz as well?” Hero asked.
Was he asking her to dance the waltz with him?
“I never learned the waltz, I’m afraid.”
“I’ll have to teach you… if you wish.” He frowned and looked away. “Or my sister can hire you someone—”
“Oh, no. It seems I finally have reason to call on you. Please, do come, with Valiant, of course.”
He smiled. “You never need a reason to call on me, Beatrix.”
That tingling feeling spread to her belly.
It was a game of words between them.
* * *
Hero wasn’t sure if he’d fully grasped the meaning of Beatrix’s words. As a man who was able to strategize for battle, he had no clue what to do with the lady in his arms.
Why had he offered to teach her the waltz? He was no dance master by any means, though his family had often claimed him to be the best dancer of the group.
The moment he’d asked could have been another embarrassing moment for him.
Yet Beatrix had accepted.
Why?
Perhaps, once again, it had been done in kindness.
When the song ended, he offered to take her to the punch bowl and she accepted.
The lengthy dance had heightened her color once more and made her face and throat look moist. Her body glistened in the most alluring way.
She sipped at the punch he gave her, though he suspected she was quite thirsty. “Thank you.”
Any privacy he’d thought to get with her was interrupted by a few gentlemen he knew to be officers and many of them clearly wished for an introduction to Beatrix.
She was gracious enough to accept the first son of a viscount, a knight, and a second son to an earldom as dance partners, but the current dance, like their cotillion, would take some time before it ended.
Hero excused himself and Beatrix before moving away. “Why have you not married? Even if the selection had been different, I’m sure there were men in the past who asked.”
She stared down into her cup and then looked at him. “There were offers.”
“What happened?”
“It turned out that one was already married. Another a liar, though, as you can imagine, the first was a liar as well. I’m not sure I was given his true age or name. The third claimed to love me, but I could never take him genuinely, because he claimed to love every woman he met. I witnessed the reciting of a poem he’d claimed to have written for me repeated to other women over and over again.”
His gaze narrowed. “Were there no good suitors?”
She shook her head and then shrugged. “Perhaps, after those three, there were a few, but by then I’d decided it best to not hope for love or marriage. I’d already decided to be a spinster when I started at the tavern.”
No wonder she was more than a little jaded and didn’t trust easily.
“Did you find Hatcher?” she asked, changing the subject.
It seemed everyone wished to know the answer to that question.
“Not yet.”
She frowned. “I’m sorry. Is this man close to your family?”
He chuckled and thought it time to tell her the truth. He led her into a quiet corner where the rest of the room could be observed yet they’d not be heard. “Hatcher is not a man. He’s a dog.”
She gasped and then pressed her hand to her chest. “Lord Hero, you’ve led me to believe the animal to be a man.”
“He’s a spaniel, and he’s eleven years old. I must find him soo
n.”
“Is he yours?” she asked.
“No, my father’s. The duke is very ill. It is my wish to reunite them before he goes.”
Her expression softened. “Hero, I’m terribly sorry. To have witnessed death in war only to await yet another when you return home. I’m sorry.” She sighed. “It’s wonderful what you’re doing for your father.”
“He’s my father,” he said. “It is what any son would do.”
“Now, I ask this question in all sincerity,” she said. “Do you have any flaws?”
He smiled. “Many.” Like his need to have her when he knew such an arrangement could never be so.
Had he thought her inclined, he might have tried to slip away with her. He’d have taken her into one of the dark alcoves of the terrace and acquainted his mouth with her own and his hands with her other soft and warm places.
But if they’d been caught, they’d have been forced to wed, and he would not have Beatrix forced into anything.
“But I will not list them for you tonight.”
She looked him over. “One would never know you’d been injured only weeks ago.”
He bowed his head to her. “I had a fine nurse. Had you done such a thing before I stumbled into your life?” What he wanted to know was if he’d been special or if she made a habit of taking bleeding strangers to her bed.
She looked down at her cup. “Only once before.”
“A friend?” A male friend? The thought irritated him. He was going possessive where she was concerned. It was only natural, he told himself. He was her only protector now, in a sense.
“My brother was stabbed.” She looked at him again. “He’d been injured almost just as you had been. You reminded me of him.”
“That was why you took me in? Because I reminded you of your brother?”
She nodded. “Yes, and…” She stared into his eyes. “For some reason, I knew I had to save you.”
He’d felt the same about her that morning he’d donned his uniform and had set out to rescue her from the tavern. He hadn’t known what his true intentions were until later, until days ago actually.
He had wanted her for a mistress.
He’d envisioned days of drawing at one another’s side while their nights were filled with pleasure.
He’d have cared for her and made it so she never had to work again, but then she’d revealed herself to be a lady and honor had made his plans change.
“Perhaps, it is as you say,” Beatrix mused. “By saving you, I likely saved many others, those you lead into victory. Where will you go after you leave here again?”
“To India. There has been a battle raging against the Gorkha Kingdom and the East India Company.”
Her voice was barely above a whisper. “Are you scared at all?”
He blinked and tried to recall when last someone had asked him such a question. “One would be a fool not to be cautious when entering a war. Those who are not soon find themselves amongst the fallen.”
She frowned and looked toward the dancers. The waltz had begun.
He moved to stand at her side. “I wish to know your thoughts, my lady.”
She tried for a smile. “I will keep you in my prayers, Hero. When do you leave?”
“The end of July.” The date had been set before the ship had brought him to the English shore. He’d nearly counted the days until his return, certain he would die from boredom and not wishing to deal with the grief of his father’s imminent passing.
Now, the days seemed too short.
He turned to look at the dance and said, “The waltz is very simple, especially for the woman. You simply allow the gentleman to lead and if he is good, you’ll not falter.”
“I can hardly wait,” she whispered with a touch of longing.
And once again, he wondered at her words. Did she wish to learn the dance simply for the knowledge or because he would be her partner?
∫ ∫ ∫
1 7
“Do you think the dog will respond to his name?” Joanna asked as she placed the last button in the hoop on the back of Beatrix’s dress. “You said he was old. What if he’s deaf?”
Beatrix crossed her room toward her vanity. “I don’t know, but when you go to the docks today, please ask John about where one would find missing dogs.” She picked up her reticule and handed Joanna coins for the hack.
She’d decided last night that she would help Hero find Lord Ayers’ dog as a way of showing him just how thankful she was. It would also give the general time to relax until he was forced to fight in yet another war.
It was the least she could do, given her circumstances. She may never be able to pay him back with money, but she could give him back more of his time. His leave was short, and Beatrix wanted him to enjoy it.
Joanna had already been given the description of Hatcher earlier that morning so didn’t ask another question as she left the room.
Beatrix had barely taken a seat in the drawing room before her butler announced Valiant and Hero.
She’d already had the footman roll away the carpet and had most of the furniture taken away for the lessons.
She stood as they entered the room.
Valiant looked radiant in a muslin dress the shade of an Asian apricot. Hero wore a blue coat a shade darker than his eyes. His white neckcloth was perfectly tied over a shirt in the same pure shade. Tan trousers and Hessian boots completed the look.
He was quite attractive. Dashing even.
And still had the ability to make her nervous.
“Bee, you didn’t tell me you didn’t know how to waltz,” Valiant said accusingly. “Though many of the debutants will not be allowed to partake in the dance until they are much older, you have far more clemency than they do. You’re twenty and five.” Valiant moved to the pianoforte. “I shall play, and you shall dance.” She turned to Hero. “Let me know when you’re ready to begin.”
Hero crossed to her. His boots made light thumps against the hardwood. “Forgive my sister’s rude entrance.”
“I can hear you, you know,” Valiant called from behind him.
Hero ignored Valiant. His concentration remained on Beatrix. “That is how you know she counts you as a close friend. How are you?”
“Well,” Beatrix whispered.
“Ready?” Hero asked.
She nodded.
“I’m going to position you,” he warned just before his gloved fingers took hold of her hands. He placed one on his shoulder and the other remained in his palm.
He placed his hand on her shoulder blade and said, “You already possess perfect posture. I’m sure this lesson will not take long. Just follow me and you’ll have it in no time. We’ll move in counts of three. You’ll follow me. Are you ready?”
Her heart was racing. She nodded again.
He turned to Valiant. “You may begin.”
Valiant started a song that could be described as nothing more than romantic. The melody was so exquisitely delicate that Beatrix had no choice but to calm.
And then Hero’s voice joined the tune just as soothingly. “One, two, three. One, two, three. One…”
And they were off.
Beatrix had seen the dance performed the previous night and had practiced quite a bit when she realized she couldn’t fall asleep. Her first ball had been a success.
She wanted to thank Hero all over again but decided not to. Instead, she concentrated on the dance, the dips, the lifts, and circles.
She laughed. “Hero, you’re a wonderful dancer.”
His lips lifted. “I’d not have offered if I didn’t believe I could teach you.”
Beatrix held Hero’s memorizing blue eyes and suddenly realized why young women were not allowed to partake in this dance. A man didn’t need to say anything in this position in order to woo her. Beatrix felt publicly compromised, as though something were happening that shouldn’t. She would have looked down to make sure she was still wearing her clothes if Hero’s gaze wasn’t holding her capt
ive.
Was it always this way, she wondered, or was it the man who held her?
Beatrix was transfixed. The music and the man who held her were bewitching in their own ways, seducing her closer to him. It debilitated her mind and turned her thoughts to places they had no business going. He could ask anything, and she’d say yes.
* * *
Until this moment, Hero had wondered why mamas and governesses always made much ado over the waltz. But now, as he held Beatrix, he felt the urge to take the dance to its timely conclusion and the finish the moment begged for.
A kiss.
Maybe more.
He was dearly glad his sister was in the room. Otherwise, he’d have likely embarrassed himself all over again where Beatrix was concerned.
He tried to find something to say to her but was hesitant to break whatever magic the music and dance were working on them.
She was watching him so intently. Expectantly even. Were her thoughts anywhere near his?
Likely not.
Beatrix had danced with nearly a dozen men in Reddington’s ballroom, including Lord Reddington himself and the well-loved Mr. Carey twice. She was likely thinking of one of her more handsome suitors— not that he was a suitor at all.
He was nearly made mad by the knowledge that she was a lady. If only she’d been what he’d assumed, a bourgeois woman in need of a protector. Would she have taken his protection if he’d offered?
But then, would she have been the same woman otherwise?
It was the only thought that pacified him, especially on nights when he found it hard to sleep. Thoughts of her assailed his mind, even during daylight hours. She came to him so suddenly that at times he was taken off balance and was forced to concentrate in order to recall what he’d been doing.
His need for her was strong.
He needed a pencil and paper. He wanted to draw a portrait of her, just so he could keep it with him while he was away at war.
She smiled. “I see why my father didn’t allow me to learn this dance. It’s nearly…”
“Vulgar?”
She bit her lip. “I was going to say indecent, yet quite delicious at the same time, is it not?”
The Perfect Lady (Valiant Love) (A Regency Romance Book) Page 9