by Mia Marlowe
“An excellent suggestion, Caro,” Frederica said with a little clap, even though the idea had actually been hers.
If Caroline remembered correctly, Freddie herself had often sneaked a peek at the other dancers’ feet when the three of them were just learning.
“But what if someone should catch him ogling my ank—” Horatia stopped herself before ankles spilled from her lips. Mentioning such an intimate body part in mixed company simply wasn’t done.
“I assure you, Miss Englewood, I shall not ogle any part of your person,” Lawrence said, faint amusement in his tone.
“Very well.” Horatia sniffed. “I believe you’ll do then, Mr. Sinclair.”
He gave her a short bow from the neck. “It’s gratifying to hear you say so.”
“Come, Horatia,” Frederica said, stifling a yawn. “It’s getting late.”
“If you think this is late, you’d best be sure you’re caught up on your sleep before Lord Frampton’s ball, Freddie,” Ben said as he secured his violin in its case. “It’s like to run till three in the morning.”
“If it does,” Frederica said, dimpling prettily, “you’re like to find me curled up in a corner somewhere, fast asleep.”
“And wouldn’t you make an appealing little dormouse at that?” Ben chuckled. Then he clicked the violin case shut and tucked it under his arm. “Perhaps I should ask for a dance from you earlier in the evening, then. I prefer my partners to be awake.”
Freddie turned pink to the roots of her hair. Her mouth opened and closed several times without a sound, making her look distressingly like a codfish. Then, clearly ruffled, she turned and scurried down the stairs. Horatia was after her in a trice, her furious whisper echoing up the well and circling the cavernous ballroom without revealing a single intelligible word. Charles and Thomas headed in the same direction, but their normally pitched conversation was about the upcoming cricket season. Far be it from them to trouble about anything as inconsequential to the masculine mind as a ball.
“Freddie is very tenderhearted,” Caroline told Ben. “You shouldn’t tease her so.”
“Who says I was teasing?” Ben said testily. “Thomas and Charles got to dance with her all night. Even Teddy took a turn. My only choice was to claim a dance at the Framptons’, where I won’t be expected to be the invisible musician.”
Caroline gaped at her brother, astonished that he wanted to dance at all, and even more that he wanted to dance with Freddie. Ben used to torment her friend by showing her his collection of insects when they were children. He loved watching her run off squealing over his six-legged beasties. “I’m sorry, Ben. I had no idea you would have liked a chance to dance.”
He’d never shown any inclination toward it before now.
“Well, I would have,” he said sullenly.
“I’ll remember that in the future. Perhaps the next time we arrange for Mr. Sinclair to practice, we won’t have to be so secretive. Now that he can hold his own, it won’t seem so strange to our parents that the lot of us might want to do a bit of dancing. But we’d still need music.” She tapped her temple. “Ah, I know! We might push back the furniture in the music room and I could play the piano.”
Ben rolled his eyes at her. “Trust me, Sister. No one wants that.”
“Brute.” She swatted his shoulder. His expression had been so sullen when he talked about their brothers dancing with Frederica. Perhaps he was serious about wanting to spend some time on the ballroom floor with her. “To my knowledge, you may ask Freddie for any dance but the supper dance at Lord Frampton’s. That one’s spoken for.”
Ben frowned. “By whom?”
“Lord Rowley.”
Lawrence joined him in a frown. But before Caroline could ask why they both seemed disposed to dislike the idea of Rowley dancing with Frederica, Ben said his good nights and disappeared down the stairs.
Lawrence’s rumbling voice stopped her when she started to follow her brother. “A moment, my lady.”
“There’s no need for such formality now that we know each other better, Lawrence. You may call me Caroline,” she corrected gently. He’d done so well with this dance lesson, she was feeling in perfect charity with him. It was only fitting to give him a small reward. “If you wish me to call you familiarly when it is just us, you must use my Christian name as well.”
“Caroline.” There was that sunrise of a smile again. Then it disappeared as quickly as it had come and he was all seriousness. “You ought not to allow your friend to consent to the supper dance with Rowley.”
“Why not?”
“Because he…” He made an odd sound, sort of a cross between a grunt and a snort. “I shouldn’t like to say.”
“Then how shall I convince Freddie to refuse him?”
“I don’t know, but I hope you will try.”
He looked so earnest, it seemed as if he could convince her of anything with nothing more than those dark eyes of his. She forced herself to look away.
“I’ll consider it,” she said. “But you should bear in mind that I’ve known Lord Rowley since we were children. It would take a great deal to change my good opinion of him.”
“A great deal has happened since you were children.”
“Yet if you cannot tell me what it is that concerns you about Rowley, how shall I know how to advise my friend?”
He stepped closer, and Caroline caught a whiff of his distinctly masculine scent, a mix of leather and bergamot and some other exotic spice she couldn’t identify.
He smells like an adventure.
She hadn’t thought about having adventures for the last day or so. It was passing strange that this man should remind her of her dearly held goal. Only somehow, this adventure didn’t seem to involve traveling. It was more about sinking into his dark eyes. Caroline swallowed hard.
What were we talking about? Oh, that’s right. Freddie and Oliver.
If Lawrence had thought his mere proximity would lend weight to his argument, he was right. Being near him made it harder for Caroline to remember they were talking about Freddie. But Lawrence didn’t seem to be aware of her befuddlement.
“Miss Tilbury thinks the sun rises and sets on you,” he said. “She’d attempt to swim the Channel if you advised her to give it a try.”
There was a faint scar at his temple she’d never noticed before. How might that have hap—
Concentrate on Freddie, you goose.
She took a step back from him and felt a bit surer of herself for it. “If Freddie will do whatever I say, I bear even more responsibility for making sure I offer the proper guidance. To do that, I need the particulars.”
Lawrence sighed. “I wish you would simply trust me.”
She was tempted. There was such a straightforward goodness about the man, it was easy to trust Lawrence Sinclair. Perhaps too easy.
“I should go.” She turned to do just that.
“Hold a moment.” He put a hand on her arm, right at the place where her puff sleeve ended and her skin was exposed. The heat from his hand sent little tingles up to her shoulder. “Stay, Caroline. Please.”
“Why?”
“There’s still one dance you haven’t taught me.”
She cocked her head at him. “I agree with Horatia that the quadrille is beyond your grasp at present, but you have a rudimentary knowledge of the cotillion, country dances, and the reel. You’ll do quite well at Lord Frampton’s ball, I’ll warrant.”
“Yet there is one dance you’ve left off the list.”
“Oh, the minuet, you mean. Well, to be perfectly honest, even I have difficulty with the minuet sometimes. In all honesty, that dance belongs to the last generation,” Caroline said. “If a minuet is called at all at Lord and Lady Frampton’s, it will be performed by a single couple as a demonstration.”
“No, that’s not the dance I mean,” La
wrence said, giving her arm a slight squeeze. “I mean the waltz.”
Chapter 10
If a man is determined to reach for the moon, he needs to stretch toward it with all his might.
A thing is only impossible if I believe it so.
—Mr. Lawrence Sinclair, who’d never believed he could reach much of anything before now.
The tingles running up and down her arm turned from pleasurable to panicky. Didn’t he know what he was asking? Caroline pulled away from him and took a step back. It didn’t make her feel one whit safer. “I couldn’t possibly teach you to waltz.”
“You don’t know it?”
“Of course I do.” The dance may have had a scandalous reputation at first, but once Countess Lieven introduced it to Almack’s, all of Polite Society embraced it with a passion.
“Then if you know how to waltz, why not teach me? I shall try not to tread on your toes.”
That was the least of her concerns. “It wasn’t your fault you stepped on Horatia’s foot. In truth, she fell behind the beat. Her foot was simply in the wrong place.”
“Then what’s to hinder you and me from waltzing?”
If they waltzed, his hand would be upon her waist. She’d rest her palm on his shoulder. They’d be gazing into each other’s eyes for the whole dance while they dipped and turned around the room. They’d be so close to each other, she’d be able to feel him draw breath.
But Caroline couldn’t say that. If she did, she’d have to explain why it would be difficult for her to be so tangled up with him.
Not that she was afraid of Mr. Sinclair. Not exactly. She was more afraid of the way her pulse jumped when she was around him.
So instead of telling him she couldn’t possibly waltz with him for fear he’d realize how unsettling it would be to have him so near, she looked pointedly at the stairs down which Ben had just disappeared. “We’ve no music.”
“We can manage without. I’ve no talent for singing,” he said with a self-deprecating grin, “but I’ve been known to hum on occasion.”
“That wouldn’t help.” Dear heaven, but there was something about the man that made her want to give in. She felt…soft all of a sudden. Soft in resolve, soft in body, soft in the head. It was not at all like her. Her will was usually iron, and she propped herself up with it now. “I couldn’t teach you here. Not at this time, Mr. Sinclair.”
“Lawrence,” he corrected.
“Lawrence,” she repeated. His name felt so right on her lips, but that still didn’t mean she should give in to this request. “You know as well as I that we ought not to be alone like this.”
“I ask your pardon. I did not mean to make you uncomfortable.”
“No, of course not,” she said, relieved that he understood. “I didn’t think you did.”
“And I would never disrespect you.”
Caroline was certain that wasn’t in his nature. “I doubt you’re capable of being disrespectful.”
“Just improper.”
“No, I didn’t mean to suggest that—”
He gave her a devastating, slightly crooked smile. “Then you don’t believe I’m capable of having improper thoughts about you?”
“No. Yes. I mean…how should I know what you’re thinking?” Caroline said, suddenly understanding why Freddie had left the room in such a flustered rush. “Besides, even if you do have improper thoughts, you’re too fine a gentleman to act upon them.”
“If you truly believe that, you’ve nothing to fear in continuing our dance lesson.”
“But that’s not the point.”
“Ah!” he said. “Now I understand. You don’t wish for us to be alone because you have improper thoughts about me.”
“What? No,” she said with force. He was far too near the mark. “Heavens no. Of course not.”
“Why not?”
No one would blame her if she did. Lawrence Sinclair was handsome, possessed of fine sensibilities, and had far more determination than she would have credited him with. Who knew what other surprises she might discover? Even at first blush, there was plenty to like about the man.
But she couldn’t like him.
Caroline fell back on the cutting wit that had scared off so many other would-be suitors. “Clearly you’re so enamored of yourself, any admiration I might hold for you would pale by comparison.”
Lawrence chuckled. “Of all the things I’ve been accused of, thinking too highly of myself has never been listed. But before we return to my original request, let us stipulate that neither of us harbors improper thoughts about the other.”
“Agreed.” Surprisingly enough, the idea that he wasn’t having such thoughts about her rankled Caroline even more. But she couldn’t very well say so.
He spread his arms in a fair approximation of a waltz hold. “Then where’s the harm?”
“If someone should come—”
“They’d catch us engaged in a dance lesson, nothing more.”
“That would be more than enough for most tongue-waggers.”
“Do you honestly think your brothers or your friends are going to spread gossip about us?”
“No.” She wasn’t worried about Freddie, but Horatia might let something slip without evil intent. Whatever was rattling around her brain always seemed to find its way out of her mouth. Caroline edged closer to the head of the stairs. “But Freddie and Horatia are surely wondering why I haven’t come down already.”
“I’ve found most people are so concerned with their own small doings, they haven’t time to spare for anyone else’s.”
Caroline scoffed. “Have you met Horatia? She lives for other people’s doings.”
“But surely a waltz lesson wouldn’t take that long.”
Her mother’s voice rarely sounded in her mind, but Caroline heard her now, clear as a clarion call.
A reputation takes years to build. Seconds to destroy.
“I must go.”
“Then go if you must.” As if to belie his words, he caught her by the wrist. “But know that you are only leaving because you’re afraid.”
“Of you?” She pulled her hand free before he could feel she was indeed trembling. “I assure you, sir, I am not.”
“Then if it truly is only your friends’ censure you fear, say you’ll meet me for a waltz later.”
“Later?”
“Yes. When the longcase clock chimes three, your friends will be asleep and I will be here.”
“Then you’ll be here alone.”
“Nevertheless,” he said, his gaze never leaving hers. “I shall be here.”
She felt herself being drawn in, like a hooked perch on a line. Caroline broke away and made for the stairwell. Flying down the steps, she didn’t stop until she closed her chamber door behind her. Then she sagged against it, her heart still hammering. She’d come so close to staying there in the empty ballroom with Lawrence—
No, no, no. It’s Mr. Sinclair!
She had to start thinking of him that way again. It was beyond foolish not to keep the distance of formality between them. It was a thin shield, but it was all she had.
However, she’d worried needlessly that Frederica and Horatia would be concerned that she hadn’t immediately followed them down to her chamber. Her friends didn’t seem to realize anything was amiss.
They must have thought one or other of my brothers were still in the ballroom with me and Lawrence.
Unconcerned, Frederica and Horatia were chatting and giggling away, cooperating with, but mostly ignoring, the long-suffering Alice, who had assisted them out of their gowns and into their night rails.
“I do declare, this was ever such a jolly evening, Caro. Almost like a little house party,” Freddie said as she climbed into the big bed Caroline usually slept in by herself.
Whenever her friends stayed the
night, she always gave up the big four-poster and took the small daybed tucked under her broad windowsill. Horatia was known to kick in her sleep and Freddie occasionally snored. Consequently, Caroline never felt giving up her bed was much of a sacrifice. She slept better alone.
As alone as Mr. Sinclair will be at three o’clock.
“Well, I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it,” Horatia said, “but Mr. Sinclair acquitted himself…”
“Quite well?” Frederica supplied hopefully.
“More or less adequately,” Horatia finished. “In any case, Caro, your Mr. Sinclair will survive the ball.”
“He’s not my Mr. Sinclair.”
He’s my Lawrence. No, no, no!
She put a hand to her temple, as if that might drive the unwanted name from her mind. “Thank you for your help. The two of you made some real dancing practice possible.”
“We were glad to do it, weren’t we, Horatia?”
“You’d have been even gladder if you could’ve danced with Benjamin, I’ll warrant,” Horatia said slyly as she slid into her side of the bed and pulled up the coverlet. “Freddie’s a bit sweet on your family’s fiddle player, Caro. Always has been.”
“Oh, pish. Nothing of the sort,” Freddie said, the hot flush on her face giving the lie to her words. “I simply admire Ben’s…talent on the violin. That’s all there is to it.”
“Then why did you behave like an addlepated goose when he asked you about dancing at Lord Frampton’s?” Horatia said, a huge yawn distorting her voice.
“I’m not a goose. Am I, Caro?”
“Of course not, dear,” Caroline said reflexively. “You’re just high strung.”
“Well, if I am, it’s only because Benjamin is…well, he just…oh, dash it all! I’m simply not used to having so many invitations, you see,” Freddie said. “First Lord Rowley and now Caro’s brother.”
Frederica wasn’t bragging. There wasn’t a vain bone in her body. She was truly befuddled by the male attention that had come her way since her debut. When Horatia said nothing, Caroline assumed she must be fuming a bit that, of the two of them, Freddie had received the most masculine interest since they’d both come out.
