“Brother! I was just wondering where you were. Or, rather, Mama sent me to find you. I suppose I have to report something to her, or she will be upset and then none of us will have a pleasant evening.” She smiled at Sarah. “Miss Brooke. My apologies. Our mother wished me to find my brother, or I would not disturb your conversation.” She made a wry face.
“Of course,” Sarah stammered, not knowing what else to say. Lady Egerton smiled at the duke.
“I suppose it is my duty to inform you that there is a waltz playing, and that you ought to come indoors now. Having said that, I feel that my duty is discharged, and I shall return to the ballroom without questioning you any further.” She grinned at her brother and turned around.
“A waltz?” Sarah asked, feeling the need to say something. It was more than a little embarrassing for the duke’s sister to catch them in conversation; even more so for her to assume that the conversation was something that she ought not to interrupt.
“Do you like waltzes?” The duke asked her. Sarah drew a breath.
“Um, well...I have not waltzed in years,” she began to stammer, and the duke smiled.
“Well, then. We are well-matched. May I?” He held out his hand.
Sarah gaped at him. Part of her mind could barely believe she had heard him. The other part of her mind—the part that had been schooled in etiquette by her governess since she was able to read, dropped a slight bob of a curtsey.
“Yes. Thank you, Your Grace,” she murmured.
The duke smiled and took her hand and Sarah walked with him, walking behind his sister into the ballroom. Part of her mind was still working, enabling her to navigate her way through the room with the duke holding her gloved hand, while the other part was gaping in astonishment and disbelief. She was really dancing with the Duke of Clairwood. She had allowed herself to imagine it, just once, but the thought had seemed so crazily improbable that she had laughed. The duke would never dance with her, not really.
She walked across the ballroom, her head spinning. She was aware of colors and light as they moved through the room, of the sound of voices and the musicians tuning their instruments before they resumed playing, but everything was blotted out by the immense, overwhelming awareness of his hand in hers and the wild thumping of her heart in her chest.
“Miss Brooke?” The duke’s voice asked, cutting through the fog in her head. She looked up to find him looking down at her, a slight, unsure smile on his face.
“Yes?” she asked, blinking up at him in surprise.
“It is acceptable to you, that we dance?” His voice was almost shy and Sarah blinked. She was imagining that; she was quite sure. She nodded.
“Of course, Your Grace,” she murmured. Emotion clogged her throat. It was more than acceptable. It was entirely wonderful and her soul was floating above her somewhere, joy fizzing inside her. All she could do was nod and smile and tense a little as his hand found her shoulder-blade and his other hand took her own, white-gloved hand in his. He was standing very closeand her heart thrummed with awareness of his presence so near her.
“I hope you do not mind,” the duke began as they took uncertain steps forward, moving along with the rest to the opening bars. “But I have not waltzed in five years. I have forgotten how, as I clearly realised a while ago when I tried to dance.”
“Me, too. Ouch,” Sarah added as his foot collided with hers. He blushed.
“Sorry, miss. Are you unhurt?” he asked, stopping for a second, his face a picture of care.
Sarah nodded. “I am unhurt. I think I have to step back more next time.” She grinned, her cheeks flushing with warmth. It had been many, many years since she waltzed.
“The fault was all mine,” he said swiftly. “It has been years.”
They stepped neatly sideways, avoiding collision with a couple who were twirling close as they rounded the corner, and who shot annoyed glances at them. The duke raised a brow and the ironic expression on his face made her grin.
“It feels like we’re in a stagecoach,” she said. “Everything else is moving faster than we are.”
The duke laughed aloud. “Quite so, miss. An excellent comparison.”
Sarah’s face reddened.
They stepped neatly around the corner, following the rest of the dancers. The music had slowed slightly, and it made it easier, giving them time to consider what they did. The others whirled past, but it felt simpler somehow.
As they stepped to the music, going down the long length of the ballroom, things became speedier. It felt natural again, and they glided around the turn, traversing the short side of the room with speed and skill. Sarah’s cheeks flushed, her heart soaring as she twirled close to him, her skirt brushing his leg, herbody pressed briefly against his in the turn that made the dance so scandalous. She tried to gaze up at him but his eyes were almost shut and she could not guess what he was thinking.
They reached the long side of the ballroom and twirled neatly round, their steps fast and natural, the music twining them close together and then further from each other as the tempo changed and it became faster again. Sarah half-shut her eyes. It felt beautiful; natural and wonderful. It felt like she imagined flying must, if one were a bird—careless and carefree, wild and beautiful and as easy as breathing. She opened her eyes and gazed up at the duke in wonderment.
He smiled.
Sarah felt her heart melt and her hand tightened even as his own did, squeezing her fingers in a way that was not painful but that made warm blood flush into her cheeks.
The music was slowing again and Sarah blinked, realizing that it was nearing the concluding cadence. She gazed up at the duke and his eyes met hers. She stared into them. They were a darker blue than her own, rich and warm—perhaps like spring flowers in the fields at home. The expression in them was warm and tender, awash with feeling, and her soul drowned in their depths.
