“What!” Tommy barked. “Speak up if you’re talking to me, green buck.” She shook her head. “Lads these days, with the mumble-mumble. Next time I come, I’m bringing an ear trumpet. You won’t get anything by me then, I warn you now.”
Lawrence arched raised brows toward Chloe.
She gave aWhat can you do?shrug and whispered, “Don’t worry. She doesn’t know about the kissing.”
His cheeks flushed.
So did Chloe’s. Tommy would definitely tease her about this later.
“Er…” Lawrence cleared his throat. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“I have an invitation to a ball tonight.” She didn’t mention the Yorks, although with the rest of society planning to be in attendance, she imagined there was little doubt. “I’m told the sets are to include waltzing. I hope to avoid treading upon toes, but I’ve never had formal instruction.”
“You want me to teach you to waltz?” His stricken expression added a silentWith someone else?
But they both knew neither had any claim upon the other. No matter what Chloe’s traitorous heart might wish.
She nodded. “If it’s no bother.”
“No bother at all,” he said quickly. “I, too, have an event this evening, but it will be my honor to play dancing master between now and then.”
Touché. Tonight, they would both seek someone else’s arms.
“I’ve the perfect room for dancing,” he added, then turned to Tommy. “Great-Aunt Wynchester, might you play us a melody on the pianoforte?”
“With these knuckles?” Tommy shook her fist at the duke. “I daresay you don’t know a thing about arthritis, young man. All I can do with a pianoforte is glare at the blasted thing. Thank you for reminding me.”
“Er…” Lawrence sent Chloe a helpless glance.
She gave another little shrug in response. Tommy was a fine musician. Great-Aunt Wynchester, on the other hand…well, that old bird was unpredictable.
Lawrence made a considering expression. “If you’re willing to try something that smells a bit…off, my butler swears there is no better remedy for arthritis than the poultice my housekeeper makes.”
Tommy lurched to her feet.
“I’ll beg her for a dollop at once.” She clumped from the parlor without waiting for permission.
“How could she possibly find Mrs. Root?” Lawrence gave his head a disbelieving shake. “My staff is convinced your aunt can barely find her way down a straight corridor. Shall I send someone to assist her? Perhaps Hastings—”
“Leave your butler at his post,” Chloe interrupted smoothly, before the duke could drum up a chaperone for her chaperone. “Great-Aunt Wynchester may be old, but she’s more capable than people think. She likes to do things for herself. Besides, every chamber has a bellpull. If she needs help, she knows what to do.”
He inclined his head. “In that case, we shall leave her to her own devices, and us to ours. Are you ready for dancing lessons?”
Chloe was not.
Her chest clenched with the longing to waltz with him at a real ball. Her mind knew all of this was make-believe, but her speeding pulse and shaky breath indicated the rest of her body believed the fiction all too real.
Every new stolen moment in his arms would only make their inevitable separation all the more heartbreaking.
“I’m ready.” She curled her fingers about his arm as if they were no different than any couple about to dance. “Lead the way.”
The way, it turned out, led to a large, airy chamber, its floor bare save for a pianoforte in one corner and a smattering of plush chairs along the wall opposite.
“Is this where you host your end-of-season fête?”
“It is indeed.” His eyes were cloudy, as if the thought filled him with as much pain as pleasure. Then he smiled, and it was as though the sun bloomed overhead rather than an unlit chandelier. She could look nowhere but at him.
He lifted her palm in his and curved his other hand above her midsection. It was not quite the embrace she craved but more than enough to weaken her knees. She would not have to feign awkwardness after all.
