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‘Last seen Sophie was the new belle of Corbridge. Doctor Lumley admirably fought his way through the crush of admirers to bring her an ice.’
‘Doctor Lumley? Who is suffering from a propensity to matchmake now?’ Her voice held a teasing note.
‘Any match is Sophie’s choice, not mine.’ Robert took another step near her.
‘Sophie would be wasted on London.’ Henri leant forwards and a sudden spark from the fire highlighted the vulnerable hollow of her throat. ‘I don’t think she wants a title.’
‘Practical advice from the matchmaker-in-chief.’
‘Practical? You do wonders for a woman’s confidence.’
‘Far better to be practical.’ Robert watched, mesmerised, as the firelight slid over her skin, caressing it. ‘Or are you fishing for compliments? Would you rather I say that you were far too vibrant and alive?’
‘No, no, practical will suffice.’ Her tongue flicked over her bow-shaped lips. ‘Was the ball not to your taste? Is that why you returned early? Did you dance?’
‘I danced the opening quadrille with Sophie and discovered I enjoyed it. She will be giving you a report in the morning.’
‘Did you stand on her feet?’
‘I know the figure, Henri.’ Robert took a step closer to where she sat. Every step he danced, he knew he was holding the wrong woman in his arms. The right woman was here in this room.
At his approach, Henri’s eyes lit with a sudden deep fire, transforming her face. If she had been at the ball, every man would have turned towards her. There was something about the curve of her mouth that promised sensual delights for the right man. Henri’s head and shoulders emerged from the froth of lace much as Venus must have emerged from the sea. The vision had played on his brain through supper and the ball, and he’d once absently answered a question from Mr Charlton with the one word—lace. His fingers itched to unwrap the complicated layers. And there were a hundred good reasons why he should turn around and say goodnight. But one good reason why he should entice her to dance with him: he wanted to.
‘However, as I did the figures, I realised that I also owed you a dance. You’ve refrained from meddling.’
‘And have seen others attempt to do it with far less finesse.’ Henri’s mouth twisted and he knew how hard and painful it must have been to see Miss Armstrong’s attempts earlier this evening. ‘And it’s only by lack of opportunity. I should never have insisted on that particular forfeit.’
The pulse in the hollow of her throat beat more quickly and he knew she was following his lead.
‘I keep my promises, Henri.’ Robert waited, silently willing her to take the next step. He intended to have her properly in his arms and see if reality matched his dreams.
‘Circumstances intervened; besides, I gave advice about Sophie and my cousin. Some might call that meddling.’ Henri kept her voice light as her heart skipped a beat. Did he truly mean to dance with her here in this room? Now, with all the servants asleep or lightly dozing at their posts? The notion was preposterous, but tremendously exciting at the same time.
A tiny sane part of her told her to flee to her room, but she continued to sit in the winged chair and watch him. Conventionality is different from morality. The words she had read earlier thrummed in her brain. Conventionality demanded she leave, but she wasn’t doing anything wrong or immoral.
‘You did not try to engineer a match between your cousin and Sophie—quite the reverse.’ His voice deepened and flowed over her. Inside her, bubbles fizzled and sparkled, making her feel wonderfully alive. ‘We shall dance, Henri.’
‘At another ball.’ Henri struggled to keep the disappointment from her voice. She longed to know when and where. Her entire body tingled with anticipation.
‘Tonight.’
‘There is no music here.’
A dimple played in his cheek, giving a devilish aspect to his countenance. ‘And your sole objection to dancing with me now in this room is the lack of music.’
‘It’s a major one. Without music, how can one keep the time?’ The tension in Henri’s shoulders eased. He was teasing her now. He knew as well as she did the impossibility of the enterprise. But the image of them waltzing around the room with his firm hand on her waist kept filling her brain. And she knew she had to leave or she’d succumb to the temptation. The trouble was that she did not want to leave. She wanted to be in his arms. She wanted to circle the room to the imaginary violins. For once, she wanted to experience the romance.
Henri made one last attempt to be sensible and rose from her chair. ‘Unless you happen to have brought a few spare musicians back with you, I shall bid you goodnight.’
