Page 46 of Yielding to Love

“I mean that I don’t know how.” She’d learned the steps to most of the popular dances from Marianne. But that was before the waltz became the dance to know.

He came forward, nevertheless. He bent his head and said, “It is easier than riding a horse and lower to the ground.”

She ignored the jibe. “You can’t mean to teach me here.”

He glanced about. “Why not?”

“I’ll make a fool of myself!”

“No, you won’t. No one is watching.” When she set her jaw stubbornly, shaking her head, he said, “Then we can go out—” He halted, and cloud passed over his brow. A moment later he turned his attention to Mrs. Clay, seated at the table beside Neville. “Mrs. Clay, will you accompany us out onto the balcony?”

Mrs. Clay jumped to her feet. “Go on with you both. I’ll be right behind.”

“We won’t be able to hear the music,” Camellia protested.

“You forget I can whistle,” the major said.

She ran out of arguments. And she didn’t want to argue. She let him lead her away, then outside where a chilly wind greeted them.

“The dance will warm you,” he said, noticing her shiver. “But if you want to go back inside…”

“Not yet. Show me the steps.”

He gave her a melting smile. “The waltz is my favorite dance. Here. Put your left hand here on my arm. Not my shoulder but close to it. Now hold my hand. Here.” He extended their arms, then slipped his right hand around to her shoulder blade, pulling her shockingly close. He blinked, opening his eyes slowly. “Lilacs,” he said. “I never had a favorite flower, but I think I do now. And you should always wear red. You are fiercely beautiful in red.”

Her breath caught, but she managed to exhale quietly and flirt in return. “Is flattery part of this dance? Do I have to say something back to you?”

“Not flattery. But compliments are definitely required.”

“I see.” She couldn’t say any of the things she wanted to say. It would be too revealing. “You are very…tall.”

He snickered. “We will work on that. Your compliments, I mean, not my height.” He whistled a brief tune, then said. “Now look at my feet. We will walk through this three times, slowly, while you look at my feet and follow with yours. Then look up into my eyes and follow without looking down. The steps are quite simple. Just making a square.”

He whistled and moved through the steps, and she followed.

“Now look up,” he reminded her. “Look into my eyes so you don’t get dizzy.”

He held her right hand more securely, and pressed a little more firmly on her back. And whistled. They danced. It felt like floating. Without altering the pattern, he moved her around the balcony. The tempo of his whistling increased, and they began whirling.

Time both sped up and stood still. She wanted to keep dancing forever. But too soon, he slowed, then stopped, then ceased whistling. But he was still looking into her eyes.

“You were right,” she said, breathing hard.

“Was I? That is good to know. Right about what?”

“I am warm now.”

“You are. Quite.” He let go of her and stepped back, quickly, his expression going blank. Then he touched her elbow. “But I fear Mrs. Clay is cold. We should go back inside.”

“Yes, all right.” She walked with him, then stopped. “Thank you. That was really wonderful. Thank you, Major.”

“The pleasure was mine.”

“I have that compliment for you now.”

“What? Ha! Not if I’ve browbeaten it out of you.” He nudged her elbow to keep moving.

“You do everything well, Major Taverston. It’s quite a gift.”