Page 48 of The Cornish Mermaid

Morvoren glanced again at Kit, wondering what it would be like to dance in his arms. A frisson ran down her back and settled south of her stomach. What would it be like to lie in his arms, preferably with both of them naked?

Ysella waved a hand at Old Jacko. “I think we’ll do this all over again.”

Distracted from her lustful thoughts, Morvoren turned back to the dance.

To start with, both Sam and Kit managed to keep straight-faced and stiff upper-lipped, trying to make up for the mistakes Morvoren was making and Ysella’s rising laughter. But with Ysella reeling as though she were drunk every time Morvoren managed to bump into her, which was often, and Morvoren forgetting how many times they were supposed to swing one another around, which hand to offer up and which way to actually swing, very soon the faces of both their partners began to slip. And Old Jacko was openly chuckling to himself as he played.

Somewhere around the twentieth, or maybe the thirtieth, time Morvoren went wrong and trod on one of Kit’s feet, everything went to pieces. This time they all managed to bump into one another in the middle and instead of just staggering, they collapsed in a giggling heap onto the polished wooden floor of the music room. Jacko stopped playing and hid his face behind his hands, his shoulders shaking. He probably didn’t often see his master in such a situation.

Morvoren sat up and peeped at Kit. His normally serious face had broken into a wide grin which transformed his austere good looks into disturbingly dazzling handsomeness. He was chuckling to himself, as was Sam. Although Sam was also pink with embarrassment as Ysella had managed to collapse on top of him and was reclining almost in his lap with no indication that she intended to get up. Poor young man. He didn’t know where to put his hands.

Kit sat up, the chuckle becoming a full-throated laugh. “Ysella, you are utterly incorrigible, and very bad at teaching dancing,” he managed, shoulders shaking. “What will people think at the ball if we are all four of us taking part in Sir Roger de Coverley and this happens again?”

Ysella extracted herself from Sam’s lap, levering herself up with a hand on his thigh that brought a richer scarlet to his cheeks. “Then we shall laugh just as we are laughing here.” She giggled. “For I swear, brother, it is so good to see you can still do it. I was despairing of seeing you even smile these last few days. I thought you had forgotten how and would never again be the fun Kit I love so well.”

Sam struggled to his feet, puce by now. “I am so sorry, Miss Ysella. So clumsy of me. Here, let me help you up.” He pulled her upright.

Kit’s eyes met Morvoren’s, dancing with the same love of mischief as his sister’s. “I declare,” he said, “you might well be the worst dancer I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting, Morvoren.” But he wasn’t angry.

Morvoren smiled back at him, her heart thundering in her chest far faster and louder than it should have been at such a backhanded compliment.

“I shall be perfectly fine,” she managed, despite her suddenly dry throat, “so long as I’m not partnered with you, as clearly my two left feet do not match at all well with a perfect pair. I shall need to find a gentleman with two right feet for dancing and then I shall be well matched.”

Kit laughed again. “I wish you good luck with that endeavor!”

Ysella reached a hand down to where they both still sat on the floor. “Nonsense,” she said. “All you need is practice. Come, we have the Cotillion to try yet and then the Boulanger. No time to waste.”

*

Kit

Kit couldn’t believe he’d let his guard down like this. It must have been the influence of Ysella who never seemed to have her guard up. But there was no changing it now, and he didn’t believe he wanted to. A warm flush of happiness had suffused his insides at the sight of Morvoren so plainly enjoying herself as she learned to dance, and when they’d fallen to the floor and her soft body had just for a moment rested against his, his whole being had flamed with a desire he hadn’t felt for some time.

Not so much the carnal desire for a pretty girl, but a deep longing to take her in his arms and hold her close, pressing her pliant body against his, breathing in the scent of her hair and protecting her from the wicked world that surrounded her.

He quite surprised himself by his feelings, and they did make the rest of the dance session feel somewhat different now he’d acknowledged them. Each time he had to take her hand and she laughed up into his eyes, his heart swelled a little more. Each time he felt the warmth of her skin, even if it were just her fingertips on his, that same warm glow suffused his body from tip to toe, and he knew without a doubt that what he really wanted to do was press his lips to her delectably parted ones in a kiss.

But no. She was under his protection, and as such he couldn’t take any advantage. That his mother would not approve of him harboring romantic feelings, the romantic feelings he’d already once denied, did not bother him in the least. He was his own man and this his own house, but there remained the dangerous life he led in Cornwall. Could he expose a gently bred young lady, a wife, to that life? If not, then he needed to hold himself in check.

Time raced past as they moved on to the Cotillion and had to start all over again with demonstrations and walking through the steps, until they were finally disturbed by a footman telling them her Ladyship requested their presence for tea in the library.

“Inform my mother we shall be with her in five minutes,” Kit said.

“Oh pooh,” Ysella complained, in a most unladylike manner. “Just when Morvoren was beginning to get the hang of this one.”

“I wouldn’t say I had the hang of any of them yet,” Morvoren said, leaning against the pianoforte and breathing hard. A sheen of sweat sparkled on her forehead and her breasts rose rapidly from the exertion. Tantalizingly. What would it be like to rain kisses on them? Kit’s breeches suddenly felt very uncomfortable and he had to turn away to the window for a moment in an attempt to get himself back under control.

“Nonsense,” Sam put in. “You’re doing better than some of the people I saw dancing here last year when Kit held his own ball.”

“Did you attend it?” Morvoren asked, her gaze sharpening.

Sam nodded. “Because it was an Ormonde ball, Kit invited me.” He shook his head ruefully. “I don’t get invites from any of the local gentry though. A land agent is too lowly a creature.”

“You’re a very good dancer,” Morvoren said. “I don’t think you once put a foot wrong. I wish I could be as good as you.”

“Many years of partnering young Carlyon ladies,” Sam said, with a grin. “Derwa, Lady Monckton, is barely a year older than me. So when she was learning to dance, I made an ideal partner. And I repeated that task when Miss Meliora’s turn came.”

“And me,” Ysella piped up. “He helped me learn as well. That’s why I knew he’d be so helpful in teaching you, Morvoren.”