Page 70 of Your Wicked Ways

But the glint of amusement in his eyes turned her silent. Her gown wrapped around his muscled thigh and then blew free as he turned her with just a touch, in circle after circle after circle across the floor. She felt dizzy. The music pounded in her blood and prickled between her thighs. It danced in her feet and made her press closer to his chest.

“Do you see what I mean?” he asked conversationally. “The waltz starts out with a bit of introduction, undressing, as it were. A bow here, a flourish there. Then when the preliminaries are out of the way, the two dancers begin, first rather slowly and then faster and faster—” He spun her as he spoke. “The man holds his partner more and more tightly. They are in a closed position, his arms around her body.”

Helene frowned at him.

“You do know the instructions posted at Almack’s regarding the waltz, don’t you?” he asked her.

“No.” Why would she notice such a thing?

“The man and woman must be dressed decently.” His eyes had a wicked glint.

She couldn’t help it: she giggled. He swept her in a great circle. “I think they may be referring to a doublet and coat.”

“Undoubtedly!” Helene said severely.

“As would a lover his lovable bride,” Lina sang slowly, and again: “As would a lover his lovable bride.”

Rees glided Helene to a perfect halt on the last breath of the song.

“You dance very well,” he said, blinking at her in an almost startled fashion. But he didn’t wait for a reply. “There’s one line that needs changing, Helene.” He dragged her over to the piano and Lina hastily slid off the piano bench. “I don’t think the line about fires of our hearts burning out is right. You should replace it with something more joyful.”

“But that’s what I meant,” Helene insisted. “You may think the waltz is about bedroom matters, Rees.” She said it in a sharp undertone so that Tom and Lina couldn’t hear. “But I wrote a song about youthful love that fades and dies at the end of the song. So it starts with a great deal of enthusiasm and musical flourishes, but towards the end—”

“No, no,” Rees interrupted. “That’s far too disheartening. How would it be if you changed that line to something simpler and more cheerful?” He hummed the bar. “Love into air? No, that’s no good.”

“I don’t want to,” Helene said stubbornly. “I wrote the words, after all. They move from the lover’s exuberance to the loss of those feelings.”

He paused for a moment, suddenly struck. Then he looked at her sideways. “You wouldn’t have put any of your life into this waltz, would you, Helene?”

She colored. “Of course not!” she snapped.

He stared at her for a moment and then put down the score. Of course she’d written it about their marriage, about the fire she felt in the heart—burning out. Suddenly his own heart felt like a charred, blackened cinder. “You’re right. It’s much better as it is.”

“Shall we plan on Vauxhall tomorrow then?” Tom said, popping up at Rees’s shoulder.

“Yes,” Helene agreed, moving toward the door. “I’ll send a note to my friends, and see whether either of them might wish to make up a party with us.”

“I should be working,” Rees put in.