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She shouldn’t care. And still, “Why?”
“Because the only person I noticed at the Beaufetheringstone ball didn’t dance the quadrille; she never does.”
Her heart started to pound. “What do you mean?”
“She never dances. Though she does pick the occasional pocket.”
Her cheeks were burning again. “I sometimes dance.”
“When?”
There were parties that didn’t have dancing with mincing steps that she simply had not been able to master in the five years since Duchess took her in. Nor did they have mincing people. Duchess loved parties that existed beyond the aristocracy. That welcomed people of all walks. And there, there weren’t orchestras, but bands. Fiddles and pipes and drums and wild, raucous reels. And Adelaide adored those dances. But she couldn’t tell him about them. They weren’t for dukes. “When there is no one around to notice.”
He nodded. “Show me.”
“Show you what?”
“Dance with me.”
Her brow furrowed. “There is no music.”
“No?” he said, and moved, tipping her to her feet as he stood. “Are you sure?”
“You’re mad. It’s an effect of the blood loss.”
“Maybe. You ought to take pity on me and dance with me, then, as it might be my last time.”
Adelaide didn’t mean to step into his arms, but suddenly, there she was, wrapped in his warmth. “This isn’t—”
He didn’t let her finish. “Where shall I put my hands?”
She reached for him, knowing she shouldn’t. Put one of his hands at her waist, took the other in her own.
“This is familiar,” he said.
She stepped closer, until they were nearly touching. “Like this?”
“Still familiar,” he said softly. “I’ve danced like this before.”
Her brows rose. “Not in Lady Beaufetheringstone’s ballroom, I wager.”
“Are you jealous?”
“I am not,” she said with a smile. “After all—I was your first kiss.”
He laughed, a low delicious rumble, and Adelaide stepped closer. His grip tightened, making it impossible for her to move away. “What about this?”
“Mmm.” That low rumble that never failed to turn her insides liquid. “This is less familiar.”
She couldn’t help her little smile. “This?” She stepped closer.
The rumble became a growl as the band of his arm tightened around her. “Miss Frampton...”
“Yes, Your Grace?”
“I don’t care for the idea that you’ve danced quite this close to other men.”
“Are you jealous?” His words, thrown back at him.
