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“I would be honored, Mr. Wright.” She walked to him, holding his gaze.
She handed him the red rose she’d plucked and he tucked it into a buttonhole of his coat.
“Now, take her in your arms, Wright. And Beatrice, lift your chin, you look like a turtle. And arch your back slightly, there, that’s better... One, two, three. One, two, three.”
Her mother’s voice receded into the background. All that existed was Ford’s hand on her waist, his fingers closed around hers.
I’m sorry, she mouthed.
“Don’t be,” he whispered in her ear. “I’m enjoying myself.”
She breathed the sweet scent of the rose. What would her mother do if Beatrice and Ford ended this waltz with a searing kiss?
Probably collapse on the floor and have to be wheeled out on that bower.
Hobbs came into the room and handed her mother something, and she left with him.
Ford slipped his hand lower, over her hip. The impact of that possessive gesture hit her full force in the chest. Yearning filled her heart.
He stroked his thumb over her palm. “So soft.”
She felt both fearless and tentative, the new Beatrice, the one who waltzed with her lover in her mother’s ballroom.
She wanted to run her hands over his bare flesh. She wanted to be shaped by him, in return.
“How’s my favorite little sister?” a gruff voice asked.
Beatrice dropped Ford’s hand and spun around. “Drew!” She raced toward her brother, arms outstretched, and flung herself into his embrace. “You’re back!”
“Beatrice, sweetheart. Let me look at you.” She laughed as her brother held her at arm’s length. “What’s happened while I’ve been away? You’re positively glowing.”
Beatrice glanced at Ford, who had moved back to his work and taken up his hammer. “I’ve been busy.”
“I can’t wait to hear all about it.”
“Where’s Mina?”
“She’s feeling a bit off—went upstairs with mother. She’ll be down soon. What’s all this?”
“Rehearsals for the costume ball tonight.”
“Tonight?” Drew groaned loudly. “Dear God, no.”
“Afraid so. And you know you’ll be expected to attend as the guest of honor. In fact, you’ll probably have to wheel me into the ballroom on that ridiculous contraption over there.”
“What the devil is that?”
“A mobile bower.”
“Wright? Is that you?” Drew asked. “What are you doing here?”
Ford stopped hammering at the floral bower and bowed. “Your Grace.”
“Thought you’d be back at sea by now,” said Drew. “And your father, is he fully recovered?”
“Back on his feet and already repairing the mews.”
“I’d expect no less. So you’re in London and my mother found out and hired you?”
