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Who cared? The next dance was a waltz and he would have this woman in his arms.
Duke grabbed his arm and shot a warning scowl at his sister. “You don’t have to do this.”
Standard elder brother protective nonsense. In theory brothers wanted their sisters to get married. In practice, they found fault with every suitor and would prefer to never acknowledge any female in their family had carnal appetites. Emmett didn’t indulge in such naivete.
“Duke, relax. It’s just a dance.” Emmett removed his friend’s death grip from his arm and turned back to Miss Bains. “Shall we?”
He offered her his gloved hand and a thrilling shock went up his left arm and right to his heart as she placed her equally gloved hand in his. Impossible, imaginary. This was why people wore gloves, to avoid the raw sensation of skin on skin. He couldn’t be reacting to her, it must be the… lemonade?
“Gina,” Duke said in a warning tone, as they walked away, and Emmett rolled his eyes.
The music started up and he stepped close to Miss Bains. Gina, as Duke had called her. He brought his hand to her waist, the soft fabric of her loose dress feeling like passing through a cloud before he met the resistance of her body.
She placed her fingers on his shoulder and looked up into his face. Hazel eyes, so varied and complex he’d need a thousand years to describe them.
His heart rattled against his rib cage.
Oh, this was bad.
The first steps of the dance came easily. She was light and natural, like she was made for him. The top of her head reached almost to his chin, the perfect height to tip her face upward and lean down to kiss her. They danced for a few minutes in silence, just the music and their movements. She seemed almost as mesmerized as he felt, by the rightness of her in his arms.
“You are my brother’s best friend, I understand.”
They separated for a turn.
“Guilty,” he replied. “And you are Duke’s very accomplished little sister.”
“The sister part I cannot deny.”
“You’re not as accomplished as your brother says?”
“I have some talents,” she said with something that didn’t sound like either modesty or boastfulness. “My mother says I’m the most accomplished lady in London.”
Her foot stomped on his toe. She held her head away, avoiding meeting his eyes. Pain speared from his foot, and he had to clench his jaw to prevent himself from making more than the smallest grunt.
She’d misstepped, badly, and irritation and something like disappointment surged in him. All that accomplishment and she couldn’t dance for more than a minute without almost crippling him.
Damn, but his foot hurt.
“I’ve no doubt your mother is correct,” he ground out. Though perhaps dancing wasn’t on that list of accomplishments, after all. He looked at her in confusion. She was seemingly oblivious, having danced perfectly for some minutes, then blundered.
But she felt nimble in his arms. She held her head elegantly to the side, as bafflement swirled in him. He had a feeling it was to prevent herself from laughing.
Because it was a trick, he realized in a flash, and not even her own brother had recognized it.
So clever. She had deliberately stood on his foot. Notorious for being accomplished, she had nevertheless bungled. Why?
To put him off. And suddenly Duke’s expression made more sense.
Would he marry a woman who wasn’t a good fit dancing a waltz with him? All his instincts said no. He had no illusions that domestic felicity merely arose from marital relations, but it was important enough. He’d wager many a fortune hunter had been put off by her apparent lack of coordination, when in fact the opposite was true.
The second time he wasn’t quick enough, and she caught his toe again, but not so hard. He almost laughed. She was so good, so light on her feet, so clever. He could watch her hazel eyes, full of faux-innocence and wit and lies, all night.
Then he felt it. The minuscule shift in her stance before she stomped… into thin air. He’d moved his foot just in time, and saw the bewilderment in her eyes.
“Do attend to the dance, Miss Bains.” He managed not to laugh. “You nearly stepped onto my toes.”
The outrage was masked in a blink of an eye. But she knew, and he knew, and the recognition thrummed between them. From that moment, they were in tune. Every wrong move she made, he anticipated, sensing her before she could catch him. The slightest narrowing of her eyes accompanied one of her attacks, he noticed. He was leading the dance, but she was leading the game, and he was happy to play.
