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Dancing, however, required music. This necessity led Fiore to a dreadful conclusion.
He excused himself from Enzo’s arm, dipped below-decks, and knocked on Serafina’s door.
Upon opening it and espying him, her gaze lost none of its annoyance but did gain a great deal of bewilderment.
Fiore tried for a convincing smile. “Might I hire your services for the evening?”
Serafina raised her brows. “One of your gentlemen desires mixed company? Or—not on your own behalf, surely,” she added, her eyes going wider still.
“To a point,” Fiore admitted. “I’m taking dance lessons on deck and we require musical accompaniment.”
Serafina’s brows remained aloft. “Since when do you require dance lessons?”
“Since these.” Fiore gestured to his heels.
Serafina stared for a long moment. Then she reeled back with a peal of laughter and had to hide herself behind her door for several more moments while she recovered her composure.
“Very well,” she declared when she reappeared. “You know my rates. I’ll see you above shortly.”
“Thank you,” Fiore said—sincerely, for once.
She nodded and withdrew. No sooner had she shut the door than another peal of laughter resounded from behind it.
Fiore supposed he deserved the mockery as much as she deserved the amusement and went up on deck to await her. This would allow him at least a few moments to familiarize himself with the steps before she beheld his wobbling folly.
The steps as Enzo explained them without musical accompaniment were not quite so different from those he indulged in any given evening at theKingfisher. A touch more formal in their sequence, perhaps, but the basic gestures remained the same.
Aristocrats of all genders, as Enzo explained, learnt both the leading and following moves of a dance.
“To know only one or the other is considered deficient,” he said as he gently arranged Fiore’s arms in an embrace around his own torso. “A true dancing maestro can dance equally well forward and backward.”
The warmth of Enzo’s flesh blazed through his shirt and waistcoat beneath Fiore’s palms. Fiore had touched his bare skin before—had beeninsidehim, for fuck’s sake—and yet to hold him from even this distance sent his pulse stuttering.
“However,” Enzo continued, heedless of Fiore’s distraction. “If you’ll indulge me, perhaps we might focus on making you a leader rather than a follower.”
“Because it’s easier to dance forwards?” Fiore guessed, smiling.
No blush could be seen thanks to the mask, but it could be heard in Enzo’s voice as he replied, “That—and I myself feel more comfortable following.”
Of course. Fiore’s smile became a grin. “Then by all means, allow me to indulge you.”
Before they could do so, however, something over Fiore’s shoulder caught Enzo’s eye. Fiore turned to follow his gaze and found Serafina had emerged. She’d changed into her wrapping-gown over her finest dress. Evidently she wanted to make a good impression on Fiore’s illustrious client. Fiore supposed she did so for her own benefit but appreciated the effort nonetheless. At the very least she was finally taking his work as seriously as her own. And better still, she carried her violin.
“Anything in particular?” she enquired, tucking the instrument beneath her chin.
Fiore looked to Enzo.
“Perhaps a furlana?” Enzo asked her with as much deference as if he addressed a lady of equal rank.
Serafina nodded and set her bow to the strings. She played well—as she ought, when she claimed to have graduated from the figlie di coro.
Enzo listened for a measure or two with his masked head cocked at an attentive angle. Then he stepped backward on the beat, withdrawing as naturally as the ebbing tide.
Fiore stepped forward into his wake.
And fell against Enzo’s chest.
It took a few moments’ worth of bewildered clinging for him to piece together what had happened. Coming down on the heightened heel had pulled his stride up short. He’d leant forward to compensate, and without a counterbalance—
