The dancing master rapped his walking stick on the floor three times. “Gentlemen, choose your partners for the first dance, ‘On a Midsummer Night,’ ” he said in a booming voice, quite unexpected from such a skinny frame.
The announcement caused whispering among the crowd, but the men who had been in attendance at the earlier class and those who had been to recent town parties took positions on the floor.
Shermont held out his arm with a smug smile.
“How did you know?”
“Know what?” he asked with an innocent air as they took their places in the line of dancers.
“That the first dance would be the only one I know the steps to,” she said as the music started.
“Ah, yes. I don’t suppose you’d believe it was a grand coincidence,” he said as he bowed in the salute.
“No.” She curtseyed. He didn’t have time to explain. The dance required her to follow the other women and promenade the length of the ballroom in the step-close-step movement she’d learned earlier. The countess gave her a broad wink as they passed each other going in opposite directions. What was that about?
Eleanor returned to her starting place. “You were saying?” she said as she curtsied again, returning to their earlier conversation as if it hadn’t been interrupted.
He bowed. “The countess owed me a favor,” he said with a mischievous grin. Then he stepped out for the gentlemen’s promenade.
Leaving Eleanor to wonder exactly what he’d done for the countess. She watched Shermont as he danced the steps with masculine grace, and she noticed a number of other women ogled him as he passed by. A surge of jealousy took her by surprise.
She had no claim to him. The respite from his presence gave her the opportunity to pull herself together and rein in her wayward feelings.
When he returned, they had a few minutes to chat as they waited for their turn for the couples’ promenade.
“The music is lovely,” she said.
She felt the muscles of his forearm tighten under her hand as he shot her a quizzical glance. The amusement in his eyes said he recognized her attempt to depersonalize the conversation.
“I hardly noticed,” he said. “The dance is only an excuse to be by your side.”
He wasn’t making it easy. “From what I hear, the weather is particularly balmy for this time of year,” she said, trying again to move to a safe subject.
“Is it? I feel only the heat of your touch. Do you deny you feel the same?” he asked as he led her out for their turn at the couples’ promenade.
She did not respond to his taunt.
“I do not need to hear you say in words what I can read in your eyes,” he said. “After what we have shared—”
“No strings,” she reminded him as well as herself. “We have only the moment—no past, no future.”
After thoughtful hesitation, he replied, “As you say. Then we should enjoy these moments to the fullest.”
The finale of the dance called for him to twirl her around, which he did doubly fast, making two full turns before spinning her toward the gentleman on her left.
By the time she returned from making the round and being twirled by all the gentlemen, she was dizzy and more than grateful for his steady presence as the music ended.
“Just stand there for a minute,” she said, politely applauding the musicians. “I need to catch my breath before walking off the dance floor.”
“We can’t leave yet,” he said. “There is another dance in the set.”
She shook her head and started to remind him she didn’t know any other dances when Mr. Foucalt rapped his stick on the floor.
“The second dance of the opening set will be the waltz,” he called in his loud voice.
The first dance had caused whispers, but the announcement of the waltz caused a minor tumult. A number of couples committed a breach of decorum and left the dance floor. Some were forced to do so at the insistence of overzealous chaperones, including Fiona and Hazel and their partners. A few couples eagerly took their places.
Mr. Foucalt rapped his stick. “We will have order.”
As the orchestra played the opening bars, Eleanor stepped into Shermont’s arms. “I fear the countess has created quite a commotion by her choice of dances,” she said.
He laughed. “From what I know of her, Countess Lazislov enjoys making a spectacle and being the center of attention.” They moved to the music, making small circles as he led her around the dance floor.
“I don’t,” Eleanor said, ducking her head, her body stiffened by awareness of the censorious stares she received. The magic of the butterfly field was missing.
“Look at me.” After she complied, he smiled down at her. “We are the only two people here. You are in my arms, and that is all that matters.”
She decided to stop worrying about everyone else and concentrate on her partner. She returned his smile. “Then let’s enjoy the moment.”
With that he tightened his embrace and lengthened his stride, swinging her around in wider and wider circles, even lifting her feet off the floor. No inane chatting, no verbal sparring—just a man and a woman moving in harmony with the music and with each other. Although there were no overtly sexual moves, as in the dances she’d known in her time, she now understood why the waltz was considered scandalous.
They created a world of their own within the circle of each other’s arms, moving as one, responding to the slightest touch. Swinging apart and then swaying back together. A sensual, unspoken interchange. Then she stopped thinking and gave herself up to dancing in his arms. She laughed with pure joy.
By the time the music ended, she was breathless. She heard applause and turned to add her clapping to the accolades for the orchestra, which she had barely noticed. To her surprise, the dance floor was empty except for the two of them.
“Smile and take a bow,” Shermont prompted.
“How can you be so calm?” she asked, dropping into a deep curtsey and hoping her cheeks were not as fiery as they felt. She remembered her fan still attached to her right wrist and opened it to create a cooling breeze. “This is so embarrassing.”
“Why?” he asked as he offered his arm.
“Because it feels as though we just made love in a public place in front of a roomful of people,” she said behind her fan as they walked off the dance floor.
He grinned and leaned over to whisper in her ear. “We did.”
She spotted the countess barreling her way toward them with purpose in her stride. “I think Countess Lazislov wants her turn on the dance floor.” Even though Eleanor didn’t want him to, she felt obligated to excuse him to dance with someone else. “Please don’t feel as if you have to stay here with me.”
“I don’t want to dance with anyone else. Shall we walk out on the terrace?”
“Fresh air sounds appealing,” she said. She turned and practically ran toward the open French doors. Shermont beat her to the exit.
Stepping outside was like entering an air-conditioned movie theater for a summer matinee. Cool and dark with music seemingly all around. Several couples ambled leisurely across the length of the terrace from one curved stairway leading down to the garden to the other. Shermont guided her to a corner of the stone balustrade overlooking the grounds.
“The garden was designed especially for a moonlit night such as this,” he said, offering his arm. “Shall we take a stroll?”
She glanced over her shoulder. The countess had appeared determined, and if she had seen them exit, she was sure to follow as far as the terrace. Eleanor wasn’t sure why she didn’t want that woman to dance with Shermont. Obviously he hadn’t learned to dance in a vacuum and he’d had other partners. She just didn’t think she could stand by and watch him hold another woman in his arms. Not right after their intimate dance. “That sounds perfect.”
She placed her right hand on his forearm and they descended the terrace steps to the path leading into the gardens. The white shells beneath her feet were crushed almost as fine as sand. Her fabric dancing shoes made no noise, his steps only a slight crunching sound.