Page 198 of From Rakes to Riches

She complied, looking up at him in slight surprise. “We’re so close.”

There were still several inches between them, but he supposed this was closer than she’d ever been to a gentleman. Save the musicale when he’d admonished her. There’d been a moment when he’d mentioned kissing, and he could’ve sworn something had passed between them. He’d since convinced himself that was absurd.

“Now you know why permission is required.” He gave her a flirtatious smirk, such that she might expect from a gentleman on the dance floor.

She smacked him on the shoulder. “Don’t do that!”

“Do what?” he asked with faux innocence.

“Behave like one of the young bucks who might wish to court me.”

“I was once a young buck.” Who flirted with every lady he met, regardless of her age or marital status. Was he flirting with her?

“You’re my guardian.”

Yes, he was. Consequently, he should not flirt with her. For a fleeting moment, he found that disappointing.

“Right. Then allow me to behave like a guardian and teach you to waltz.” Lifting his chin and stiffening his frame, he focused on her hairline. “The most important thing to remember about the waltz is keeping time to the music. You can count one-two-three in your head. But don’t get too caught up in doing that or you won’t be able to exchange witticisms with your partner.”

“You assume my partner will be capable of being amusing.”

“One can hope. Dancing with a dullard is truly awful.”

She nodded, her expression effusive. “Yes, you’re stuck together for so muchtime. Abysmal.”

“I’m going to guide you around the room,” he said. “We’ll move in a clockwise direction.”

“And pretend there is music playing.”

Tobias pressed his palm against her back and clutched her hand more firmly, then started to move. A melody came to his mind, and he began to hum.

She stumbled, and he had to clasp her even more tightly to keep her upright. “What are you doing?” she asked.

“Dancing.”

“No, the sound you’re making.”

“I’m humming.” He started up again as he steered her in a small circle, which was all the room would allow. They risked becoming dizzy.

She stopped so abruptly that he nearly fell. Digging her fingers into his shoulder, she started laughing.

“We’re barely dancing! How can you be laughing?”

“Because you sound like a cat in mourning.”

He stared at her, shocked, but he was already starting to laugh.

She sobered. “My apologies,” she said solemnly. “To cats. I think that was perhaps insulting to them.”

“Fiona!” The laughter spilled out of him then, and it was far more debilitating than the last time. Moisture pricked his eyes as he fought to gain his breath.

She grinned as she watched him. Then, gradually, she began to laugh too. A long moment later, they stood together fighting to catch their breath, their hands still clasped.

“You did not call me Miss Wingate,” she managed to say.

He took a deep breath and wiped the back of his hand over his eyes. “And I apparently sound like a dying animal.”

“That is not what I said!”

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