Page 7 of Tempting a Gentleman
It was time to begin her lesson.
Christopher stepped back, placing a few inches between them. Space he needed to refocus his thoughts. Unable to release his hold on her hand, Christopher said, “The most fashionable couples’ dance is the waltz. However, there are two variations of the dance, the French and the German. With the limited time we have, it will be impossible to learn both, so we shall have to focus on the one most commonly danced, the French waltz.”
“Why is it the most preferred?” Curious, intelligent eyes peered up at him. No simpering looks from Emma—no, she was direct and captivating.
Lost in her gaze, he absently answered, “The French version is slower in pace. It allows the gentleman ample opportunities to gaze into his partner’s eyes.”
Her brows creased in confusion. “Why would er man want to dothat?”
“There is much you can say through one’s gaze without words.”
“Really? Such as?”
She was so innocent. He chuckled, which gained him a fierce frown from his partner.
“Your eyes tell me you are already irritated with me, and we haven’t even begun dancing.”
She tugged her hand out of his grasp. “Does the woman have to gaze back at the man?”
“Only if she wants to. In my experience, most ladies prefer to look into my eyes rather than at my cravat.”
“Ye’d fink the ladies would get a crick in their neck.”
He laughed. It was an astute observation, for, like Emma, most women only came up to the top of his shoulder. “There are four basic positions to the dance. Would you prefer I explain them or simply walk you through them?”
“Ye’d best explain first. Me brain and me feet are at odds most of the time.”
He’d have to address her speech as Bronwyn had advised, but he quite enjoyed her almost lyrical accent. It made her rather unique. Instead of sounding harsh or coarse, Emma’s cockney was a soft blend of vowels. He shook his head. He was here as a favor to his brother and sister-in-law, not for any other reason.
With nowhere to sit, he began to pace with his hands behind his back. “Right, the French waltz begins with a march of sorts. The starting position would have your right foot in front, heel turned towards me, while my left foot is in front with my heel turned towards you.” He paused to demonstrate the awkward foot position. “Before we commence walking, I would place my right arm along the back part of your shoulder.” With his arm stretched out, he continued, “Good gracious, this is silly. Come. Let us do this together.”
Emma stiffly slid into place next to him, mirroring his pose. His body jerked. Emma’s touch sent an intense bolt of vitality through to every nerve in his body. It wasn’t a sensation of lust, but one akin to being shocked into motion. As if his body had been dormant, waiting solely for her. None of his reactions or thoughts made logical sense, but it was exhilarating, and he wanted to experience more. His body clearly desired to get closer to the woman, yet she remained distant and aloof. The thought of lowering her to the bare wooden floor and pleasuring her tempted him, but he was a gentleman, and she was Bronwyn’s closest friend. He had never failed to lure a woman into granting him a kiss, yet he suspected his usual effortless charm and smile would garner him a solid left hook instead. Network women did not suffer fools, and he was here to dance, dammit, not kiss the woman.
But he needed a willing partner. Dancing required loose, fluid movements, and Emma’s ramrod-straight back and stiff muscles would not do. Intuitively, he sensed he’d need to gain her trust first. The woman had remained wary ever since they went above stairs.
He turned to her. “I apologize. This is my first attempt at being a dance master, and I realize now I’ve come utterly unprepared. No music. No directions. Might I suggest we adjourn our lesson until tomorrow?”
She searched his features. “Did I do something wrong?”
“On the contrary, it is I who has gone about matters incorrectly.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Seems to me ye’re just bein’ nice and ye’ve changed yer mind about teaching me. Ye’re not the first gentleman to not want anythin’ to do with me or to come near me.” Shoulders straight, she whirled about and began descending the stairs.
Without time to ponder her words, he grabbed his garments and clattered down the stairs behind her.
The woman moved fast in skirts. She was waiting for him at the door. “I’ll sort everythin’ out with Bronwyn on the morrow.”
He reached for his coat and slung it over the top of his arm along with his cravat and waistcoat. Grabbing his hat, he sauntered over to the door and stood next to her, closer than he should. His body once again reacted to her in perplexing ways.
“I’m uncertain what gave you the impression I’ve changed my mind, but I can assure you, there is no need to involve Bronwyn. I don’t need her help. I’m quite capable of arranging for us to meet at an appropriate location that will allow us to properly conduct our lessons.”
Emma raised her chin and said, “Mr. Neale, ’round these parts, we say wot we mean. No pretty words, just to the point. Ye understand?”
“I do.” Instead of feelings of rejection, her fierce determination and bluntness made him want to get to know her better. She turned reached for the latch, but before she could open the door, he put his hand over hers. “I’m not ready to leave.”
Her whole body shivered. The room temperature was pleasant, yet his blood ran hot with Emma mere inches away. Aghast at the idea she might fear him, he snatched his hand away. “Please allow me to stay, and we can discuss how we should move forward.” As the words spilled out, Christopher questioned his own meaning.
Shoulders slumped forward. “I’ve got a full day tomorrow, so be quick and to the point.” She glided past him and flopped into the wing back chair facing the dying fire.
