Page 34 of If I Loved You
Lord Rutherford bowed, his eyes only for Emma still, and backed away.
“I won’t have a moment’s peace tonight, will I?” Asked Lady Marston, her smile indicating something akin to a motherly pride, even as it did not quite reach her eyes. All for show, Emma suspected.
Lady Prudence was not to be deterred. “As I was saying, I would like—”
Turning her wrinkled face to the Hindrance, Lady Marston lifted a hand from her cane and waved it dismissively. “It appears, my dear, that there will be no time this evening for any dialogue that is not directly related to the uproar caused by Miss Ainsley’s debut.” Even as she said this and noted the frown of disfavor upon Lady Prudence’s pinched face, two more men strode with purpose toward the trio.
Lady Marston discouraged or outright denied any request for a dance with Emma in a similar, near discourteous fashion for the next half hour. Lady Marston did generously and favorably introduce her to ladies of consequence, having escaped the watchful eye and dour company of Lady Prudence. The ladies did not go out of their way to know or make conversation with Emma, but rather talked around and about her, as if she stood not so close to them. She smiled politely, the expression becomingrather stiff after some time, until she spied finally the arrival of the earl.
“And here is Lindsey now,” said one of the women currently gossiping with Lady Marston. “I see the rumors have not misspoken. Like a bird of prey, the way his gaze found your Miss Ainsley with such fantastic haste.”
Emma straightened and cast her eyes toward the door. Yes, there he was, in the company of two men, both of whom put forth a practiced posture of boredom, while the earl’s gaze was indeed fixed upon Emma, though she could ascribe no emotion to the slight frown that accompanied his regard. She gave him a smile, tinted with some exasperation and a dramatic rolling of her eye, to give her opinion of all the tedious chatter, tucked as she was in the bosom of Lady Marston and her cronies. She turned back to the women, but not before she caught sight of the barely discernable loosening of his frown. Just briefly, the dark eyes lightened, his lips twitched as if they might lift.
Emma grinned at the ladies around her, while several brows were raised at her, though no questions attended these curious looks. Not too many seconds later, several sets of eyes widened and stared over Emma’s shoulder. A prickle of awareness, a warming tingle caressing her neck, told her the earl was moving her way. Squaring her shoulders, she rolled her lips inward, tamping down the smile that wanted to come.
Emma did not turn, just stared ahead at Lady Walcott, an immense woman both in height and girth, whom she would forever recall as the Gray Lady, her gown, her complexion, her hair all a similar shade. The Gray Lady’s eyes moved swiftly under her lowered brows, back and forth from Emma to whom she assumed was the earl standing behind her now.
“Lady Marston, Lady Walcott, Lady Chester.”
The earl indeed. His voice warmed her as she was sure no other person’s ever would. Finally allowing the smile the come, she turned, finding him to be very close, that her hand brushed his while he held a fluted glass of some dark liquid.
“Miss Ainsley,” he greeted, as if he had not tucked her into Lady Marston’s carriage just over an hour ago.
“Lord Lindsey.” She detected a hint of a smile within his gaze, which struck her as unlikely, as if ever she’d read something hidden deep in his gaze, it was more often than not anger or one of a host of likewise dark emotions.
Later, she would blame his decadent and good-natured gaze for putting her in the position of having to dance at this crush of a ball, in the arms of the man she was very afraid was stealing her heart, and without a hint of knowledge about the steps of any dance, least of all a waltz.
As it was, he said simply, holding her gaze, “You will dance with me, Miss Ainsley.” Not an invitation, not with any hopeful expectancy, but delivered as a statement, as if only inevitable, which had Emma swallowing and nodding against the onslaught of so masterful and confident the persona of Zachary Benedict, Earl of Lindsey.
And then her hand was in his and he turned her toward the dance floor, where only small colorful patches, hazy and lightened, remained of the pricey chalk painting.
Walking away from the not-quite-pleasant matrons brought about a sense of calm that was immediately disrupted by her recollection that she still did not know how to dance. She brought this to the earl’s attention. “I hope you are not under the erroneous assumption, that between the time I stepped into yourgodmother’s carriage until this moment now, I had somehow managed to acquire any skill that might be useful upon the dance floor.”
The earl set his emptied glass upon the tray of a passing servant and faced Emma as the musicians began to play. He stepped backward, onto the perimeter of the dance floor, pulling Emma along with him.
“I have some suspicion that I might be able to steer you properly through a respectable waltz.” He lifted his hand to the height of his shoulder, his palm open.
“I haven’t any idea why I might trust that you are correct,” said Emma. She considered his strong hand, waiting for hers. Slowly, and with a deep and brave breath, she put her hand into his. “But I do.”
Zach’s lips curved. She thought he might have been proud of her boldness.
“Put your other hand on the top of my arm,” he said, and when she complied, he pulled her incrementally closer and placed his free hand under her arm and around her back.
Emma lifted her eyes to his, while lamenting the loss of her even breathing and bravery.
“I will guide you. Don’t think about steps or where you should be going. Hear the music and feel my movements, under your hands and at your back. It’s a very simple step-slide-step motion, beginning with your right foot stepping back.”
Emma nodded. She closed her eyes, concentrating on the feel of him, a dangerous proposition to begin with, only marginally less so because of the task he’d set her. She sank her fingers into the firm hardness of his upper arm. When he began to move, she kept her eyes closed.
And stepped back just as he moved forward. Her touch did perceive his intent, that she knew by the subtle shifting of his left hand that she needed to move toward her left. And then the hand at the right side of her back squeezed slightly and sent her in that direction. She hadn’t opened her eyes yet, letting the earls’ movements instruct her own. Admittedly, it took several turns until she mastered the slide-step but felt a certain confidence in this fairly quickly.
Finally, Emma opened her eyes and found his smoldering gaze upon her, lit with some inscrutable light.
“That’s a very brave thing you did there, rather throwing caution to the wind,” he said, still twirling her around with such ease it seemed almost second nature to him.
Emma shrugged, more so inwardly than outwardly. “I haven’t anything to lose, save from bringing embarrassment onto you. I will leave London tomorrow, and if you’re not worried about being associated with some girl whose name will likely be forgotten before I’m even returned to Hertfordshire, then I will not be either.”
“You could stay a few more days.”
