Page 51 of Not his Marchioness
“The waltz!” he announced.
Charlotte’s shoulders tensed at once. Rhys crossed to her and extended his hand.
“Would you do me the honor of this dance?” he asked with a smile. Then, he lowered his voice. “I realize you haven’t much choice in the matter. We must show the entire ballroom that we are indeed a happily married couple.”
“Well,” she drawled, “it is very good that I have always been interested in theater.”
“So you have told me,” he quipped and led her to the dance floor.
They lined up with the other couples, but she made sure that there was ample space between them.
He chuckled. “You have not danced the waltz before.”
“I know the steps,” she assured.
“That is not what I asked. You have not danced it in public before, have you?”
“No,” she admitted. “Only with my dance instructor.”
“Right,” he said.
He took a step closer, so close that it would have been indecent if they were not already married. He placed his hand on the small of her back and pulled her closer.
“Surely that is close enough,” Charlotte remarked.
But she couldn’t deny that the sudden closeness made butterflies flutter in her stomach.
His hand on the small of her back moved slightly, almost seeming to caress her. Which, of course, was silly. He was merely adjusting his grip; she knew that. Still, her mind insisted on turning it into something quite different.
His hand curled around her gloved fingers, and she was grateful for the barrier between their skin. She didn’t know how she would have reacted if she were able to feel the warmth of his strong hands.
He placed her hand in the correct position and then smiled.
“Right,” he declared, “now we are ready.”
His breath smelled of peppermint, and she saw the small bulge in his jacket pocket where he kept his comfit box.
The music started then, and he led her into the steps with more force than she had expected. He was, she realized, an excellent dancer, and she easily fell into step with him.
She raised her chin, looking at him directly. The sensations that flowed through her were ten times stronger than the fluttering she had felt before. Her fingers curled as if seeking closer contact with him.
A lump formed in her throat, and she was all too aware of the many eyes on them. As he twirled her, she saw fans going up as women covered their mouths to gossip, no doubt about them.
She forced the lump down by swallowing hard.
“Where did you go with Lady Clarissa?” she asked.
He shrugged. “She assisted me in a matter,” he replied. “Nothing to concern yourself with.”
Nothing to concern herself with? Anger immediately replaced every other sensation she had been grappling with.
“As I said to you before, it does not bother me what you do when we are apart. But it does concern me when it is impacting our public appearance. You may take a mistress if you choose, but not in public and not so early in our marriage,” she protested, whispering the last part.
“Mistress?” he hissed. “Have you lost your mind? You truly think me so very foolish, so reckless as to have a mistress? No, not only have a mistress, but also flirt with her at our first ball together? Do you know me so little?”
“I know—we—I do not know you at all,” she replied, although she knew that wasn’t true.
She knew that there were sides to him that he kept hidden. She knew that he was capable of great kindness, but also of deep pain, which he had not revealed to her. Not that he was obligated to.
