Page 42 of The Gentleman's Confession
He would always want to serve everyone and care for them, but those things were only the beginning. True love meant wanting more than happiness. It encompassed so much more—and he understood now why love was the root of joy. He wanted to love and be loved, and he wanted for all his friends to have the same.
So, was he brave enough to chase what he knew was right and good? The path had an unclear ending and was fraught with living obstacles—people he cared for.
He couldn’t think too far ahead, or it overwhelmed him. There were two lessons left. Two opportunities to convince Jemma to marry him instead. Miles grasped the hope in his mind, tightening his resolve around it. Mr. Romantic was about to become the best teacher Jemma Fielding had ever had.
CHAPTER 19
Jemma couldn’t help worrying overMiles’s words again:I cannot marry Lisette.They circled around in her head more times than she spun around the dance floor with Mr. Bentley. She had suppressed them, trying to pretend them away, but being in the same house as Miles flung them back in her face with full force.
What did he mean by it exactly? He couldn’t be serious. Why couldn’t he commit to Lisette? Jemma should have asked the reason when they were together at the pond. Maybe then she could concentrate on making conversation with Mr. Bentley.
But she’d let her temper flare instead, refusing to say more than was absolutely necessary to Miles. She regretted her behavior. The song ended, signaling another lost opportunity to win over Mr. Bentley—to convince her own heart toward his. He escorted her to Mrs. Manning’s side, exchanging her hand for Lisette’s. At least her cousin would dance tonight—a comfort worth noting. Mrs. Manning acknowledged it all with a smile of approval but returned to her conversation with Louisa—something about butterflies.
Instead of joining in, Jemma stepped back to the wall and took a glance around the room. Where had Miles disappeared to? He wasn’t a great fan of dancing, but when he was inclined to do so, he executed the motions with more feeling than precision. Not that she’d paid him particular notice; he simply didn’t dance often, so when he did, he was hard to miss.
She shook her head, clearing a sudden image of him taking her hands in his in the dance line. The spins from her previous set had left her brain addled. If she couldn’t think about Milesproperly, then she should have refused dancing with him when he had asked at dinner. Shewouldpull herself together when the time came.
Her eyes flitted about the room again. Would Miles return, or had he forgotten about his invitation and gone home? And why did either idea leave her so unsettled?
Those who weren’t dancing were chatting and laughing together. All those in attendance were close friends, and they’d brought Mr. Bentley into their circles like one of their own. Jemma was pleased, truly. She wanted her future husband to belong here. But her pleasure diminished to a mere fragment of gratitude since Miles’s disappearance was all she could think about.
She danced with a reluctant Ian for the next set, laughing at his look of discomfort. He was a good man and the best leader of the Rebels, but he clearly preferred billiards or games to anything resembling courtship. Dancing fell neatly in the courtship realm, which meant he detested it. Amused as she was, she kept taking distracted looks toward the door.
Until Miles finally slipped back inside.
Her heart flip-flopped.
She maintained her steps, though his presence startled her. It was a relief, surely. Now she could have a civilized conversation with him and settle the argument between them before he left for the night. They would have to dance first, of course.
A sudden, unbidden thrill grew inside her at the thought.
It was the music. The mood of the night. A fleeting, fanciful whim. Absolutely nothing more.
Suppressing the rapid fire of feelings fighting for supremacy was maddening, but she would conquer it. She purposefully kept her gaze on Ian’s until the final note of the pianoforte.
Ian bowed to her and extended his arm.
“I’ll take your place, if the lady agrees,” Miles said, suddenly beside Ian.
Jemma swallowed. The time of reckoning had come. “The lady agrees.”
Ian stepped aside, allowing Miles to replace him. Miles pushed his dark hair back with a quick swipe of his hand. He seemed nervous.
Why washenervous? She was the one battling so many confusing emotions. “I thought you had left,” she breathed.
“How could I leave without dancing with you?”
His voice, soft as a caress, sent another flood of feeling through her. “I ... I did not think it so important to you.”
“I find this dance especially significant.” He stepped nearer, much closer than the others lining up on either side of them. “Since I missed the last opportunity to expound a lesson upon you, I thought a short bonus session appropriate.”
She glanced at the others to see if they had heard, but no one seemed concerned.Her resolve.Where was herresolve? Her gaze flitted back to him, but her eyes remained on his cravat tied modestly around his slender neck. “What sort of lesson?”
“The power of eye connection.”
A string of soprano notes trilled out the beginning of Mozart’sLändler—a slow waltz. Jemma, unable to look at Miles despite the topic of their lesson, accepted his arm. The small group of dancers promenaded about the room. Tom and Cassandra were in front of them and Mr. and Mrs. Manning behind them, but Jemma had no sense of who the other couples were. The waltz had been popular since she had been out in Society, but never had it felt so confining. So intimate. So unnerving.
Her eyes caught on Mrs. Jackson’s at the piano for a fleeting moment. Was it curiosity she saw there? If only the Matchmaking Mamas knew the frantic state of Jemma’s heart.
