Page 32 of When the Viscount Seduces
“You needn’t sound as if you’re marching to the gallows,” her mother said wryly.
“No, especially when it’s the dancing master who should probably feel that way,” Gwen responded with a laugh.
Her mother’s mouth tipped into a slight frown. “I wish you wouldn’t say such things. Overall, your dancing is muchimproved. The other night at the Phoenix Club, your waltz with Lord Somerton looked exceptional.”
Gwen wanted to say,All credit to Lord Somerton, but did not. “I have been trying.”
“Of course you have, dear.” Her mother smiled sympathetically. “And this dancing master will be the final step in your mastery. He has worked with a great many young ladies. Indeed, he’s highly sought after. I wasn’t sure we’d be able to secure him.”
That usually meant he was above sixty years of age, French, and smelled of cheese. That had been two of Gwen’s past three instructors. “I look forward to meeting him,” she said gamely. She would do anything to please her mother, including take lessons from a hundred aging French gentlemen who enjoyed their fair share of livarot.
“Go and fetch your dancing slippers, and I’ll ensure Mr. Tremblay is shown here to the drawing room.”
“He is not French?” Gwen’s other instructors had all been “monsieur.”
“His family was, yes, but he was born here and considers himself an Englishman, apparently.”
Lake came into the drawing room. “Mrs. Price, the new dancing master has arrived.”
“I’d best hurry,” Gwen said, picking up her book and rushing upstairs to her bedchamber.
Not five minutes later, she returned to the drawing room, where her mother stood with Mr. Tremblay. Not only was he not French, he wasn’t old either. Gwen would judge him to be above thirty, but not by much.
And my goodness, but he was handsome. With shining golden hair and pale, almost crystalline, blue eyes, he looked like a portrait of some lovesick girl’s fantasy. Or a sculpture, for his angled cheekbones, full lips, and cleft chin were most appealing.And his form was perfect for dancing—wide shoulders, narrow waist, and long, athletic legs. It was no wonder he was in high demand. Gwen wondered if he was any good at dancing at all, or if that even mattered to his students.
It mattered to her, of course, because she wanted her mother to be proud of her accomplishments. She would work doubly hard with Mr. Tremblay, and not because he was perhaps the most attractive man she’d ever laid eyes on.
More attractive than Somerton?
The question flashed in her mind. Had she thought him the best-looking man she’d ever seen? He certainly could be. He was the sort of man who, when he regarded you, you hoped everyone around noticed his attention.
Gwen realized she’d especially liked that over the past week during their faux almost courtship. Particularly at the Phoenix Club ball. To be his queen had been nothing short of exhilarating.
“Good afternoon, Miss Price,” Mr. Tremblay said with a perfect bow. “I’m most pleased to make your acquaintance.” His smile dazzled her, and Gwen didn’t think she could look away.
She dipped a curtsey. “Good afternoon, Mr. Tremblay.”
“Allow me to present my musical assistant, Mr. Nott. He will play the harpsichord or pianoforte—whichever you have.”
“The pianoforte is just there.” Mama indicated the instrument set in the opposite corner of the room from the doorway. “I’ll observe.” She picked up a copy ofLa Belle Assembléefrom a table and sat in a chair near one of the three windows that looked down on Grosvenor Street.
“Shall we begin with the quadrille?” Mr. Tremblay asked.
“I haven’t danced that yet,” Gwen said. It was new this Season and quite the rage.
He grinned, and again Gwen was struck by his masculine beauty. “Then I have arrived just in time to save you from disgrace.” His eyes narrowed slightly as if he were flirting.
“That is good news for me, then.”
Mr. Nott, a small man with a fine bone structure and dark, wiry hair, went to the pianoforte. He readjusted his spectacles on his nose, then arranged his music. He looked toward Mr. Tremblay, presumably waiting for his signal to begin.
“I find the best way to learn a dance is for me to stand behind you and guide you through the movements. We’ll do that a few times, and then, depending on how well you’re learning the steps, we’ll progress to me partnering you.”
Gwen nodded, appreciating him describing what they would do. She found this part interesting—the method of teaching and learning. It reminded her of how she approached her lessons with Somerton. It was important to determine how best someone might glean what they needed to know. And she’d ascertained, just from the short time she’d spent with the viscount, that everyone learned differently.
Mr. Tremblay pushed the settee out of the way to give them more room then came to stand behind Gwen. He put his hands on her waist without any warning, and she jumped. “Are you ticklish?” he asked with a laugh.
“Perhaps.” She was, but it was his surprising touch that had provoked her reaction.
