The best thing to do would be to converse during their waltz, she’d decided. That way she would not give in to the foolish sensations sweeping through her as they whirled and stepped about the floor.
Also, Tarek would not be able to lead her in such swooping arcs as he had the day before, carrying her from one end of the dance floor to the other. Lord Severn’s ballroom was far too crowded for that, luckily. Sara would not be in danger of feeling as though she were flying, anchored only by Tarek’s warm grasp about her waist, his bare hand clasping hers.
She took a last sip of her punch, then handed her cup to a nearby footman.
Tugging up her gloves, she gave the comte a brisk smile. “Shall we make ready for our dance?”
“I’ve been waiting all evening for this moment,” he said, causing her traitorous emotions to leap up like a poorly trained puppy. “Seeing how well prepared we are.”
“I think we shall give an acceptable accounting upon the dance floor.” She kept her tone businesslike. No need to let him know how deeply he was beginning to affect her.
Thank heavens she and Aunt Eugenie were departing soon for the viscount’s house party.
His smile deepened. “More than acceptable, Lady Sara.”
Oh, why did he persist in lowering his voice like that? Pretending she was unmoved by his flirtations, she set her hand upon his arm and let him lead her to a place on the dance floor.
***
Tarek glanced at Lady Sara beside him, her gloved hand resting lightly on his arm. Her sunset-colored gown seemed very low cut, but after a quick survey he realized that all the ladies were displaying quite a lot of bosom.
He had to admit it was wryly funny that, for once, he was the one shocked by the English, instead of the reverse.
Other than her revealing gown, though, Sara appeared every inch the cool and collected lady. Had he imagined the spark in her eyes when he’d leaned close and smiled at her? Or was he simply an idiot, assuming she was attracted to him because he found her fascinating?
It was an unexpected development. Although, catching the knowing look in Lady Fulton’s eyes when she watched them together, he wondered if she’d hoped for this very outcome when she’d insisted he come to England. Even Sara’s aunt seemed aware of his interest, judging by the way she hovered about them, her brows pinched together in a frown.
The only one who seemed determinedly oblivious was Lady Sara, herself—a fact he found equally amusing and aggravating.
No gentleman wanted his flirtations to be ignored, especially when they were verging on the serious. But it seemed Lady Sara had plans of her own, ones that did not include any hint of the foreign or exotic in her life.
He was tempted to try and change her mind—but he’d already seen that she possessed a formidable stubborn streak. Besides, he was not in London to be courting, but to meet with the queen. Like a perfect summer afternoon, this attraction would pass, and soon enough the sun would set.
No matter that he’d never quite felt this way before.
“I’ll be meeting with the queen’s advisors soon,” he said as they waited for the music to begin.
“That’s excellent news. Surely it will only be a matter of time before you’ll be speaking with the queen herself.”
“I hope so,” he said.
“It’s a pity Aunt Eugenie and I will be in the country by then, and unable to see you off when you depart London.” She accompanied the words with a bright smile, but he thought he detected a hint of strain at the corners of her mouth. Or perhaps that was his wishful thinking again.
“It will be good to return home,” he said.
It seemed the safest response. After all, if Lady Sara wanted no part of him, there was no reason to linger in London, making a fool of himself. Not that she would even be in the city, as she appeared quite eager to attend the house party at some noble’s country estate.
A stab of jealousy went through him at the thought. But he had no claim upon her affections.
You could, the mischievous part of his mind insisted. You could kiss her. Tonight.
Before his thoughts veered even further down that unfruitful path, the orchestra on the dais played an introductory chord. Tarek clasped Sara’s hand—regrettably gloved—and raised it in preparation for the opening moves of the Lancer Gavotte. He was glad the dance set included a waltz. It was likely the last chance he’d get to hold Sara in his arms, and he intended to make the most of it.
They went through the figures of the gavotte, exchanging greetings and light conversation with the other dancers in their group. Everyone performed the steps well enough, but he could not help thinking that he and Lady Sara were the best-matched couple.
Their recent practice helped with that, of course. But from the very first steps across the empty ballroom floor at Fulton House, he’d felt as though their bodies were attuned to one another. They moved perfectly through space together, and it made him wonder how it would feel to engage her in a different, primal dance, their bodies touching, twining…
The figures of the first set came to a close, and the couples each returned to their places. He made Lady Sara a bow, and she curtsied in return. With great effort, he kept his gaze from lingering on the revealing swell of her breasts.
“Are you feeling well?” she asked in a low voice as they made ready for the polka.
“Perfectly.”
Other than the unfortunate fact he was becoming increasingly attracted to a certain Lady Sara Ashford.
Chapter 5
Despite the comte’s assurances, Sara felt an odd sense of unease as they began the polka. There was a peculiar intensity in his amber eyes that she could not place. Perhaps he was homesick, or feeling too out of place at the ball.
Her worries were soon pushed aside by the energetic dance, however—especially when one of the other couples in their group started galloping about like horses, eliciting much laughter. Fortunately, the polka portion of the Lancers Gavotte was fairly short, otherwise the dancers would be completely out of breath by the time the waltz commenced.
As it was, she felt a bit warm when Tarek—Lord du Lac—took her in his arms.
“Do you think we might dance on the far side of the ballroom?” she asked, glancing at the floor-to-ceiling windows open to the terrace.
The valances draped above the windows fluttered with the night air. Outside, lanterns set at intervals along the balustrade shed a warm glow, contrasting with the silver moonlight.
“It is rather stifling in here,” he said, effortlessly guiding them toward the windows.
A fresh breeze wafted in as they neared, and Sara sighed with relief. The air in the ballroom had grown thick, filled with the scent of competing perfumes and perspiration. A pity they could not just turn in circles before the open windows, enjoying the sweetness of the night—but already more dancers were crowding behind them. She pulled in a last breath before they had to traverse back into the heart of the throng.
Before she knew what he was about, however, Tarek whisked them through the nearest window.
“What are you doing?” she asked, glancing about to see if their exit had been remarked upon. “This isn’t proper in the least.”
She was relieved to note they were not the only ones who’d taken advantage of the open windows and slipped out to dance on the terrace. A handful of other couples waltzed in the soft moonlight, speaking in low murmurs to one another.
Tarek smiled at her, his eyes flashing as they continued to dance to the music wafting from the windows.
“Not entirely proper, perhaps,” he said. “But you must admit it’s much more comfortable. Unless you wish to return to that stuffy ballroom?”
She hesitated. Truly, she should insist they reenter. But the air felt delicious against her skin, and the faint scent of flowers drifted through the night. Overhead, the maiden in the moon smiled down upon them as she floated in a pale sea of stars.