"Excellent." She turned back to Gideon and offered him a shy smile. "Follow me."
Bloody hell. He didn't know what awaited him in the ballroom, but when she looked at him like that, he'd follow her anywhere-a fact that simultaneously confounded and alarmed him. He gave a soft whistle, and Caesar followed, shadowed by Princess Buttercup, who wore what appeared to be a… tiny fur coat? Good God.
He walked beside Julianne down a series of long corridors, painfully aware of her. Her shoulder brushed his sleeve, and his nostrils flared, pulling in a sharp breath, which only served to fill his head with a tantalizing whiff of her vanilla scent.
She brushed against his shoulder again, and he barely refrained from groaning. He needed to take a quick look at whatever she wanted to show him, then send her off to bed. That way he'd know she was safe, and there would be a wall between them.
Feeling the need to say something to break the tension gripping him, he said, "You're very… patient with your parents."
Bloody hell. Certainly not the most diplomatic thing he could have uttered, but instead of appearing offended, she merely shrugged. "If you were to ask them, they are the ones who are patient with me. I'm a great trial to them, you see."
"In what way?"
She shot him a surprised sideways glance then leaned a bit closer, as if imparting a great secret. "I'm not a boy."
His gaze involuntarily coasted down her luscious form. "Obviously. Why does that make you a trial?"
Her brows shot up. "Because it renders me useless. I cannot inherit the title. Were I not so uncooperative, recalcitrant, and a trial, I would have been born what I was supposed to be: a male. Because I choose to be born a useless girl, Father's younger brother Harold will inherit, a fact that galls my father no end, especially as he detests Harold."
The news that the earl didn't like his younger brother didn't surprise Gideon in the least. In fact, it led him to ask, "Does your father like anyone?"
She pursed her lips and considered. "No, I don't think so. Certainly he doesn't like me. He barely tolerates Mother." She snapped her fingers. "His horse. He's very fond of Zeus."
Even though she sounded very matter-of-fact, he sensed her underlying sadness, and sympathy tugged at him. He knew all too well what it felt like to be a grave disappointment to one's father. Of course, in Gideon's case, the feeling was mutual. And he suddenly realized that that was something he and Julianne had in common, for there was no doubt she was disheartened by her father's attitude. She'd accepted it, just as he had with Jack, but accepting something and being happy about it were two very different things.
"Of course, there were times I was a trial." She shot him a sideways glanced filled with mischief. "Once, when I was ten, I had the audacity to go about in Brighton without my bonnet, resulting in a sunburn. Mother flew into the boughs, declaring my complexion ruined for eternity."
He sent her a look of feigned shock. "You are indeed awful."
"Yes. Although my retribution didn't do me much good."
"What did you do?"
"The next day I went to the beach and, while I kept my bonnet on, I removed my shoes and stockings and purposely allowed my feet to cook in the sun. I thought I was very clever-getting sunburned where Mother wouldn't see it." She chuckled softly. "I was quite done in my by own cunning when my skin ended up so tender I couldn't bear to wear shoes for the next three days." She gave him a rueful smile. "I'm afraid my private rebellion wasn't very successful."
"Have you had others?"
"Other what? Sunburns?"
"Private rebellions."
She shrugged. "A few here and there. Looking back, not as many as I wish I'd had. But over the past few months I've remedied that somewhat."
"Indeed? How?"
After a brief hesitation she said, "I joined a book club with Emily, Sarah, and Carolyn."
"I hate to be the one to inform you, but that doesn't sound very rebellious."
"Perhaps not."
Something in her tone made it clear there was more to know, but before he could question her further, they turned a corner, and she paused before the first door. He stopped behind her. And clenched his teeth. Her ivory nape was so close…if he leaned forward, he could brush his lips over that tantalizing bit of skin that seemed to beckon, Kiss me, kiss me.
He wasn't certain he wouldn't have obeyed the overwhelming urge, but she saved him from doing so by opening the door. Then she looked at him over her shoulder and smiled-a beautiful, shy smile that coaxed the shallow dimples in her cheeks out of hiding. "I hope this meets with your approval."
She entered the room, and he followed. Then halted. And stared.
Flames danced in a huge marble fireplace, casting the room in a soft glow that reflected off the glossy parquet floor. A dozen candelabras, their silver stems glowing with tapers that scented the air with beeswax, dotted the tables in the ballroom, adding to the soft light.
"Are you hosting a ball?" he asked, looking around, noting how the gilt mirrors lining the pale yellow silk-covered walls made the already huge chamber seem enormous.
She stopped in the center of the floor then turned toward him. The soft candle and firelight gilded her as if she'd been touched by an artist's brush. "Indeed I am. Are you ready?"
"For what?"
"Your dance lesson."
He could only stare. "I beg your pardon?"
She laughed. "Your dance lesson. To satisfy my part of our bargain. As I told you in the foyer, I thought it would be more enjoyable than a piano lesson, and, ahem, save everyone's ears."
Ah. So that's what he'd missed while mentally planting her father a facer and consigning her mother to the privet hedges. And what he'd inadvertently agreed to. A refusal rose to his lips; it was ridiculous that he learn to dance. Of what possible use would such knowledge be to a Runner? Besides, he'd most likely tread upon her toes and make a complete fool of himself.
But then an image flashed in his mind… of Julianne dancing with the duke at Daltry's party. He vividly recalled how beautiful she'd looked. And how he'd envied the bastard for holding her in his arms. How badly he'd wished for those few impossible minutes that he was the man whirling her around the dance floor. Holding her hand in his. Touching the small of her back. Looking into those incredible eyes while the room swirled around them. A useless, foolish dream he'd savagely pushed aside. But now… a useless, foolish dream that could become reality.
"What if Winslow tells your parents?"
She shrugged. "I promised to retire early-not immediately. And teaching a dance is really no different than teaching a song or a card game. 'Tis a lesson, nothing more. And the door will remain open so all is proper."
Right. Except in a dance lesson he'd be able to touch her.
As if caught in a trance, he walked slowly toward her, his boots tapping against the polished wood floor. "What about music?" he asked.
"I'll hum and sing." Her lips twitched. "We won't need to call upon your, um, formidable vocal, er, talents."
He stopped when only two feet separated them, a distance that at once felt far too great and much too small.
In order to appear more imposing-and to make certain he didn't give in to the urge to yank her against him-he crossed his arms over his chest and frowned. "The way you say formidable leads me to believe that you mean something else entirely."
Rather than looking intimidated, amusement gleamed in her eyes. "Perhaps I do. Indescribable might be a more accurate assessment of your abilities."
"You said earlier I can't sing worth a jot. In other words, I possess no musical talent at all."
A dazzling smile lit her face. "Actually no other words are necessary, as those words are perfect."