A Scandalous Affair (The Merry Widows 3)

She reached for him. His arms unwound from each other and he stood tall, towering over her. Clasping his large hands in hers, she drew him close, getting him into position. “I’m going to dance with you again. Here.”

“But there is no music…”

“Ssh, listen.”

They both paused. All she heard was the sound of his soft breath and hers. And then the delicate strains of the orchestra came from the ballroom in the distance.

“Can you hear it now?”

“Yes, but…”

“Good. Just follow my lead.”

* * *

Hartwell drew the delicate woman into his arms and held her close. Her skirts brushed against his legs, one slender lace-gloved hand clasped in his, the other resting on his shoulder. He placed his hand against her lower back, felt the warmth of her skin burn his palm and breathed deep of her scent. Her soft hair tickled his jaw, the side of his face like a caress.

Exquisite, delicious, staggering torture it was, having her in his arms. She completely unnerved him, yet when he spoke to her he discovered his stutter almost disappeared.

Strange.

“I cannot believe a man of your position doesn’t enjoy spinning a lady around the dance floor on a nightly basis,” she said, flashing him another one of those gorgeous smiles.

How could he admit his father berated him constantly, instilling the belief that his son was socially unacceptable? The only child and heir proved such a disappointment his family hadn’t bothered much with social graces beyond the occasional dance lesson from his mother when he’d been very, very young.

Thank goodness for his mother. She’d been the balm to his troubled soul. Made him feel good, wanted, loved. His tutor had done much the same. Hartwell had been like a sponge when he was young, always learning, always wanting to know more. His intelligence had taken him far in life, particularly once he’d inherited the title. Investing the meager earnings, the Hartwell lands produced and tripled them in a short amount of time.

Ah, if his father had been alive to see that, he would’ve been surely stunned—perhaps even proud—at the transformation.

“I was rather awkward growing up,” he finally said, not straying far from the truth.

“Well, you don’t seem awkward now.” She gave a little push and he followed her steps, allowing her the lead for but a moment before he took over and led her about the room. The smile she offered him was so full of pleasure it tugged at something deep within him. “You’re very graceful.”

“And you’re a flatterer.”

“I merely speak the truth. You dance wonderfully.”

“Perhaps it’s my partner.” Ah, and now he flirted, something he never did.

What was it about this particular lady who brought forth such courage, such assuredness? He’d had his share of women, but no one like Lady Pomeroy. He’d had brief affairs with courtesans, for they were the only ones who tolerated his quiet behavior, his occasional stuttering. They looked past it, didn’t judge, whereas a young debutante on the marriage market would most likely laugh in his face if he stuttered his way through a conversation.

“I hope that was a compliment,” she said, sounding slightly breathless.

“If you have to ask, then it must’ve not been a very good one.”

Her smile grew and relief flooded him. She seemed to enjoy his company. And for whatever strange reason when he spoke to her, he didn’t stutter at all.

Inexplicably, he felt comfortable with Lady Pomeroy. Daphne. Such a pretty name, it fit her.

“You’re different.” They stopped dancing and stood in the middle of the room, their hands still clutched. He felt her slender fingers curl about his shoulder and she took the subtlest step closer to him. “I like that about you.”

“Really?” He was certainly different. She had no idea what she’d just touched upon.

“Yes.” She nodded, her tongue sneaking out to dab at her lips. The sight of it made his groin tighten with need. “I’ve been drawn to you since the first moment I saw you.”

That confession was absolutely startling. Why in the world would she be drawn to him? “You flatter me again, my lady.”

“It’s Daphne. And I speak the truth.” Her hand moved from his shoulder to rest against his cheek. She caressed his flesh with delicate fingers, making his body tighten. He was so completely aware of her. How closely she stood, how delectable she smelled, how wonderful she felt in his arms. “Are you merely shy, my lord? Hence your reluctance to socialize with others?”