Passionately Yours (Hellions of High Street 3)

“The two of you seem very comfortable with each other,” remarked Alec. “To my eye, he seems very attentive.”

“No, no! Andy isn’t interested in that sort of way.” She made a wry face. “As you have noticed, I am even worse than Anna when it comes to being a headstrong hellion. I would drive him to distraction, and he’s far too nice to suffer such a fate. So I assure you, we are simply friends.”

A low “Hmm” was his only response.

The music quickened, and the dancing couples reformed into the last circling steps that would bring the cotillion to an end.

“I’ve been ordered by Isobel to ask you for the next dance,” said Alec, abruptly changing the subject.

“It sounds like you would rather walk to your execution,” said Caro. “So consider yourself relieved of obeying such an onerous command. Dancing is supposed to be enjoyable.”

He shifted his weight from foot to foot. “I shall endeavor not to crush your toes.”

“Lord Strathcona, you need not suffer through—”

“It would please Isobel,” he said gruffly.

“It ought to please you,” she pointed out. “Which does not seem the case. So please don’t feel obligated.”

“If I seem reluctant, it is not because I find it onerous, but rather because I fear it is you who would find the experience a sore trial.”

“I have very sturdy toes,” she said softly.

“Sturdy enough to withstand the clomping of a Highland ox?”

“Having seen you in action, sir, I have reason to know you are far more nimble than that. I am willing to take the risk if you are.”

A few tentative trills sounded as the musicians retuned their violins for the next dance.

“In that case…” He smoothed the wrinkles from his sleeve, as if considering the challenge. His wrist twitched, then he offered his arm. “Let us give it a try.”

The parquet floor was a simple, sensible pattern of dark wood, made from the sort of solid English oak that could withstand centuries of stomping.

So why was it that the room seemed suddenly to tremor beneath his feet as he turned to face her?

It was a waltz. Alec had recognized the first notes and dutifully taken her hand and drawn her closer. Only to feel a jolt of electricity thrum through his entire body.

Leaving his brain feeling a little singed.

Somehow he managed to go through the proper motions—his other hand set on the small of her back, his feet slid into the first figures of the dance, no matter that the floor seemed to be tilting at a very odd angle.

Breathe, he told himself. And slowly, as his lungs began to function again, his mind began to clear.

She, too, seemed aware of the current coursing through the layers of wool and silk. Her cheeks were a trifle flushed, and the rise and fall of her bosom had suddenly quickened.

Her bosom. Alec realized his eyes were glued on the creamy expanse of flesh revealed by the low-cut bodice of her gown.

“Sorry,” he intoned, as his shoe grazed her slipper.

“N-no harm done,” responded Caro. That her voice was a little unsteady made him feel less like an idiot.

They danced on for several minutes in silence.

“You surprise me, Lord Strathcona,” she said after a series of spins. “Not only are you familiar with the waltz, but you dance it very well.”

“As do you, Miss Caro.” She moved with a liquid grace, and with her raven-colored hair and sea-green gown, she reminded him of a Scottish loch on the cusp of a storm.

Dark and slightly dangerous. Quixotic and infinitely intriguing.