Gerald snorted. “Well, it seems he’s had no takers, so he must by now realize he’ll need to think again.”
Madeline smiled and inclined her head in parting, but the squire’s words lingered. The gentry weren’t the only ones who held mining leases. She was idly circling the dance floor, pon
dering that, when Gervase suddenly appeared before her and trapped her hand in his.
He smiled, openly wolfishly—tigerishly—at her, then raised her fingers and kissed them. She tried to frown, difficult when her eyes had widened.
Shifting to stand beside her, he tucked her hand in his arm. “Sybil cried off and left me to make my own way.” He glanced around. “I forgot the country operates on earlier hours.”
His gaze returned to her face. “But now I’m here, we can dance.”
The musicians had just started up; Gervase drew her toward the floor. Madeline jerked back to reality. And pulled back. “No. I mean, I don’t dance.”
He raised his brows, but didn’t stop leading her forward. “Why not? You can’t expect me to believe you never learned.”
“Of course I learned. It’s just…” She blinked as he neatly twirled her, then smoothly drew her into his arms.
And she realized she had to look up a good few inches to meet his eyes. Realized that the hand at her waist and the arm behind it possessed uncommon strength, remembered how easily he’d lifted her off her feet the day before.
She didn’t dance—even though she was drawn to the exercise—because most men were shorter than she. Or at least not tall enough, or strong enough, to accomplish what was needed.
Two revolutions in Gervase’s arms and…when he raised his brows at her, she shook her head. “Never mind.”
He smiled, then looked forward, and whirled her through the turn. Literally whirled her; she’d never danced—been able to dance—with such unrestrained ease. Never had she been able to pace her partner as she could him—without having to shorten her stride, limit her movement, rein in her natural flair.
As they circled the room, effortlessly outpacing the other couples yet moving so smoothly there was no sense of speed, only a refreshing freedom, her heart lightened, took flight.
He looked into her eyes, and smiled. “There—you see. You enjoy it.”
She closed her lips on the too-revealing answer that had leapt to her tongue. Only with you was hardly a wise thing to say, not to him.
He needed no encouragement. Not to whirl her off her mental feet, something he proceeded to do with ludicrous ease. Being so confidently steered around the room was frankly exhilarating. He held her close—enough for her to feel truly secure at the pace they moved—closer than he perhaps should, yet it wasn’t so blatant an attack on her senses that she felt compelled to balk.
All she felt compelled to do was follow, to relax and let him lead as he would; her inner self sighed, and embraced the golden moments of unexpected pleasure.
His eyes were on her face, searching. Deeming it wise to distract him, she said, “You must have been waltzing quite a bit this year, what with all the balls in London.”
He raised his brows, his expression—mild resignation—for once clear. “Thanks to my sisters’ antics, I spent very little time at any balls. I’d reach town only to be called back within a few days.”
“So they were behind all those strange happenings?”
The line of his lips turned grim. “Indeed.” He met her eyes, hesitated.
She waited, eager to hear more but knowing better than to press him.
His lips quirked. “At least, having dealt with your brothers, you’ll understand. Those strange incidents, all of which were expressly designed to bring me hot-foot home, were my dear sisters’ reaction to the advent of the new Lady Hardesty.”
She blinked, tried to imagine, and couldn’t. “I don’t see the connection.”
“Thank you. I didn’t either. They, however, had convinced themselves that like poor Robert, I, too, might succumb to the lures of some femme fatale who would banish them to live with Great-Aunt Agatha in Yorkshire.”
She stared at him, confirmed that he was speaking the plain truth. She tried to keep her lips straight, failed entirely and laughed. “Oh, dear.”
He merely gave her a resigned look; his lips not curved but relaxed, he continued to whirl her as she struggled to master her mirth.
“I…” She paused to draw in a huge breath. “I truly can’t imagine you falling victim to any female.”
Gervase looked into her face, into her eyes, a shimmery peridot green in the chandeliers’ light. He’d thought the same, but was no longer so sure.