Hiring Mr. Darcy - Valerie Bowman Page 0,44

and tried not to enjoy the scent of his soap too much. I briefly considered telling him that neck sniffing was part of the waltz but the odds of him buying it seemed low and I didn’t want to alienate him with my weirdness.

“What’s next?” he finally asked.

“Oh, right.” I shook my head. “Now we do a three-step movement. It’s actually pretty simple once you learn it. Left foot forward, to the side, come together, one, two, three. Right foot forward, to the side, come together, one, two, three. Always use the opposite foot for the next step.”

I pulled my hands from his and demonstrated the steps for him so he could watch me from behind. He moved into place at my side and mimicked me.

“Perfect,” I said after we’d done it about a half a dozen times. “I’ll go backward first so you can get the hang of it.”

I turned into his arms and my gaze met his. He looked so solemn. I gave him a tentative smile. “On the count of three,” I said, and we took off waltzing, my arm on his shoulder, his on my waist, our other hands clasped together far out to the side.

“One, two, three, one, two, three,” I whispered for several minutes before I could feel he knew what he was doing.

He swung me around effortlessly and took the backward position while I continued to count.

We danced that way for several minutes until he finally asked, “How am I doing?”

“You’re a dream,” I replied. Seriously, I’d never known anyone who’d picked up on it so quickly. Harrison and I had spent many an awkward moment stepping on each other’s feet before we’d mastered it.

“Have you done this before?” I finally had to ask after we’d made our way entirely around the space in the zig-zag pattern waltzing was famous for.

“No, but I had to do some dancing for the school play when we did My Fair Lady.”

“Oh, one of my favorites.” My gaze met his and we stared into each other’s eyes for a moment before I cleared my throat and broke the eye contact. “I think you’ve got the hang of it. Want to keep dancing and practice our lines for the acting bit?”

“Sure.”

We ran through the entire thing three times. I helped him when he forgot a line or two, but overall, I was super impressed with how much he’d seemed to memorize in one short day. “You really do have a good memory,” I said when we stopped.

Reciting the lines had helped to make the staring-up-into-his-handsome-face part less awk.

“Thanks,” he replied. “I really like that part of the book. Who doesn’t love a happily-ever-after?”

My breath caught in my throat and my heart pounded madly. Had he really just said that? “I agree completely.”

“You know my sister reads romance novels. She loves Jane Austen too,” he offered.

I felt my eyes widen while my heart continued to pound. “I knew I liked your sister.”

“Yeah, she’s pretty cool.”

I glanced around as if anyone else besides Huckleberry could hear us. “If I tell you a secret, do you promise not to tell anyone, especially Luke?”

Jeremy grinned. “Depends on how juicy a secret it is.”

I crossed my arms over my chest. “Okay, then, nope, not telling.”

Jeremy instantly sobered. “I’m just teasing. Of course I won’t tell.” He crossed his fingers over his heart. “Promise.”

“I love romance novels too,” I admitted, squeezing my eyes shut as if I’d just admitted to murder.

I tentatively opened one eye to gauge his reaction.

His eyes were wide. “You do?”

“Yep.” I nodded.

“You? Ms. Ph.D. in history?”

“Yep.” A hot blush spread up my neck. I’d never told anyone this secret before. Well, Ellie knew. She was the only person I’d ever admitted my secret desire to write a romance novel to. Plus, there’d been that unfortunate incident in tenth grade with Mrs. Neilson, but I’d never told Luke or Harrison or even my mom, despite the fact that my mom had been the reason I began reading romance novels to begin with. “I especially love historical romance.”

“Well, that makes sense,” Jeremy replied.

I bit my lip, unsure whether to reveal the next part. “I’ve actually always wanted to...write one.”

“Really?” His eyebrows shot up and a slow, delighted smile curved his mouth. “That’s cool. Why don’t you?”

I snorted. Not particularly graceful of me, but that was my natural reaction to the ludicrous notion of writing a romance novel. “I went to Wellesley. The alumnae association would have a fit. My professors would disown