mind off missing Maur—missing Father. Thorn drinks. You must give him time to mourn.”
His mother patted his hand. “And how do you grieve, Grey?”
He bent to kiss her head. “By teaching Miss Wolfe to dance the minuet, of course. Play some music so we can try to forget our loss. Then when Gwyn arrives with Thorn, they can join in.”
His mother’s gaze darkened. “It will be a slow and somber minuet. I can’t bear a happy tune just now.”
“All the better to help Miss Wolfe learn,” he said, his voice noticeably softer. He squeezed his mother’s shoulder, then returned to Beatrice and held out his hand. “Shall we?”
As she let him lead her to the floor, Beatrice was all too aware that the duke was holding her hand. And neither of them wore gloves, as they normally would in a ballroom. Granted, he didn’t hold her hand long, since the dance didn’t allow for it, but still, every brush of his fingers against hers drove the air right out of her lungs.
After a few steps, which she thought she’d executed fairly well, he caught her hand for a turn, his gaze intent upon her face. “You dance better than you led me to believe.”
“Your sister is an excellent teacher.”
“And you’re a quick study,” he said blandly.
“Thank God!” she blurted out. “I-I mean, thank heaven. I was sure I’d bumble through it once I was dancing with an actual man.”
Amusement glinted in his eyes. “An actual man? As opposed to what? A painting of one? An effigy? A statue, perhaps.”
Against her better judgment, she laughed. “As opposed to your sister. I haven’t managed to master the French version, though. I can only do the English one.”
“Not too many people do the French step in London anyway. But if you really want to learn, it’s not so difficult. Just let me lead you.”
“I will do whatever you wish, Your Grace.”
Something dangerously enticing flickered in his gaze. “Every time you offer to do whatever I wish, you tempt me, Beatrice,” he murmured. “So don’t offer unless you mean it.”
Blast, she was in trouble. If he kept saying things like that, she’d melt into a puddle. The duke could seduce a saint, and she was no saint, just a woman caught in circumstances beyond her control, with a man who turned her knees wobbly.
Now he was looking at her as he had in the woods yesterday—with hunger in his eyes. As the music continued, she forgot about counting the beats or feeling clumsy. She matched his motions, relishing the masterful way he led her, his hands clasping hers as they circled each other. His eyes flashed green or blue depending on whether he faced the windows as they turned, and the effect was hypnotic.
Dancing with him was hypnotic. Every clasp of his hand as they came together was a pleasurable agony, every dark smile an invitation to debauchery. She could hardly catch her breath, her heart was pounding so. Surely he must hear it and think her the veriest peagoose he’d ever met, to be so flustered by a mere dance.
Suddenly, Gwyn burst into the room. “Mama, Thorn is leaving for London!”
The music ended abruptly. “What?” Aunt Lydia rose. “But why?”
Grey and Beatrice moved a respectable distance apart as Gwyn stalked to the pianoforte. “My stupid brother says he has important things to do in town. That he shan’t waste any more time around here. He’s packing up right this minute!”
“The devil he is!” Aunt Lydia cried. “That boy will be the death of me yet.” She caught Gwyn by the arm. “Come with me. He’s leaving because of you, you know. And I’ve had enough of you two squabbling. We’re going to settle this right now.”
Halfway out the door, Aunt Lydia paused to say to Beatrice and Grey, “Keep practicing! The three of us will be back in a moment.”
“Somehow I doubt that,” Grey muttered. “Not even Mother can undo years of disagreement in a single moment.” He cast Beatrice a wry smile. “And I’m not sure how she expects us to dance with no music.” Calculation gleamed in his eyes. “You and I should just talk until they return.”
So he could ask more questions about Joshua and Uncle Armie to coax her into babbling her foolish fears? No, thank you. “If I hum the music, we could continue to practice the steps.”
“I’m not sure you need more practice.” He eyed her uncertainly, as if trying to figure out her game. “You seem