to have mastered the minuet well enough to pass muster.”
“Then perhaps you could teach me another dance.”
“What do you have in mind?”
“Let me think.” She ran through all the dances she’d heard of until she hit on one. “How about ‘Jenny’s Market’?”
An odd look crossed his face. “‘Jenny’s Market’? Are you certain that’s one you wish to learn?”
“I’ve heard the dance is quite popular in high society. Do you know it?”
“I do indeed. Very well.”
Thank God. Now she wouldn’t have to talk about Uncle Armie with him.
Although the way he’d said, I do indeed, with a hint of suspicion, gave her pause. Because now he was gazing at her with a heat in his eyes that made her heart drop into her stomach.
Uh-oh. She might have jumped from the frying pan into the fire. And she really wasn’t sure how.
Chapter Eleven
Grey had begun to think that Beatrice was as guileless as she had seemed until she’d mentioned wanting to learn “Jenny’s Market.”
Unless . . . “How do you know about ‘Jenny’s Market’? Have you ever seen it danced?”
She sighed. “I’m afraid not.”
That explained a great deal. He walked over to close the door leading to the hall. When he caught her gaping at him, he said, “Someone seeing us dance ‘Jenny’s Market’ without music could misinterpret what we’re doing, so it’s best to keep the servants from chattering. If we were wise, we’d also practice over by the pianoforte, since we’d hear anyone enter before they turned around to spot us in the musicians’ alcove.”
“Oh, dear.” Her face fell. “Then it must be quite a scandalous dance.”
“Without music, yes, it might be seen as something scandalous. In a ballroom with other couples, it’s perfectly acceptable.”
“Can I admit something to you?” she asked.
Absolutely. “We do have a bargain about saying what we think.”
“Well then, learning that the dance is scandalous sort of . . .” She leaned close and lowered her tone to a confidential murmur. “It makes me even more eager to learn it. Though I suppose it’s wicked of me to think such a thing, let alone speak it.”
His pulse beat a rapid tattoo. “Wicked? No. Let’s just say that your grandmother was right—you are a naughty saucebox. But it happens to be something I like about you.”
Her gaze sharpened on him. “Because you want to take advantage of it.”
“I’m a man.” He shrugged. “We take advantage whenever we get the chance. Remember that, when you’re in society and some fellow who’s less of a gentleman than I tries to get you alone. But scandalous or not, ‘Jenny’s Market’ is still merely a dance. If you want to learn it, I’m happy to teach it to you.”
She seemed to consider the matter. Then she squared her shoulders and met his gaze with a certain impudence. “All right. Why not?”
His pulse did an impudent dance of its own.
Down, boy. She merely wants to dabble in the scandalous. So let her. God knows you want her to.
He led her into the musicians’ alcove. “To begin, we stand opposite each other at about arms’ length.”
With a nod, she took that position. Then she muttered a curse that sounded distinctly unladylike. “I just realized—I have no idea what tune to hum.”
“Do you know ‘Lucy May’?”
Her face lit up. “I do!”
“That will work. But hum it at a slower pace than usual, so I can instruct and you can follow without too much trouble.”
“All right.” She began to hum in a deep, throaty voice so thrilling that fire rose in him anew.
He fought to tamp it down. “First, we bow. Then we take one step toward each other . . . and one step away. Right, like that.” He held out his hands. “Next we clasp hands in a wide arc and circle around until we’re back to where we were.”
She stopped humming just long enough to say, “I’m not sure why you considered this dance so shocking.”
“We’re coming to that.” He tugged her close, apparently taking her by surprise, for her color heightened. “You lift your left hand over your head to touch your fingertips to my left hand as you align your right shoulder with my right shoulder. At the same time you place your right hand on the left side of my waist and I place my right hand in the same spot on yours.”
As the position entwined them so that their right forearms lay across each other’s stomachs and their left hands met overhead, forcing them to gaze into each