“Then what are we doing, exactly? Remember that we swore to be honest.”
The question seemed to flummox him. That was her answer. She slipped from his lap and feverishly worked to restore her clothing before anyone saw her.
He remained seated on the pianoforte bench, his fingers flexing on his knees and his breath coming in hard gasps. “Beatrice,” he finally said, “I honestly don’t know what we’re doing. But I swear I don’t generally behave so . . . recklessly. And I certainly have no intention of taking advantage of you.”
Unsure whether to be pleased or alarmed that he claimed to act differently with her than with other women, she rounded on him. “So you mean to marry me.”
His lips opened and closed repeatedly as if he were seeking words to set her at ease. Apparently, he didn’t find them.
“That’s what I thought.” She buried her disappointment. He must never see it. “A duke can only dally with a woman like me, not marry one.”
He jumped up, anger sparking in his features. “I was not dallying with you, damn it! We were both . . . caught up in the moment, and it got away from us.”
“It certainly did,” she said, trying and failing to tuck her fichu in properly.
“I wish you’d stop referring to yourself as a pariah. You’re the granddaughter of a duke, for God’s sake, and certainly worthy of any duke’s attention.”
“Just not yours.” Lord save her, but she sounded far too needy. She must watch that. She would not have him pitying her.
He blanched. “That’s not what I said.”
“It’s what you meant.” And she was fighting hard not to let him see how much it wounded her.
“My reluctance to marry has naught to do with you personally. You’re a lovely woman, and if not for . . .”
When he seemed to catch himself, she said, “I wasn’t asking you to marry me.” She attempted to sound unconcerned as she struggled with her fichu. “Dear Lord, for a man of your reputation, you certainly take these things seriously.”
“You obviously do as well. Or we wouldn’t be having this discussion. I did not force anything on you, and you know it.”
She pulled her fichu free so she could do it properly from the beginning, then looped it about her neck. “You’re right.” She swallowed her temper. “It was a delightful private interlude, one I freely embraced. But if you don’t mind, Your Grace, I’d prefer to forgo any such future private interludes.” They’re too hard on my heart.
No, saying that would be unwise. She must appear nonchalant.
Grey touched her arm. “This isn’t how I would have things between us. I’d prefer we be friends at least.”
I cannot! she wanted to scream. But she dared not do that, either. As an enemy, he was far more dangerous, since he clearly suspected her brother of something.
She forced a smile. “Of course. I bear you no ill will, sir. I merely think it wise we do no more dancing in private, if you take my meaning.”
For a moment, she thought he might protest. His gaze dropped to her mouth and she feared—hoped?—he was on the verge of kissing her again.
Then he seemed to catch himself, for he straightened into the very picture of the self-important duke she’d first met in the foyer. “That is probably best,” he clipped out.
Their gazes locked and held. Unable to bear the sudden coolness in his eyes, she was about to flee when a male voice intruded into their intimate corner.
“What the devil is going on here?”
She nearly jumped out of her skin. It was Sheridan. Of all people, why must her cousin be the one to find them back here?
Grey must have felt the same for he swore under his breath as he released her arm. “Miss Wolfe and I have been practicing some dances.”
Wrestling her expression into a semblance of calm, she faced Sheridan. “Your brother and I . . . that is, he’s been showing me a few . . . a variety of dance steps, since I’m badly prepared for balls and such. To dance at balls and such, I mean.” Lord, she sounded like a fool.
Sheridan’s lips tightened into a line as he seemed to assess her agitated state. “And that’s why you’re dancing back here out of sight.”
Grey shrugged. “I played a few bars on the pianoforte so we’d know what tune to dance to.”
“Then I hummed the music,” Beatrice blurted out. “So we could dance.