chance he would offer his arm and become a proper escort. Four more hurried steps. Side step around Lady Odfellows. Two more steps and . . .
“I’ve been looking for you. Did you forget you promised me this dance?” She let her voice lower as she peered up into her husband’s quicksilver eyes. She would not falter now.
“This dance?” He hesitated only for a moment. “You must forgive me, my dear. I am afraid I was so swept up in conversation with Mr. Huismans that I lost count. I was sure there were still several more selections before I would be graced with your presence. You must let me introduce you. He is quite a gamester. We have been discussing theories of both chess and whist. His knowledge abounds.”
The introductions were made. The music began.
“You must forgive us, Mr. Huismans. But my husband did promise me this dance.”
There was an almost imperceptible tensing of Tristan’s brow. “Are you sure it was this dance? I was sure it was later. It would be a shame to interrupt such a fascinating conversation.” “No, no, Lord Wimberley. Never let it be said that I stood between a man and his beautiful wife,” Huismans replied. “If your wife believes it is time to dance it is time. Perhaps she will honor me with a dance later in the evening?”
“Of course, it would be my pleasure, Mr. Huismans. I will look forward to it.” She held out her hand to Tristan. He frowned, but took it and led her towards into the swirling crowd. She looked again. His face was as calm and polite as the butler’s. Had she imagined that look or did she somehow see deeper than the surface?
“Were you really going to forget our dance to discuss cards and games of chance?” Marguerite almost gasped as Tristan’s fingers curved about her. They were so hot. She shivered, but it was a very different shiver than Simon had aroused. Her breath caught and held.
Tristan drew her closer. “I had not asked for a dance, as well you know.” He drew her closer still.
She tried to swallow, but her mouth had gone dry.
“You need to breathe. Dancing goes much better when you inhale,” he whispered the words, air stirred around her ear.
His lips were so close. She could feel the warmth of his breath against her cheek, smell the sweetness of the brandy he had drunk. She shivered again.
“Breathe. I know you can do it.” He led her in a waltz.
She inhaled so deeply, so loudly, she was surprised that the neighboring couples did not turn.
“Now, about this dance, is there a reason you wanted me to yourself?” His breath was a caress.
“I am sure you must have promised one to me. I know you would never be so bad mannered as to not dance with your wife.” She focused on the weave of his coat. Were there gold threads intermingled or was it a trick of the light – some type of shot silk, perhaps?
“Oh, of course, my dear. I trust now that we are so respectably wed for more than a week I may call you ‘my dear’? And you are correct. I would never be such a bore as to ignore my wife, now would I?” His palm moved up the curve of her back drawing her hips against him for the briefest of moments. The front of her thighs prickled.
Who was this man she was dancing with? It was not her husband of the past week, the stiff cool man who could stare right at her and smile correctly, while not even noticing she was there. No, this was the man she had met a year ago, the man she had come to London to seek. Where had he come from?
They twirled faster and faster. There had never been a waltz like this. The music that ran through her had no relation to the notes the musicians played. They spun, arm in arm, eyes locked.
When the music finally slowed Marguerite looked up to find herself standing in the garden still tight in Tristan’s arms. She could feel the heat of skin through his coat, feel the beat of his heart beneath her fingertips. The pulse sped with her every touch. She stared up into his eyes, caught in his glance. She felt more alive than she could ever remember, aware of each leaf whispering in the breeze, each star sparkling in the sky.