the distant glimmer of the lake, its waters pale and pearlescent in the softly shimmering light.
Setting down his brandy glass, he cut across to where Kate was standing. “The more, the merrier.” Before she could protest, he took hold of her arm and drew her onto the makeshift dance floor.
“I—I don’t know the steps,” she hissed in his ear.
“But I do,” Marco replied. “Relax, and just follow my lead.” He placed his hand on the small of her back, just where the gentle curve of her spine formed a slight hollow. She stiffened as his palm flattened against her gown. “Relax,” he repeated. “The waltz is all about abandoning yourself to the rhythm of the music. A dancing couple must move as one.”
“If you get any closer, we might as well be glued together,” said Kate. Her voice sounded a little unsteady.
“Yes, the English find it shocks their sensibilities that a man and a woman are allowed to touch so intimately in public. What about you, Kate?”
“I—I…”
Before she could answer, Marco swept her to the first gliding steps of the dance. “Trust me,” he murmured, twirling through a slow spin. Her slender body fit perfectly against his, and through the thin layers of fabric he could feel the quickening of her breath. His feet felt as if they were skimming over the stone in a blur.
Faster, faster. Kate looked up, a tentative smile on her face, and his heart began to race. Or was it hers? Marco wasn’t quite sure he could separate the tattoo of tiny thuds against his skin.
Dio Madre, he was a jaded rake, a wanton wastrel. A chaste dance should not be making him lose control.
“Hold on tight, Kate,” he whispered. “For the next few minutes let us fly.”
Her feet were lifted from the ground, and suddenly Kate was whirling through the air, as if she were as light as a feather in his strong, sure hands. The breeze kissed her cheeks, and a laugh bubbled up inside her. For a giddy instant, she felt free as a seabird, soaring high over the ocean.
Even when her slippers touched back down to earth, the heady excitement stayed with her. Marco moved with a lithe, light grace and she instinctively sensed the subtle changes in his steps. His hand rested lightly near her hip, yet she was intimately aware of its heat searing straight to her core.
No wonder English society had been loath to allow the waltz to cross the Channel. It was wicked, indeed. And wonderful. She felt like a fairy princess, capering in the moonlight madness.
As they spun through a turn, Marco’s long, dark hair brushed against her cheek. Kate wished she could strip off her gloves and twine her fingers through the silky tangle. And then pull his sensuous mouth close and taste the hot spice of brandy lingering on his lips.
Oh yes, the waltz was sinful. Seductive.
It took her an instant to realize the music had stopped and the guests were applauding. A little dazed, she stepped back to catch her breath.
“La, what fun!” exclaimed Lady Duxbury. She looked at Marco, her eyes overbright with champagne. “Now it’s my turn to dance with you, sir!”
“I shall go sit with Charlotte,” said Kate quickly. “I don’t want her to feel that she must sing for her supper, so to speak.”
“Indeed,” said Cluyne. “It is bit unfair that she must stay inside while the rest of us enjoy the evening. Perhaps instead of dancing, we should all take a stroll in the gardens.”
“What an enchanting idea, Your Grace,” exclaimed the dowager countess. “I wouldn’t mind a bit of exercise myself, after such a splendid meal. And midnight is such a magical hour.”
“I shall go inform Lady Fenimore of the change in plans,” said the duke.
Rochambert gallantly offered his arm to the dowager’s daughter. “Would you care to take a walk with me, mademoiselle?” He winked at the countess. “We shall, of course, not stray out of sight of your maman.”
Kate saw Von Seilig glance her way, but suddenly Marco cut him off. “Miss Woodbridge, shall we continue our pas de deux and take a walk to the statuary garden?” he asked. “The view overlooking the lake promises to be quite lovely in starlight.”
Kate shot him a quizzical look but did not voice an objection.
The Prussian politely offered to escort the dowager countess, and Tappan quickly followed with an invitation to Lady Duxbury. “An excellent idea, Your Grace,” he said as Cluyne returned with Charlotte on his