of the autumn Season,” Marianne replied with a slight laugh. “I see Lord Copperpot,” she added a few moments later.
“Where?” Beau asked.
Marianne leaned forward again and pointed, and the scent of her flowery soap made Beau clench his jaw.
“There, by the doorway,” she said. “It looks as if he’s still greeting guests.”
Beau shook his head. He forced himself to find Lord Copperpot’s form in the crowd. “Good. We can keep an eye on all three of them.” He moved his chair a bit away from hers to restore his mental equilibrium.
They sat there, watching the crowd in the ballroom silently until Beau noticed that Marianne was swaying in time to the music. A waltz had just begun.
“Do you like to dance?” he couldn’t stop himself from asking.
“I’ve never danced before,” she replied, blinking.
“What? Are you quite serious?”
Marianne shrugged. “I’ve never had an occasion to dance. This might surprise you, but I’ve never been invited to a ball before, either.”
Beau frowned. “You’ve never been invited to any sort of party where there was dancing?”
She tapped her cheek thoughtfully for a few moments. “I’ve been to country dances, if that’s what you mean, but…I’ve never danced a waltz like this.”
“Would you like to?” The words escaped his lips before he had a chance to examine them.
“Would I…?” She pressed her lips together and blinked at him again.
“I’m quite serious,” he replied. “I know how to waltz, and I’d be happy to teach you.”
He could see the muscles move in her throat as she swallowed hard. “Aren’t we supposed to be keeping an eye on Lords Cunningham and Hightower?”
Beau stood and pushed back his chair. “Yes. But I daresay they’ve been completely uninteresting so far this evening. I doubt we’ll miss anything.”
Marianne laughed. “You are serious, aren’t you?”
“Entirely,” he replied. He stood in front of her and held out his arms. “Miss Notley, if you will?”
Marianne bit her lip and glanced back and forth as if seriously debating whether dancing the waltz with him in this alcove was a good idea. But he could tell the moment she’d made up her mind, because she lifted her chin, stood, and set her own chair out of the way.
“Mr. Baxter, I’d be honored.” She held her hands out to him before quickly adding. “But if I step on your foot, I cannot be held accountable.”
Beau laughed at that. Then he clasped her hands in his and waited for the beat of the music to come back around. “I’m certain you’ve seen from watching that the waltz is done in three sets of three.”
“Yes,” Marianne replied, nodding. “But we don’t have much room here, I’m afraid.”
“We’ll simply have to make do,” Beau replied before taking the lead and stepping into the first trio of steps. He led the way and even managed to ensure he didn’t hit his head on the ceiling beams as they waltzed in a small circle to the music drifting up from the ballroom below.
At first Marianne looked as if she were terrified that she might actually step on his boot, but after a few sets of steps, she got the pattern down brilliantly, and as her confidence grew, so did her smile.
Beau couldn’t remember a dance he’d enjoyed more, and he’d danced with some of the most popular ladies of the Beau Monde. But here, with Marianne in this small second floor room that smelled like dust, he actually felt for the first time in his life as if he were courting a lady. And there was no one he’d rather be with.
He was sorely tempted to pull her close, but given that she’d watched waltzes in the ballroom before, she would know that wasn’t proper—not to mention that they were still pretending as if they were nothing more than colleagues, the dancing notwithstanding.
So he concentrated on his smile and his footsteps and on ensuring that Marianne continued to smile, and he tried desperately not to think about how good she smelled or how soft her hands were or how perfect she felt in his arms.
Minutes later, the music came to an end and Beau reluctantly let her go. She lifted her white skirts, curtsied deeply, and smiled. “Thank you for a lovely waltz, Mr. Baxter.”
“The pleasure was entirely mine, Miss Notley,” he replied.
Marianne pushed a lock of red hair behind her ear as her focus returned to the ballroom and she resumed her seat. Beau, pushing away thoughts of another dance—or something even more enticing, like a kiss—placed his own