The Perfect Waltz by Anne Gracíe Read Free Book Online Page A

dishonorable part of him wanted to take advantage of her distress, to keep her there, nestled against him as long as possible—preferably forever. The sensible part of him knew it was a foolish fantasy and reminded him that his duty was to protect her reputation, as well as her body. He eased back, saying gently, “You must be shaken. Shall I fetch you something—a drink perhaps? Or do you wish to sit the rest of the dance out?”
    She laughed. “Oh, heavens no! I’m not such a feeble creature. And I wouldn’t dream of wasting a single moment of our first waltz.” She gave him a dazzling smile and said, “I’m enjoying myself immensely, aren’t you?”
    He stumbled and cursed silently. One, two-three. One, two-three.
    She was enjoying it. Immensely. “Our first waltz.”
    Not simply “our waltz.” Our first one. As if she envisaged a long line of future waltzes with him. As if this first dance meant something to her, the way it did to him. His first-ever waltz. Perhaps his last. He had already resolved never to dance the waltz with another woman.
    It took Sebastian several minutes to catch his rhythm again—her smile and her words quite robbed him of his concentration—but he prided himself on his self-control, and soon he had them twirling efficiently around the ballroom. He darted a glance at her to see if he could somehow divine whether or not she had meant it about the first waltz, or whether it was just a meaningless politeness.
    To his surprise, she was watching him, an expression in her eyes he could not identify. She dimpled. He glanced around the dance floor but could not see what had so amused her. He looked back at her and frowned an inquiry.
    Her eyes were brim-full of merriment. “It’s all right. I don’t mind that you’ve gone all silent again. It is difficult to dance and talk at the same time. I perfectly understand, and I promise I won’t bother you. When I danced at my first ball, I was terrified I would tread on my partner’s toes.”
    Her voice was warmly sympathetic, but her words annoyed Sebastian. He was dancing quite efficiently. “It is not my first ball.”
    “Your second, perhaps?” Her eyes twinkled at him, an impossible, glorious blue. His primitive instincts responded wildly. He grimly suppressed them.
    It was true, of course, but he wasn’t going to admit it. She dimpled again, and as he twirled her onward in a precise, textbook manner, she added chattily, “I only recently learned to dance, too, you know. Monsieur Lefarge almost despaired of me at first, I was so inept. I could not get the rhythm right. I am so clumsy.”
    Clumsy? It was ludicrous to imagine this dainty, thistle-down sprite as clumsy. Then her other words sank in, and he frowned. Lefarge . That was the name of his Frenchman.
    Unaware, she continued, “For the longest time I had to count under my breath like this: one, two-three, one, two-three.” Her blue, blue eyes were almost dreamy as she added, “It was such an irony, to find myself such a dreadfully clumsy dancer. I so desperately wanted to learn to waltz, you see. To come to London and dance it in the arms of a handsome man was the summit of all my dreams.” She glanced at him, then looked away and blushed rosily.
    The effect on him was instantaneous. Arousal. Sebastian was horrified. He’d never had it happen in public like this—not since he was a young boy. He half closed his eyes to will it away.
    To cover his confusion, he blurted out, “Are you Miss Faith or Miss Hope?” And then cursed himself silently for sounding—and feeling—like a gauche boy.

Chapter Three
    Lady you bereft me of all words,
Only my blood speaks to you in my veins,
And there is such confusion in my powers.
    WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE
     
 
 
 
HOPE SMILED, LIKING HIS DIRECTNESS. PEOPLE OFTEN PRETENDED they could tell the twins apart, but very few could. “I am Hope. Faith is wearing sky blue tonight.”
    He nodded. “Hope,” he said, and on his lips her name