Rivals and Revels (A Regency Romance)

8. The Surprise from London

"There is a new dance conquering London from the continent," Everett said, leading Mabel into the heart of the ballroom.

"Since we've conquered them, it is only suitable for them to fight back, and so gallantly," Mabel replied.

A tiny crease appeared between his brows. Mabel's breath caught in her throat. Did she say something wrong?

"With the quadrille. They, ah, are conquering us with the quadrille." The more she tried to correct it, the more awkward it sounded. He certainly didn't flirt back.

With a quick shake of his head, Everett dispelled the unfortunate mood her remark cast over him. "Oh, no, quadrille is an old hat, Miss Walton. Our newest dance is called the waltz. It shall serve splendidly to spin our heads till we are dizzy and have quite forgotten the war."

She took a careful breath in. Please, not another misstep! She would die if she upset him again, just die! "We haven't seen the waltz in Lancashire yet."

How did that go? So bland, but couldn't have been upsetting... For all her slanting her eyes, she could only see his etched profile. It had been an effortless pleasure to talk to him back at Miss Carter's house. Where did this ease go now? She needed it, needed it as badly as the air.

Smile, for a woman's smile had launched a thousand ships sailing to Troy, she commanded herself. It was also a smile on the most beautiful face in history, but she shan't think of that now. She shan't think at all. "Is this new dance as scandalous as they say?"

He leaned to whisper into her ear—Merciful Heavens, but he was tall!

"Much more scandalous than they say, Miss Walton. The partners must embrace to dance properly. Quite thrilling at first, but I think our society can get used to it."

She had heard the whispers, of course. Had seen the caricatures in print, but when he said it, his eyes flashing, the scandal came alive. Heat washed over her like wind from the deserts of Holy Land.

"Do you?" he asked.

The candle flames, the musicians tuning their instruments, the laughter and conversation blurred into one shining, whispering swirl around her.

"W-what?" Wonderful, now she was quaking and staring wild-eyed at him, utterly unable to comprehend his question or what he wanted of her. The only thing she could focus on was his face and the ringlets falling to his collar. So marvellously handsome...

"Do you think we'll get used to it?" Everett repeated impatiently.

The way he said 'we', it was as if he meant just the two of them, dancing that new dance from London in an embrace. Good thing it hadn't yet come to Lancashire.

"Of course," she said. "We can very well get used to it." If he suggested that they could get used to breathing underwater, she'd have said the same.

His hand withdrew, as he offered his bow. The bow, she could do a bow... and then his hand warmed her chilly fingers even through her gloves.

The throbbing of her heart in her ears overpowered her other senses. She barely comprehended it when the dance master announced that as a special surprise, the second dance would be a waltz.

Did her ears hear it wrong?

But no, it couldn't be. He did say the waltz. What's more, some of the couples slipped from the floor to the fringes, judging wisely that it was better to avoid embarrassment. Who knew if this new fashion was just a passing fancy and would be abandoned by the end of the season?

Alas for Mabel, she was trapped right at the centre of the room, among the most daring of the guests. The boldest man she had ever had the pleasure of dancing with looked at her expectantly out of strikingly blue eyes.