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“I was hoping you might extend the same courtesy,” he replied gravely.
She drew her brows together. “You are not awkward.”
“You have never seen me searching for something beneath a sofa,” he deadpanned.
She laughed and took his hand. “You are being silly. That is not the same thing as you very well know.” He led her into the adjoining room, leaving the door open. They stopped beyond the direct view of most of the drawing room, near the window where the music reached them clearly. Elizabeth looked around them. “I feel rather foolish.”
“Would you prefer, we need not do this.” He had hoped this was a good compromise. It would let her dance without anyone watching. But if she was still uncomfortable, he would not ask her to take the risk.
“No.” She met his gaze. “I should like to try.”
He settled one hand at her waist and took her hand in the other. She rested her fingers upon his shoulder, lightly at first. For a few measures, they found their way together. He kept their steps small, conscious of the furniture and of her attention fixed upon his coat.
“You may look at me,” he murmured.
She frowned. “That seems more dangerous.”
Julian smiled. “For whom?” She lifted her eyes then, and he nearly missed the next step. “Apparently, for me,” he admitted.
Her laughter eased her shoulders. She moved more freely, letting him guide their turn, and he felt the moment she stopped anticipating a mistake. He enjoyed dancing well enough. He had told her the truth. But he could not recall ever taking such pleasure in a few slow turns upon a small stretch of carpet. She was watching him now, her expression thoughtful.
“What is it?” he asked.
“You do not appear to mind,” she said softly.
“Dancing with you?” he asked, confused.
“Making so little occasion of it,” she told him.
He glanced toward the doorway. “Would you prefer an audience?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“Then we are in complete agreement.” He liked having this private dance with her. Truthfully, he preferred it. If he could get away with it, he would escort her away from the gathering altogether. Julian did not wish to share her at all.
Her fingers shifted upon his shoulder. The music softened, then gathered again, and he guided her through another turn. He wanted to ask who had taught her to expect so little enjoyment from the things she chose. The question would have been intrusive. He had known her only a few days, and she had given him no invitation to examine the years before them. Instead, he held her hand and let the music continue. When the piece ended, Elizabeth remained close for a moment before stepping back. “I did enjoy that,” she said.
“So did I,” he told her.
She smiled. “Though I believe you made it very easy.”
“I was occupied with keeping you here.” He wasn't sure she would appreciate his honesty, but he had to say it. He enjoyed her company perhaps more than he should, or perhaps it was just that it felt right to have her with him. Julia couldn’t be certain. He just knew that he needed her near.
Her gaze rose to his. He had meant to make her smile, but something in her face quieted him, and the teasing words died on his tongue.
“I am here,” she said softly.
“Yes.” Julian looked down at their joined hands, her small fingers warm and trusting within his. He had not released hers. He realized, with a quiet jolt, that he did not want to. “You are.”
Voices sounded beyond the doorway, a ripple of laughter and the scrape of a chair. Neither seemed inclined to return to them immediately, and the music drifted through the open door, thin and sweet.
“May I ask you something?” she said, tilting her face up to his.
“Anything,” he promised, and meant it more than she could know.
“Are you always so certain?” she asked.
He smiled faintly, a little ruefully. “Rarely.” Especially with her. He was out of his depth, and the knowledge sat oddly in his chest, equal parts alarm and delight. Each word he spoke to her he considered carefully, lest he frighten her away. He wanted more of her time, and he would not miss any chance to have her near.
