Instead, she answered his question about dancing. “My only waltzing experience has been with you.”
His brows rose slightly. “Then you need another lesson, I think.” He offered her his hand. “I promise I won’t hum.”
She put her fingers against his palm. His hand closed around hers, sending a rush of heat up her arm. As she stood, her entire body tingled with awareness, and she found herself looking at his mouth, recalling their kiss.
Best not to think about that.
Leading her away from the table, he kept hold of her hand. “Do you remember how to position yourself?”
She nodded, facing him and putting her hand on his shoulder. Their clasped hands shifted, and he put his hand on her waist. There were several inches between their chests, but Fiona was intensely aware of their proximity and that enduring magnetism that continued to draw her to him.
“Ready?” he murmured, his pewter gaze locked with hers.
“Yes.”
He began to move, gently steering her about the room, gliding with masculine grace as he avoided the furniture. And he did so without looking, for his attention was focused wholly on her. She could not have taken her eyes from him, even if she wanted to. Did he feel the same?
Without music, the room seemed somehow smaller, more intimate, and the space between them charged with a specific energy that only they could generate. Without music, it was not really a dance, but a joining in which they used the waltz as an excuse to move as one.
After a few circuits, he said, “I think you’ve mastered this.”
“I’m only following your lead. I suspect I may only be as good as my partner.”
He smiled. “Not true. You’ve become quite good at the other dances you learned. I saw how well you danced at the ball the other night.”
He’d watched her? “Did you?”
“It is my responsibility to supervise you.” The words should have disappointed her, for she wanted to be more than a responsibility. However, the way he continued to look at her made her feel a bit giddy.
“Do you like me at all, my lord?” She’d meant to tease him, but she found she wanted to know the truth. She was his father’s ward, and she’d caused him a great deal of trouble and expense since coming into his life.
He slowed until they came to a stop. “Fiona.”
Her heart beat fast and hard. He’d said her name, not Miss Wingate.
His thumb stroked her hand, and his fingers moved like a whisper along her spine. “I like you very much,” he breathed.
Fiona slid her hand along his shoulder until she met the stiff, vertical collar of his shirt. She leaned slightly toward him, erasing half the distance that separated them. Focusing on his lips once more, she could almost taste his kiss…
He abruptly released her and took a step back. A cold disappointment washed over her. She wrapped her arms about her middle. He didn’t want to kiss her again—he’d said they couldn’t. He was her guardian. But what of this magnetism or whatever it was she was feeling toward him? She’d have to find a way to put a stop to it.
“I’d say you are more than ready to waltz with Lord Gregory,” he said, his features stoic. “He is an excellent match.”
She was growing tired of hearing people say that. “I know. However, marriage between us is not a foregone conclusion. I am still not quite ready to make that leap.” Except she’d told the earl that she would. She owed it to him to stop being a nuisance. Particularly when he clearly saw her that way.
“You’ll have to decide soon. Lord Gregory is not stupid, and you are an excellent catch.”
“Why? I’m a nobody from the country.”
“You’re intelligent, beautiful, and you have a rather large dowry,” he added wryly. “Thanks to my father. As a second son, that will undoubtedly be enticing to Lord Gregory.”
“I’m a good investment,” she muttered.
“It’s an added benefit. Lord Gregory may have pursued you even without it.”
Fiona froze. Cocking her head, she stared at him a moment. “He knows about my dowry?”
“I would assume so.”
“Why? Is there some publication where eligible young ladies are listed with their pedigree and monetary worth?” Anger bubbled inside her.
“Of course not. But when a young woman enters the Marriage Mart, certain things are shared.”
“So you shared—with who, the entire ton—that I have an oversized dowry?”
“I made it known, yes.” His brows dug down as his eyes narrowed. “That is how things are done, particularly when a young lady is not, as you put it, pedigreed.”
“I see.” She would never know if any man was ever interested in her for her or for the money she could bring him. Money that wasn’t hers, but with which she could change her life and be independent. Of course, women were never afforded that option. Just imagine if a father—or a bloody guardian—said, “This is your dowry, but if you choose not to wed, you may take it for yourself.” She nearly laughed out loud.
“You seem angry,” he said slowly.
“I feel trapped. I am utterly reliant on you and my future husband. I don’t even know what to do about poor Mrs. Tucket. She’d probably be happier back in Shropshire, but I can’t make that happen. I have to ask you or my husband to provide a retirement for her. Apparently, I have a dowry that I could use, except that I can’t because it isn’t really mine.”
Lines burrowed across his forehead. “You aren’t trapped. I am doing my best to give you the best opportunities.”
“As dictated by Society. I must learn to dance and how to behave so that I may find a husband.”
He frowned more deeply. “I also obtained books and maps for you, as well as a pianoforte. I’ve tried to give you things you’ve never had and that you clearly enjoy.”
Some of her ire dissipated, but the sense of being in a cage did not. She thought of returning to
