Free Manor of Secrets by Katherine Longshore

said with a bow. He didn’t scramble to retie his tie. He didn’t run in search of his waistcoat. He just straightened up and smiled again.
    “How kind of you to grace us with your presence,” he said, and Charlotte found herself wishing he were less formal. That he could call her Charlotte, and drop the “Lady.”
    “I was …” Charlotte found herself more tongue-tied than usual.
    “I was just showing Lady Charlotte the hesitation waltz,” Janie interjected, stepping forward. “She heard the music and came down the back stairs.”
    Lawrence raised an eyebrow at Janie and then turned to Charlotte.
    “And what did you think, Lady Charlotte?”
    “It’s different.” Charlotte paused and then grinned. “It made it easier to navigate around the table.” She was delighted with herself for saying something so blithely. An echo of the banter Janie seemed so comfortable with.
    “Very different from what you’re used to. In a ballroom.” Lawrence’s expression didn’t change, but Janie frowned. Charlotte realized she sounded a little spoiled and wished she had said nothing at all.
    “And we had trouble figuring out who would lead,” Janie said, pointing to the black mark on Charlotte’s toe. “I’m afraid Lady Charlotte’s shoes have suffered for it.”
    Lawrence laughed and Charlotte felt again a little stab of jealousy. Until he turned those eyes on her. And it was like she was the only person in the room.
    “I know how to lead,” he said. “Would you like to dance, Lady Charlotte?” And he held out his hand to her.
    He wore no gloves. Charlotte looked down at her own hands. Neither did she.
    This night wasn’t going the way she’d imagined. Her plan had been to talk to Janie. She’d imagined herself sneakingback up the stairs, not seen by any of the other servants. Certainly not seen in her hastily donned traveling dress, having tried — and failed — to lace her own corset.
    She hadn’t imagined herself dancing with the footman.
    But she found herself wanting to.
    Janie stepped between them. For a second, Charlotte thought the kitchen maid was going to whisk Lawrence off into the dance herself. Instead, Janie took Charlotte’s hand in hers.
    “It’s all right,” Janie said, placing Charlotte’s hand in Lawrence’s. “He won’t bite. At least not during a waltz.”
    When Lawrence stepped closer, Charlotte expected something extraordinary to happen. She expected thunder to sound. Or her mother to enter the room and scream the house down.
    But all she felt was Lawrence’s confidence — his fingers gentle, but slightly rough at the edges, and the strength of his grasp.
    When she felt his other hand on her waist, she was suddenly — painfully — aware that she hadn’t tightened her corset. That her skirt was merely pinned closed. That she could feel her clothes moving against her skin. She’d danced with boys before, of course. Under the watchful eye of her mother and the entire aristocratic circle of Kent and Sussex.She’d danced with her brothers and the local landowners and her father. She’d danced with Andrew Broadhurst.
    But Andrew held her hand lightly, his fingers barely touching her waist as he methodically led her through the dance.
    Lawrence held her hand firmly, his touch on her lower back sure and present, his fingers pressing her skin through the thin linen of her traveling jacket every time he steered her in another direction. Lawrence danced like he felt the music. He held her like he was sure she wouldn’t break.
    He waltzed her around the table as if they were in an uncrowded ballroom, each turn bringing her another glimpse of the stove, the window, the sink, Janie. She had to move exactly as he wanted, follow his rhythm, his guidance.
    This wasn’t a showy dance with quick turns. It didn’t cover a lot of ground. It wasn’t one where the girl could draw attention to the drape of her skirts or traverse an entire ballroom. It was intimate. Close.
    Delicious.
    She