Free The Debonair Duke by Emilyn Hendrickson Page A

to the duke as they began to form a circle.
    “Head erect, chin up, smile,” the duke ordered softly as he led her to a place along the side of the room. He positioned her so they stood face-to-face, slightly to the right of each other. The duke took her right hand lightly in his left, then slid his right arm behind her back, saying, “Place your other hand lightly on my shoulder. The beat is three-quarter to a measure, as you will soon sense.”
    Pamela was quite certain she might expire on the spot. Never had she been in such an intimate position with a gentleman. No other dance required the couple to face one another in such proximity.
    Before she might protest, the music began, a beguiling rhythm that compelled her feet to move in time, matching the duke’s steps. Around and around they went, breathlessly, almost dizzily. She had no time to think of steps, of what she ought to be doing, or where her feet must be positioned as in the past. She could only dance.
    The dancers turned continually while they revolved around the room. There were no steps forward or backward, no change, it was all a continuous whirl of pleasure.
    “Do not be so serious,” the duke admonished lightly. “I shan’t allow you to collapse when we cease this spinning about the room.” When he chuckled, she wondered what was revealed in her face.
    Pamela wondered whether it was the actual dance that made her feel light-headed or the closeness of the most debonair of gentlemen, the duke.
    The music stopped, and the duke did as promised. He retained hold of her a moment, then asked, “Do you feel quite up to standing on your own?”
    “Oh, yes,” Pamela said, while actually wondering if she might collapse in a heap.
    Their dancing master, who had been standing in the center of the revolving group, clapped his hands, then said, “I shall point out a few things to every couple. Please do remain in place until I have spoken with every pair.”
    Since the duke held precedence, the man came to them first. “Your Grace is extremely graceful, as is your partner. If I might suggest this with the hands” —and he instructed what he desired in a change of position.
    To Pamela it was incredibly shocking. Now she could understand why the waltz had been so frowned upon, why her mother was so hesitant. It was one thing to observe; it was quite another to stand so close to a man such as the duke, with his arm snugly about her and her body almost skimming his, her own hand resting on that manly shoulder, her other hand held so gently in his. Never mind they wore gloves, she could feel the strength of his clasp in her hand. She was of a height to reach his cheek, so it was not a difficult matter to gaze into his eyes. Indeed, it seemed impossible to look elsewhere.
    He smelled manly but clean, she decided, not at all like some she had chanced to be made aware of while in the press of a throng. It was a mixture of something that pleased her nose very much, whatever the content, and the light tangy scent that seemed a part of him.
    By this time, the dancing master had completed the small circle of friends. Once again the music began and the dance resumed, revolving around the room.
    “One, two, three —you see, it is not so difficult after all,” the duke said lightly, pulling her closer when they were about to collide with a slower couple.
    “Not so difficult?” she said, sounding quite as breathless as she felt.
    “You are a natural waltzer. I would think you had tricked me and taken waltzing lessons did I not know what an honest little creature you undoubtedly are. I shall make it a point to seek you out as a partner for the waltz when next we chance to grace the same ballroom.” His gray eyes gleamed with his seeming pleasure at the prospect.
    Pamela was utterly speechless at this handsome commendation. What had begun as a plea for help from the master at solving crimes had turned into something else, something she could not define if her life