Free Simply Unforgettable by Mary Balogh Page A

for company.
    But he had already given in to temptation and could not now deny himself the pleasure of pressing onward.
    He looked over his shoulder at her.
    â€œDazzle
me
.”
    â€œI beg your pardon?” She looked blankly up at him, though some color had crept into her cheeks.
    â€œDazzle
me,
” he repeated. “Waltz with
me
. You do not even have to wade through snow to reach the Assembly Room. It awaits you abovestairs.”
    â€œWhat?” She laughed.
    â€œCome and waltz with me,” he said. “We can have the luxury of the room and the floor to ourselves.”
    â€œBut there is no music,” she protested.
    â€œI thought you were a music teacher.”
    â€œI did not see either a pianoforte or a spinet up there,” she said. “But even if there were either, I would not be able to play and dance at the same time, would I?”
    â€œDo you not have a voice?” he asked her. “Can you not sing? Or hum?”
    She laughed. “How absurd!” she said. “Besides, it is cold up there. There is no fire.”
    â€œDo you feel cold, then?” he asked her.
    He suddenly felt as if the taproom fire were scorching him through to the marrow of his bones. And with his eyes intently holding hers, he knew that she felt the same way.
    â€œNo.” The word came out on a breath of sound. She cleared her throat. “No.”
    â€œWell, then.” He turned fully, made her an elegant leg, and reached out one hand, palm up. “May I have the pleasure of this set, ma’am?”
    â€œHow absurd!” she said again, but the color was high in both cheeks now, and her eyes were huge and bright, and he knew that she was his.
    She set her hand in his, and his fingers closed about it.
    Yes, they would waltz together at the very least.
    At the very least!
    And perhaps he would remember her even this time next year.

5

    He carried two candles in tall holders up the stairs while she carried one, which she took into her room in order to find a shawl in her portmanteau. She wrapped it about her shoulders before going into the Assembly Room, taking her candle with her.
    He had placed his at either end of the room, which was not really very large at all. He took hers from her hand and strode across to the fireplace opposite the door to set it on the mantel. He must have made a quick visit to his room too. He was wearing shoes in place of his Hessian boots.
    This was terribly foolish, she thought. They were actually going to
dance
together? Without company, without music, without heat?
    No, there was heat aplenty. And foolishness could sometimes feel marvelously exhilarating. She held the ends of her shawl and tried to steady her heartbeat as he came back across the room, his eyes intent on hers, looking distinctly dangerous. He repeated the elegant, marvelously theatrical bow he had made her downstairs, and cocked one eyebrow.
    â€œMa’am?” he said. “This is my dance, I believe.”
    â€œI believe it is, sir.” She dipped into a low curtsy, set her hand in his, and felt the warmth of his fingers close strongly about hers again.
    They spoke and behaved frivolously as if this were some amusing lark.
    It felt anything but.
    It felt downright sinful.
    But, good heavens, they were only going to
dance
together.
    He led her to the center of the floor and stood facing her.
    â€œI confess,” he said, “that my experience with the waltz is somewhat limited. Let me see. My right hand goes here, I believe.”
    Holding her eyes with his own, he slid it about her waist to come to rest against the small of her back. She could feel the heat of it through her wool dress and chemise—and there went her heartbeat again.
    â€œAnd my left hand goes here.” She set it on his broad shoulder, a few inches above the level of her own—and there went the bones in her knees.
    â€œAnd—” He held up his left hand and raised his