Save the Last Dance for Me Read online

  He adjusted his hand on her back, fitting it snugly against the curve of her body. “I think so.”

  “Step off with your right foot, just like before, and use your hands to turn me. Think of this”—she squeezed his left hand—“as the prow of a ship. You lead with that. This”—her other hand slid down his arm —“is like a rudder. A little pressure one way or the other on my back, and I’ll know which way to turn.”

  He nodded. He could do this, if he could just concentrate on the steps rather than the woman so unexpectedly close to him. “Got it.”

  She replaced her hand on his shoulder. “We’re ready, Aunt.”

  The music began and Benedict stood still for a few moments, trying to get a feeling for the mechanics of the steps in this new position. Honoria’s expression and body were relaxed as she waited in the half-circle of his arm, as if she was perfectly comfortable being there.

  That contentment flowed from her limbs into his and he stepped off into the dance, pulling Honoria with him...and nearly tumbled the pair of them to the ground.

  The music stopped abruptly and Benedict held tight to his partner trying to regain his balance. “That was not the start I had hoped for.”

  “No, I suppose not. Let’s try again.” Her mouth was near his ear, and he heard her amusement rather than saw it.

  Once they righted themselves, they did try again. And again. Each time they made it a little deeper into the music without mishap, but Benedict still couldn’t shake the intimacy of what they were doing. Honoria’s hand had slipped from his shoulder to take hold of his upper arm, possibly because he was six or seven inches taller than she was—he was sure that her hand on his shoulder was an uncomfortable reach for prolonged periods. Or perhaps she had a more secure hold on his arm than on his shoulder. However unintentionally, he’d tossed her about the room a good deal today.

  But it felt like more than that...or at the very least, like it could be more.

  That thought unsettled him. He and Honoria had been friends for nearly twenty years, and he’d never thought of her in any other way. But this sudden search for a wife coupled with the close contact of the waltz set his mind working. On the surface, a union between them would be brilliant. They were of similar rank and fortune—or would be when he inherited—and one of the properties entailed to Benedict’s future marquessate adjoined one held by Honoria’s father. There would also no longer be a reason to lie to His Grace, which would lighten Benedict’s heart considerably. Honoria would make a fine marchioness, too, when the time came. That they were at ease in each other’s company only sweetened the deal.

  Was that enough, though? Others had married for less, certainly. Benedict had been considering such a marriage himself—was still considering it. But how would Honoria feel about such an arrangement?

  “Ready?”

  Her voice brought him back to the task at hand. “Yes. Perhaps we’ll make it through the entire song this time.”

  The music started and Benedict focused on getting his feet to go where they were supposed to. One-two-three, one-two-three, one-two-three...

  “Your dress keeps brushing against my legs.” The words were out of his mouth before he’d even finished thinking them, and he felt heat rising in his cheeks. Why did he have to mention that?

  Honoria only grinned. “Just be thankful I’m not wearing one of those huge gowns from the previous generation. Some of them were so wide a lady had to turn sideways to fit through the door.”

  “That could not have been terribly comfortable.” One-two-three, one-two-three...so far, no stumbles...

  “No. Nor was it terribly flattering. I can’t think of a woman alive who could wear one of those monstrosities and look well in it.”

  One-two-three, one-two-three... “You could.”

  “Oh, I doubt it.” Honoria had never been one to fish for compliments, and the tone of her voice said she wasn’t doing so now. The laughter in her dark eyes agreed. “I’d be wider than I am tall!”

  He smiled. “And you’d still be pretty. You always have been.”

  Once again the words were out of his mouth before they’d fully formed in his mind, but he wasn’t embarrassed by them this time. A little confused, perhaps, as “pretty” began to take on a new connotation after his unexpected thoughts of marriage with Honoria. But not embarrassed. He’d only spoken the truth, after all.

  And had apparently surprised her with it—her brows had risen for a moment before she replied, “You’ve never told me that before.”

  He tugged her into a turn to avoid a side table they’d danced too close to. “I should have done. Not that you didn’t hear it often enough from others, but you should hear it from those you’re closest to once in a while as well. I’ll try not to wait twenty years to say it again.”

  The last note from the pianoforte echoed through the partially cleared room and Benedict released his partner, bowing low before her. She executed a grand curtsy in return, then clapped her hands.

  “We did it! Not a single misstep through the whole piece.”

  She’d said “we” not “you”, and for some reason that pleased him enormously. “We did. Perhaps there’s hope for me after all.”

  He declined tea when it was offered and said his farewells, rather anxious now to be home where he could think in peace. Because he had a great deal more to think about now than when he’d risen that morning.

  Chapter 4

  “I’m given to understand you’ve chosen a wife.”

  “What?”

  Whitby entered Benedict’s library, as was his custom, close on the heels of the butler. “You’ve been paying a lot of attention to one lady,” he said, striding across the room and dropping into a wing chair opposite his cousin. “That sets tongues a-wagging.”

  “You mean Honoria? We have been friends for a long time—you know that.”

  “Friends who suddenly go driving every day, after the gentleman has called at the lady’s home.”

  Benedict glanced at the book in his hands, then hunted around for a place marker. His cousin was sometimes a little too plain-spoken, but he was also clever and often gave good advice—which Benedict could sorely use. He found the marker and placed the book carefully on the table beside him. “Is there gossip?”

  “People have noticed.”

  “Including your lady wife.”

  Whitby nodded. “She approves, by the way. She says Lady Honoria would be good for you, balance you out a bit.”

  “Balance me out?”

  Whitby leaned back and chuckled. “You know how academic you can be, how quiet. If it were up to you, you’d spend all your time in here. But the lady has you out of the house. And I daresay you’ve been more social at entertainments since you started courting her—Lady Whitby says you hold actual conversations with people now.”

  That was the plan, of course, though Whitby didn’t know it. Good to hear it was working.

  “I still don’t enjoy it. Since socializing is a necessity for finding a wife, I’ve been making the attempt.”

  Whitby smiled broadly. “It seems to have worked.”

  Benedict must have scowled, or at least frowned, because his cousin sat up a little straighter in his chair.

  “You do have honorable intentions toward the lady, don’t you?”

  “I’m not exactly a rakehell, now, am I? And I would never do anything to hurt Honoria.” Did Benedict sound as defensive to Whitby as he did to himself?

  “Something else is troubling you then. What is it?”

  Benedict hesitated, his mind groping for the right words. “How did you know Lady Whitby was the right woman for you?”

  “Ah.” Whitby relaxed back against the soft upholstery of his wing chair. “It’s like that, is it?”

  “Like what?”

  “You want to marry for love.”

  And Benedict realized he did. Thoughts of his father crept into his mind, giving a young Benedict facetious advice about how to deal with females.
When she sets her mouth in a firm line like that, son, you’d best do whatever she wants, Lord George Grey would say while grinning at his lady wife. Or, One thing you learn when you become a husband is to say the words “yes my love” without even hearing the question. Because the answer is always yes. But for all his teasing, Benedict’s father did impart one important lesson to his son: a good husband loves his wife with all his heart. He never said it aloud, but he never had to; though it wasn’t fashionable to be too fond of one’s spouse, anyone with eyes could see how deeply Lord George had cared for his bride.

  Did Benedict love Honoria like that? If he had to think about it, probably not.

  But could he?

  Whitby was nodding. “It’s a tradition in our family, you know. Great-grandfather Whitby was supposed to marry a lady his father had chosen, but he fell in love with another and married her instead.”

  “And he encouraged his children to follow their hearts, too. I remember that story.” Benedict felt his brows crowd together. “It turned out well for him. But what if you don’t know what your heart wants?”

  “Then you’ll just have to wait until it tells you.”

  “That’s not very helpful.”

  Whitby laughed. “A little too poetic for you, is it? How about this, then. Take note of how you feel when you spend time with her. Then note how you feel when you’re not with her. If you’d rather be with her more often than not, your heart is starting to speak up.”

  “And what if I find I do love her, but she doesn’t love me?”

  “That, my friend, is when the poetry will start to make sense.”

  Benedict had been drawn to Lord Elgin’s venture in Athens not only because it meant cataloging and preserving the remains of an ancient culture, but also because—if one observed carefully—those remains could tell a person an enormous amount about that culture. It was like putting clues together to solve a mystery, divining what a long-dead civilization might have been like.

  Now he decided to turn his skill as an anthropologist on his situation with Honoria.

  He was escorting her with her aunt to a concert given by the new Philharmonic Society at the Argyll Rooms, and decided this would be the perfect opportunity to begin a full-scale scientific study. He would take Whitby’s suggestion and observe how he felt about Honoria throughout the evening. Taking the inquiry a step further, he also resolved to study her reactions to him during their time together. Perhaps he could learn not only of his own heart’s desire, but something of hers as well.

  She was presently engaged in conversation with a gentleman who looked too young to have even begun shaving. Tall and slender, he had curly blond hair that rebelled against the pomade with which he’d attempted to slick it back, and a ready smile for Honoria’s every comment. She was gazing up at him, eyes a little wide, both hands gripping the fan she carried, as if he was the most fascinating man in London.

  “Have you met Lord Thomas?” Honoria’s aunt appeared beside Benedict, nodding in the direction of her niece.

  “I haven’t had the pleasure.”

  “Neither have I, but I knew his mother. Shall we go and speak to them? Honoria can introduce us.”

  Benedict thought he heard a note of mischief in her voice to go with the grin she’d flashed him. Her face, however, held nothing but polite inquiry only a moment later.

  He offered her his arm and tried to approach the pair with the eyes of a scientist. Honoria’s posture was straight as an arrow, her head tilted back to look this Lord Thomas in the eyes. As Benedict came closer, though, he could see her gaze drop to her companion’s shoulder before returning to his face. Her thumb, too, absently strummed a rib of her fan.

  “Honoria, dear, who is this handsome gentleman that has so captured your attention this evening?”

  Honoria turned toward her aunt’s voice and smiled—the same smile she used during her drives with Benedict. “This is Lord Thomas Morgan, son of the Duke of Whittington. Lord Thomas, my aunt Lady Cecilia Maitland, and Mr. Benedict Grey.”

  Lord Thomas reached for Lady Cecilia’s hand, bowing so low over it he nearly brushed his lips across her knuckles. “I see now from which side of the family Lady Honoria’s beauty originates.”

  Lady Cecilia smiled indulgently. “I was not aware you possessed such a silver tongue, Lord Thomas...nor such a keen eye with it.”

  Benedict fought to keep his eyes from rolling. The ladies and Lord Thomas, however, laughed politely at the little joke.

  “Lord Thomas was just telling me about his reading preferences,” Honoria said, changing the subject with a glance in Benedict’s direction. “Shakespeare, was it not?”

  Lord Thomas released Lady Cecilia’s hand and flicked his gaze toward Benedict, too, before returning his attention to Honoria. “Yes, my lady. Only this afternoon I was reading Romeo and Juliet and thought of you:

  But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks?

  It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.

  Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon,

  Who is already sick and pale with grief,

  That thou her maid art far more fair than she.”

  Benedict bit down on the inside of his cheek, just hard enough to keep himself from making a comment, but Honoria seemed pleased. Or was that another version of her society smile?

  “Well done, my lord. I would hear more, but I believe it’s time we took our seats.”

  “Allow me to escort you.”

  Lord Thomas offered his arm to Honoria and strode off with her, which left Benedict trailing behind with Honoria’s aunt.

  “I wouldn’t worry, Mr. Grey.” Lady Cecilia laid her hand on Benedict’s offered arm as they walked. “The boy has no serious interest in my niece.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Did you see the way he looked at you before quoting Shakespeare? Lord Thomas is barely two-and-twenty, and a third son with no income other than the allowance he receives from his father. He knows he can’t compete with you—probably why he chose such an overused passage. Nor did it seem as if Honoria wanted him to try.”

  “I thought she looked a trifle bored.”

  “I suspect she was,” Lady Cecilia agreed. “Perhaps she was wondering if someone was planning a visit to her father.”

  Already? “It has only been two weeks, my lady.”

  “Two weeks in which you’ve been to the house nearly every day, Mr. Grey. And it’s not as though the pair of you were strangers before now.”

  “No,” Benedict replied slowly. He doubted Honoria would have asked him for a pretend courtship if they had been newly acquainted. “But we have been apart for some time.”

  “That is true. Perhaps, if you aren’t otherwise engaged after the concert, you’d be agreeable to a little refreshment at Alston House?” Lady Cecilia winked at him. “It will easier to become reacquainted without a crowd of gentlemen vying for her attention, will it not?”

  Benedict allowed himself a smile. Honoria’s aunt had been away for much of the time he’d spent with her family when he was growing up, so he hadn’t known her all that well. But she’d always been slightly scandalous, and he was grateful for it now. Inviting a single gentleman to your home at night wasn’t exactly the done thing, even if Benedict would never be alone with either lady. But he could definitely make use of some real conversational time with Honoria.

  “It is certainly easier to speak with a lady when one is not trying desperately not to step on her toes.”

  Lady Cecilia chuckled. “I daresay you’re right about that.”

  Between listening to the music and socializing at the interval meaningful dialogue during the concert turned out to be nonexistent. So Benedict was doubly grateful when he was seated beside Honoria on a cornflower blue sofa in the drawing room at Alston House later that evening. Lady Cecilia situated herself with a glass of brandy and her sewing basket near enough to the couple to talk to them without shouting, but far enough away that they could speak to
each other with a degree of privacy.

  Benedict mentally applauded her cleverness.

  “Did you enjoy the concert this evening?”

  “I did,” Honoria answered, her voice full of enthusiasm and pitched just right for her aunt to hear. “The full power of the orchestra when they played the symphony just before the interval...it just isn’t something you get from a pianoforte in your home, is it?” When he smiled briefly but gave no verbal response, she discreetly touched the back of his hand. “Did you enjoy the concert?”

  Her skin was warm upon his. “I don’t know much about music, but I do like to listen to it. And the Society was especially good. The Greek and Roman references were a nice touch, too.”

  “‘Numa Pompilius’ and ‘Anacreon’? I thought you might find that aspect appealing.”

  “What about the Renaissance reference? Lord Thomas and his Shakespeare—did you find that appealing?” He said it with a teasing tone, and she laughed.

  “Why Mr. Grey, are you jealous?”

  “Should I be?” He turned his hand over beneath hers and lowered his voice. “We are supposed to be courting, after all.”

  She slid slightly closer to him. “He’s harmless...merely practicing on me what he hopes will win another. Like you are.”

  “You must be an exceptional teacher to have two pupils engaging your services.”

  “Ah, but I was merely a brief test for Lord Thomas, not his teacher.” She curled her fingers around his. “You are my only pupil.”

  He bent his head toward hers and caught the hint of a scent that was both familiar and unknown at the same time. It reminded him of spring and sunshine and books, but he couldn’t quite identify it.

  “Lucky for me.” He closed his hand around hers—it felt good to hold. “And lucky for you. I need as much help as you can give me, I’m afraid.”

  Her eyes dropped to the cushion where their clasped hands lay. “I didn’t think you knew the word ‘afraid’.”

  He gave a short laugh. “Me? Truly?”

  “How many times did you board a ship and travel round a continent? How long did you spend in a country where the weather and food and language are so different?”