surprised you noticed.’ She played with the soft petals of a rose, idly stroking its velvety surface and trying not to look at Jonathon. It was difficult looking at him today, remembering their dance, the heavenly feel of his hand at her back guiding her through the patterns, and then Cecilia’s cruel words ruining the most delightful waltz she’d ever experienced. The girl who was meant to wear Evie’s new dresses would not be bothered by any of it. But the girl she was out of those dresses couldn’t ignore the words.
‘No worries. I left early, too. Shh... Don’t tell anyone.’ Jonathon’s voice was a conspirator’s whisper, friendly laughter humming beneath the surface of his words. ‘Your friends came back in from wherever you had all gone, but you weren’t with them.’ There was a spark in his eye. This time she heard the teasing in his voice. ‘Might I hope our dance bore fruit?’
If you count sour lemons. Your soon-to-be fiancée reminded me our dance was a charity project. But that clearly was not what he was referring to. It took her a moment to understand his meaning. Ah, he meant the ‘suitor’ she was trying to impress.
When she hesitated, he became concerned. ‘I hope your gentleman wasn’t upset?’
‘No, he wasn’t upset.’ Definitely true. Jonathon hadn’t appeared fazed by their dance one way or another, and why would he be?
Jonathon seemed perplexed by her answer, however. It was clearly not the outcome he’d expected. ‘Did he see us dancing? And he didn’t whisk you off to the terrace to politely stake his claim on your attentions before he lost you to another?’
The image was so ridiculous the laughter slipped out before she could stop it. ‘Good heavens, what sort of life do you imagine I lead? I hardly have a dance card full of jealous suitors vying for my attentions.’
‘You are sure he saw us dancing?’
‘Yes.’ Not a lie, but just barely the truth. She knew full well he would misconstrue the answer. She kept her attentions fixed on the rose.
‘Well, good.’ Jonathon sounded staunchly positive beside her. ‘Maybe that’s something your oblivious suitor should see again, say tonight at Lady Rosedale’s.’
Another dance, another chance at heaven. Only this time, she knew the price for it. She was leading him on, letting him believe there was a gentleman of interest. She was leading herself, too. But this time she couldn’t pretend it was a fantasy come to life. She ought to put a stop to it. No good could come of stealing more dances with Jonathon Lashley. She was supposed to win his heart by teaching him French, not by dancing with him. ‘I don’t want charity, Mr Lashley. I can manage my affairs on my own.’ A poor choice of words perhaps.
She felt him stiffen beside her. ‘Charity, is it?’ Now she’d offended him. There probably wasn’t a woman in the ton who viewed a dance with him as charity. ‘Are these French lessons charity? Perhaps I have misunderstood the nature of our association.’
‘They’re not charity, you came to me asking for assistance,’ Claire stammered. She could see where this was going and she had no grounds for argument. She could speak four languages and yet she couldn’t carry on a decent, logical conversation with one attractive man in English.
He gave a ‘my point exactly’ smile. ‘Neither is dancing with you. Dancing, like French lessons, is merely two friends helping one another achieve their goals.’ He gave another considering pause. ‘We are friends, are we not?’
Claire tried to ignore twin sensations that thought evoked—one of them warm and lovely over the thought of being considered Jonathon Lashley’s friend, the other one slightly more practical. ‘I am your French tutor for the time being. Nothing more.’
That gave Jonathon pause. She had him there, but there was no triumph in it. She wasn’t sure she wanted to be right. Being right certainly didn’t help her cause. She wasn’t supposed to be driving him away, but drawing him in. Beatrice would kick her if she was here.
‘Is that what you do? Push people away by telling them how inconsequential you are?’ Jonathon drawled slowly. ‘No doubt, it’s a very effective strategy. I feel obliged, however, to tell you it won’t work on me.’ He gave her a devilish wink. ‘In fact, the effect is quite the opposite. You intrigue me. What are you hiding that must be so vociferously protected?’ He grinned. ‘Claire Welton, do you have secrets?’
I’ve been crazy about you since I was nine. ‘I hate to disappoint you, but I’m pretty much an open book.’ Her throat was dry and the words stuck.
Jonathon laughed. ‘You’re a terrible liar, Claire. Don’t ever try out for espionage work.’ He waggled his dark eyebrows in dramatic humour. ‘Everyone has secrets.’
‘Even you?’ She couldn’t resist. It was so much fun to play with him like this. He was alarmingly easy to be with. But she’d known that, she’d always known that. It had been a large part of his appeal from the start. More than being good-looking, Jonathon was good company, a rather subtle trait others took for granted.
He put a hand over his heart in mock shock. ‘Moi? Why, Miss Welton, what a leading question! Are you implying my reputation as a gentleman isn’t pristine?’
She shot him a coy look, daring a bit of flirtation. ‘Well, is it? Pristine?’ She had a sudden urge to know his secrets, to know a piece of him that no one else knew. She’d had a taste of that unknown and she was hungry for another.
There’d been years when he’d been gone, war years. A thought occurred. ‘What do you know of espionage, Mr Lashley?’ she joked.
‘If I knew anything at all I certainly couldn’t tell you. It would defeat the purpose.’ His tone was light, but some of the twinkle had gone out of his eye. Perhaps she’d dared too much. She hadn’t thought.
‘I forget sometimes that you’ve been to war,’ Claire offered, hoping he’d hear the apology in her words. She’d been miserable when he’d gone away. ‘It is difficult to picture you as a soldier.’ That smile, the tailored clothes, the immaculate toilette, all bespoke the well-kept heir, not the soldier.
‘Good.’ His grin was back in full force. ‘Then I have succeeded.’ He bent to pluck a rose from a bush. ‘War is not something anyone should be constantly reminded of. Will you permit me?’ He tucked the blossom in her hair, his fingers brushing the top of her ear. The delicate contact made her shiver. What a dichotomy he was: the warrior, the gentleman, one with perfect manners, the other for whom manners would be a negligible thing. One was safe. The other was dangerous, a man who had seen and done worldly things, who could do those worldly things to her. Another shiver took her. If only the gentleman in him would allow it.
‘Now you know one of my secrets, Claire. You must let me guess one of yours.’ Jonathon tapped a finger against his chin and studied her.
‘But I don’t have any,’ she protested, suddenly flustered. Would he guess? How mortifying would that be? She would have to deny it. He had not moved away after tucking the flower behind her ear. He stood close, his dark head cocked. She scarcely dared to breathe.
‘I know,’ he said after a while. ‘Have you ever been kissed, Claire?’
That was even more embarrassing. Maybe he should have asked if he was her secret crush instead. ‘I cannot possibly answer that. A lady never tells.’ Claire took refuge in the high moral ground.
‘Correction.’
