The Indebted Earl by Erica Vetsch (love letters to the dead TXT) 📕

her shoulder as she spoke. “She wants to be good at something right away. If she can’t be good at it right away, she doesn’t want to do it.”

Her shaft must have hit true, because Penny blushed. Thea had a way of shooting straight to the heart of an issue.

“Be that as it may, she needs to learn to dance. She won’t be good at it at all if she doesn’t practice.” Sophie moved Penny into the correct spot.

Mamie played the introduction once more, and Charles held out his hand, trying to be as innocuous as possible.

“I’ll call the steps for you, and you follow the captain,” Sophie offered.

“Don’t worry about making a mistake. There’s no one here but us, and we don’t mind. Mistakes mean you’re trying,” Charles reassured, and was rewarded with a nod and a determined lift to her chin.

By the time Penny had learned the steps to three different dances, everyone was tired. Betsy had abandoned her post and now rested on her tummy in a patch of afternoon sunlight, chin on her hands, feet swinging in the air over her head. Thea had found a stray button, and she lay opposite her sister, rolling it between them.

Miles Enys appeared in the doorway, tugging at his jacket. Though he wasn’t required to wear a footman’s livery, Sophie had insisted he have new clothes, but he didn’t appear to have settled into the more restrictive garments yet.

“Mrs. Chapman’s wondering if you want tea now or if she should put it back a half hour.” His eyes never left Penny’s, and seeing her hand in the captain’s, something flared there.

Surely the young jackanapes wasn’t jealous? How preposterous. But he dropped Penny’s hand.

“Miles, come in. I was just going to send Thea to find you.” Sophie smiled. “I thought it might be nice for Penny to perform one set with a different partner and having more people on the dance floor. Do you know how to dance?” she asked as Miles slowly came toward them.

“Yes, milady.” He sounded torn between eager and appalled.

“Excellent.” She pointed to his spot, and he hurried to do her bidding.

Charles wondered if Sophie realized her own natural leadership skills. She had a way of getting others to want to do what she was asking of them. Even the girls, who could scatter in every direction without notice, fulfilled her requests quickly and with good attitudes.

“Mamie? The minuet?” Sophie gathered her skirt in one hand.

Penny seemed to forget she was ever hesitant, her face alight, her steps sure. Once Sophie saw she was going all right, she turned her attention to Charles. “It’s too bad we don’t have more people. We could finish the lesson with the Boulanger.”

“Or a reel.” He stood still and let her circle him before taking her hand once more.

In what seemed a short amount of time, Mamie played the final chord. Thea jumped to her feet. “I’m glad that’s over. I’m starving.” She headed toward the door with Betsy in her wake, still toting Charles’s hat.

Charles released Sophie’s hand and bowed deeply. “A pleasure, Lady Rothwell.”

Her grin shot heat through him. She dipped a low curtsy, her hand at her neckline. “An honor, Lord Rothwell.”

Thea snorted on her way out.

Before Mamie rose from the pianoforte, she said, “Please, just one more. You haven’t shown Penny the waltz.”

“Surely they won’t waltz at a country dance. And in any case, Penny’s too young to waltz,” Sophie objected.

“Perhaps not, but you make such a lovely couple, and I know you waltz beautifully.” Mamie began a three-quarter-time tune. “Please, for me?”

Since they both made a practice of not refusing Mamie anything that was in their power to provide, Charles didn’t argue. He offered his hand to Sophie, and she shook her head, placing her fingers once more into his. He barely admitted to himself how he wanted this moment.

Penny and Miles moved to the edge of the dance floor.

“It’s a shame young girls aren’t allowed to waltz, though I understand why. It’s the easiest step to master, I think.” Charles drew Sophie in and put his hand at the small of her back, trying to keep his voice casual. Counting off two measures in his head, he swung her into the one-two-three rhythm of the song. The lemon scent of her perfume drifted into his nose, and he studied her face from this new angle. She had long lashes, and her cheeks curved youthfully. He was reminded of the gap in their ages. He was an old seadog married to a stunning young woman.

She was the relic of his best friend. He had been charged with taking care of her.

What had seemed a sensible plan, this marriage of convenience, now seemed absurd. He’d bound her to himself with promises that he would not often be at Gateshead, and she had accepted on those terms.

He moved to the music, exerting slight pressure on her spine, but leading lightly. She might have been a bit of thistledown, she was so airy. She had been made to waltz.

Desire caught him amidships, and he missed a step. Pivoting to cover the mistake, he tried to bring reason to bear on his emotions. The regard in which he had held her up to this moment blossomed into something much stronger, and he realized he wanted nothing more than to stop and cup her face between his hands and taste those rose-colored lips.

Realizing where his thoughts were leading him, he stopped dancing, letting his hands fall away. Sophie’s momentum carried her a few more steps, and a startled look crossed her face.

“What’s wrong?”

He felt a fool. For all he had been on his guard against his feelings for her, they had ambushed him.

“Nothing. I do apologize. I just remembered something I need to do. Don’t wait on me to have your tea.” He bowed and made his escape, retreating from the scene like a coward.

His study beckoned, and he made for that personal sanctuary. He ignored the piles of papers