Hesitantly, she placed her palm in his and let him lead her onto the floor.
“My dear,” he told her as the waltz began, “I have a singular problem making
conversation with your hairline. If you're a musician, then I'm sure you have enough rhythm to take your eyes off your feet and look at me. Can you do that?”
She raised her face. This close to her, he could see the luscious curve of her
lower lip. She had a mouth made for kissing. Her slender body fit perfectly in his
arms; tall enough that their position aligned naturally with no need for him to stoop.
“Thank you for asking me to dance,” she said softly. “I know your mother put you up to it.”
Christopher inhaled in preparation to speak and the soft aroma of lilacs
teased him. In the heart of icy winter, this woman smelled like spring. He answered her honestly. “Not at all. She put me up to meeting you. I asked you to
dance because I wanted to.”
That hint of color darkened her cheeks again. “Why on earth would you?”
“You're quite… pretty, you like music, and you're interesting. Why would I
not?”
Her blush darkened further. “Never mind.”
It appears her susceptibility to compliments is limited. “Right. So, let's talk about something.”
She gave him a considering look but remained silent.
He cast about for a topic. “Since you like music so much, do you have any
favorite composers?”
“Beethoven,” she replied promptly. “I also like Chopin very much.”
He acknowledged her comment with a brief nod. “Not surprising. Do you
play other instruments besides pianoforte?”
“Harpsichord. I'm afraid I'm useless on the organ. Those foot pedals defeat me.” A hint of a smile teased the corners of her mouth.
Christopher considered what playing the organ must be like. “No doubt. If I'm honest, I have to admit that despite years of lessons, I've never even managed the pianoforte. Do you also sing?”
“I sing well enough.”
Now there's the expected response. “Alto?” he pressed, not ready to abandon
such a promising topic.
“Soprano.”
Their progress had led them to the open balcony door and a waft of welcome
coolness washed over the couple. “Hmmm. I would like to hear that as well.”
“Why?” she asked, tilting her head and regarding him with confusion.
“You're Italian, and you're a soprano. Sounds like opera to me,” he teased.
She grinned. “Nothing like that, I assure you.”
At the sight of her shy smile, Christopher became even more entranced. She's
more than lovely. She's… glorious. Between one heartbeat and the next, the vague thought of finding an opportunity to meet her again crystallized into a firm intention. I'm far from finished with getting to know Miss Valentino. He sighed internally. Mother was right.
The conversation died, and they continued to dance in silence, but not the
uncomfortable kind of silence that speaks of a desire to get away from each other. Instead, they engaged in a wordless exchange of attraction.
Christopher studied the details of his dance partner… the curve of her ear, the smooth line of her jaw, the slender column of her throat, the softness of her
shoulder where it disappeared into her gleaming white dress, the dip of the bodice where it created the tiniest hint of cleavage. He could see her bosom was
small, but on her slender frame, it only looked proportional. In fact, she was rather more than slender, almost emaciated. Her body felt fragile in his arms. A
surge of protectiveness welled up, and he squashed it down. It won't do to become enamored so quickly.
