Page 47 of A Devious Secret

A puff of air escaped her lips. “I am a countess, and these are my peers,” she said as she gestured towards the French doors. “But, no, I do not belong here either. I’m afraid it took me being away from all of this to discover that.”

“May I be so bold to ask where you belong?”

Lady Hawkinge grew quiet. “I haven’t figured that out yet.”

The next set was announced, and Stephen didn’t want to miss his chance to dance with Lady Hawkinge again. He held his hand out. “Would you care to dance?”

“But this is the waltz.”

“Is that an issue?” he asked, not withdrawing his hand.

Lady Hawkinge tentatively placed her hand into his. “I suppose not.”

Gemma knew she was being silly, but the last time she had danced the waltz was with her husband. It was such an intimate dance, and she wasn’t sure if her heart could take being in another’s arms.

She allowed Mr. Wycomb to escort her to the dance floor, despite feeling an overwhelming need to flee from the ballroom.

Mr. Wycomb dropped his arm and turned to face her. He must have sensed her apprehension because he leaned in and lowered his voice. “We don’t have to dance, if you don’t want.”

Gemma decided that she should just be honest with what she was feeling. “The last time I danced the waltz was with Baldwin.”

Understanding crossed his features. “What would you like to do?”

That was the one question that she couldn’t answer. What kind of feelings would surface if she started dancing the waltz with Mr. Wycomb?

Mr. Wycomb met her gaze, and she could see compassion stirring deep within his eyes. “I can see that you are not ready,” he said, offering his arm. “It is all right. We shall dance another time.”

As she held his gaze, she admired his hazel-colored eyes that could never decide whether they wanted to be green or brown. His eyes held her captive, holding her there, just with his gaze, memorizing her.

Mr. Wycomb’s voice broke through her musings. “My lady,” he said. “The music is about to begin. We should leave the dance floor.”

Finding strength deep inside of her, she said, “I think I would like to dance with you, Mr. Wycomb.”

“As you wish.” Mr. Wycomb took a small step towards her, and slowly, as if she might scare at any moment, slipped his arm around her waist. Then, ever so gently, he took her gloved hand into his and brought it up.

Gemma’s heart was pounding so hard in her chest that she feared Mr. Wycomb could hear it over the music. She hesitantly placed a hand on his shoulder and allowed him to start leading her across the dance floor.

It was after a few trips around the room that she found herself relaxing in Mr. Wycomb’s arms. He smelled of sandalwood and a hint of orange. That was a stark contrast to what her husband smelled like. Baldwin always smelled like leather because he spent so much time in the saddle.

“You dance superbly,” Mr. Wycomb said.

“Only because you haven’t let me fall yet,” she teased.

She had meant her words lightly, but Mr. Wycomb’s expression grew solemn. “I would never let you fall,” he said.

“I believe you.” And she did. She felt safe in his arms. It was a feeling she hadn’t felt in a long time; a feeling that she had missed.

Mr. Wycomb tightened his hold on her waist. “Are you enjoying yourself?”

“I believe I am.”

His lips twitched. “That is a high endorsement.”

“I know you must think me foolish…”

“Never, and you don’t need to explain yourself to me,” Mr. Wycomb said, speaking over her. “I can hear in your voice how much you loved your husband.”

“I did, with my whole heart.”