Page 59 of Courting Elizabeth

“No.”

“Liar.”

“He's my cousin.”

“That doesn't answer the question.”

The music resumed. I held out my hand to her.

“Dance with me.”

“Is that an invitation or an attempt to reclaim your property?”

The phrase might have displeased me once. Now I understood what she was testing beneath the jest.

“A request to my wife, who may refuse it.”

She placed her hand in mine.

“Then I accept.”

We took our places.

I had never enjoyed dancing. The prescribed figures, the interrupted conversations, the obligation to touch a woman with polite indifference—all of it bored me. With Elizabeth, every rule became an occasion for anticipation.

Our hands met, parted, found each other again. I watched her eyes when propriety forbade me to look at her mouth. She knew the effect she had on me. A secret smile returned each time we drew near.

“You handled Mrs Harcourt very well,” I said when the figure placed us side by side.

“I feared you would have her expelled.”

“I considered it.”

“I know.”

“She insulted you.”

“She tried.”

We separated, then came back toward each other.

“You don't have to defend me from every slight,” she continued.

“I want to.”

“Defend me when I can't do so myself. Leave me the pleasure of the rest.”

“You took pleasure in it?”

“A little.”

I smiled.

The dance ended to applause. I held her hand longer than necessary.

“Come take the air.”

“Our guests…”