Page 63 of A Convenient Fiction

Alex danced twice with Henrietta, and twice with Mrs. Bainbridge before he finally approached Laura. To have refrained would have been unforgivably rude—tantamount to a snub.

“It’s a waltz,” Laura said, as he led her out onto the floor. “Perhaps the next dance—”

“Henrietta can’t object, if that’s what you’re afraid of.”

Her chin lifted a notch. The gaslight from the chandeliers flickered in the glass-studded combs she wore in her hair. “I’m not afraid.”

“Good.” He curved his hand around her waist, drawing her close as the music started. His heart thumped heavily. He’d only taken her in his arms on one prior occasion. It had been the day they’d met, when he’d hoisted her out of the pond. At the time, he’d been in no mood to appreciate the way she fit so perfectly against him. But now…

Well.

Her hand tightened on his shoulder as he spun her into a swooping turn.

“Gracious,” she breathed. “It makes one rather dizzy.”

Alex wondered how often Laura had been called upon to dance the waltz in Lower Hawley. Not very often, he’d guess. He gathered her closer. “Focus on my eyes.”

Her smoke-blue gaze met his. A flush of color crept up her throat and into her face. He felt a little warm himself, but he didn’t look away from her. Their eyes remained locked together as he moved her about the floor in rhythm to the swaying chords of the orchestra—first slowly, and then with increasing speed.

“Better?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“We can go slower if you like.”

“No. It’s just that—” Her blush deepened. “I’ve only ever danced the waltz with Teddy. And that was years ago. Long before he became ill.”

Alex raised his brows. “Are there no assemblies in Lower Hawley?”

“None I’ve attended since my father died. I’m woefully out of practice. Any second, I expect to trip over my own legs—or yours.”

“I’ll take care of you,” he promised.

Her mouth lifted into a smile.

And they danced, staring into each other’s eyes, saying nothing for an endless, suspended moment. Until…

Until it was all simply too much for him. Too much intimacy. Too much silence fraught with unexpressed emotion.

“I didn’t see you on the beach today,” he said after the next swooping turn.

“I saw you.”

He gave her an alert look. “Did you?”

“With Teddy. You must have left the hotel very early.”

“Ah. That.” He flashed a sudden grin. “Your brother wanted to be out with the morning light. He thinks he’s Mr. Turner, painting the seascapes of Margate.”

She laughed. “I daresay he does.”

Alex gazed down at her with what he knew must be a stupid, besotted smile. Her laughter did odd things to him. It seemed to unmake him, and then put him back together in a strange, new way. “What about you? Did you enjoy bathing in the sea?”

“It wasn’t at all what I was expecting.” Her full skirts swung against his legs as he waltzed her around the crowded floor. “Did you know there’s a large woman at the exit to the bathing machines who grabs hold of you, thrusts you straight down under the water, and pulls you back up again? They call her ‘the Dipper.’”

“Good God.”

“She dipped Henrietta, and then she dipped me. Apparently, it’s all part of the fun of sea bathing, but I confess I could find no enjoyment in it.”