Page 14 of Prince of Scandal

About to announce his departure and hastily withdraw, Ashton cursed inwardly when Reverend March strode to the center of the church hall and clapped his hands together.

“Brundall friends,” the vicar called cheerfully. “I must ask you to brace yourselves, for what I’m about to say is thoroughly shocking. As a special fundraiser for the church roof alongside my darling Mrs. March’s marzipan…we are going to host one very special dance, with an entry fee of sixpence per person. And it shall be…a waltz!”

Loud gasps and a few cheers echoed through the hall. In truth, Ashton was a little stunned himself. The dance might be well-entrenched in the ballrooms of London, yet here in the wilds of Norfolk, not so much.

“But Reverend,” called one young lad. “We don’t know how.”

The vicar grinned. “Which is why I will shamelessly beg our newest resident to be a patient and gentle tutor to us all. Mrs. King? I have no doubt a lady of your grace and manners knows of this dance. Would you do us the honor?”

Mrs. King strolled forward and curtsied. “Why Reverend, how you flatter a simple widow. Yes, I do know how to waltz. Alas, I cannot do it alone, though. Perhaps…Mr. Latimer? Would you assist me?”

No!

The word nearly tore from his throat. Waltz with this exceedingly tempting morsel? He wouldn’t survive. But everyone in the hall was staring at him. Then the encouraging calls and applause began.

“Of course,” he gritted out eventually.

God help him.

* * *

For this unexpected and exceptional act of service, Reverend March now had a permanent place on her short list of good men. Center of attention and dancing? He couldn’t have offered a more perfect boon, aside from riding hell for leather in breeches, of course.

Even better, she had coaxed Mr. Latimer—with the assistance of nearly all the Brundall residents—to be her dance partner for the demonstration.

Georgiana beamed as the man in question strode toward her, a stern glower somehow adding to his appeal. Ha. He should be thanking her; this was a perfect opportunity for him to extract his arm from India Dunmore’s clutches. Foolish chit, attempting to go toe-to-toe with Lady Georgiana Nash. After being on the receiving end of Grandmother’s icy barbs for eleven years, and two full Seasons in the ton, a country spinster’s spite had all the power of a single raindrop.

Although in saying that, real fear twisted inside her belly at the thought of a possible understanding between Mr. Latimer and India. While she certainly hadn’t observed any heated looks or warm affection there, perhaps they preferred to keep their lust private. And although Mr. Latimer had agreed to be her dance partner, India’s eyes had practically shot bullets.

Hmmm. This uncertainty was intolerable. Perhaps it was time to arrange another private moment and ask him outright. Other young ladies might die wondering, but Lady Georgiana Nash never would.

“I fear you’ve made a grave mistake, Mrs. King,” said Mr. Latimer as he drew near. “It has been a very long time since I danced the waltz. My appearances in London ballrooms came significantly before it was introduced in England.”

She blinked at the casual revelation offering two very important pieces of information: that he’d either lived abroad or been born there, and he’d been a part of the ton at some stage. Well, well, well. Even more topics to add to her list when she interrogated him.

Instead, Georgiana smiled brightly. “The fact that you have done so puts you well ahead of the rest, Mr. Latimer. I am sure that old one-two-three rhythm will return posthaste, and our bodies will rub together quite splendidly.”

Mr. Latimer sucked in a breath. “You…you…”

“Yes?” she whispered, as she widened her eyes.

He glared at her, looking even sterner than usual, yet something else flashed in those icy gray eyes. Desire? Damn him, it was impossible to tell, there and gone too quickly. Clearly, she needed to be bolder. Provoke him to the point where he would say something in return. Or do something. Like escort her to her room and administer a sound spanking.

Georgiana quivered, that needy ache she’d been suffering from the minute they’d met blooming once again between her thighs.

But no. Right now, she had to put on a waltzing show and enthrall the residents of Brundall. Then she could further ponder how to seduce her neighbor.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” she called, easily projecting her voice in the church hall, and soon the residents of Brundall were watching with an eager anticipation that warmed her heart. Exceptional marzipan was one thing, but these people also needed some naughty fun in their lives. “All those who wish to take part in Reverend March’s important fundraising waltz with me, please pay your sixpence, then move over here to the left, and I shall teach you the steps.”

The rush of clomping shoes sounded louder than thunderclaps, and she was torn between laughing and wincing. Many people would leave here today with crushed toes, that was a certainty.

To her joy, everyone in the hall moved to the left, so she spent the next quarter hour arranging them into lines of ten, before beginning the first lesson: the basic one-two-three step of the Vienna waltz, her particular favorite. This waltz had only been introduced to England in 1812, and once upon a time had scandalized London. Rather than the lines and squares of traditional dances, couples could twirl about by themselves, actually holding each other! But after being given the nod of approval by Almack’s patronesses, the waltz became wildly popular in London and was now included in the ballrooms of even the highest sticklers. It was her duty to ensure it joined the list of Brundall’s favorite pastimes, even if for no other reason than being close to Mr. Latimer.

Georgiana smiled warmly at her students as they finally all grasped the movement in the shape of a small triangle: step, step together. Step, step together. “You are doing marvelously! See how simple the steps are? Much easier than a reel or minuet! But now comes the scandalous part. Are you ready, my friends?”

A huge cheer near-lifted the roof.

“Then choose your partner!” she finished, then turned to Mr. Latimer. “Sir?”