Magnus extended his arm, and he led her to the floor.
There was a reason the waltz had once been—still was, he supposed—considered scandalous. A man and a woman opened their arms to receive each other, in full view of the public. Unlike a reel, or a quadrille, they spent most of the music face-to-face. Which meant for the duration the man was treated to a long, uninterrupted view of the tantalizing tops of a woman’s breasts pushed up by her stays, should he drop his eyes from hers.
It was not much of a stretch from there for a man to imagine his dancing partner pinned to a mattress, urging him to go faster and harder.
The minute leap of Alexandra’s rib cage when he settled his hand against her waist made him feel both tender and nearly savage with possessiveness. Her small gloved hand disappearinginto his made him feel almost violently protective. None of these feelings were rational. His feelings regarding her had never belonged to the realm of reason.
Simultaneously, as he reached for her, he recalled that a young man somewhere in the world knew the feel of Alexandra pressed against his body, and her lips against his, and the memory of her in that man’s arms applied ice to the low burn of Magnus’s longing.
But even before he touched her tonight, he knew their bodies had already started a silent dialogue. He had sensed it in their suite, as she’d sat near him on the settee the other night. In the dark of the carriage. He could feel it on his skin the way he could the promise of a thunderstorm. That crackle of portent.
He wasn’t imagining it now, and he hadn’t imagined it five years ago, when he’d sensed a spark. The male of every species was exquisitely attuned to this sort of thing, he supposed.
Then again, it wasn’t something one could really control. It was the sort of thing that could still roil beneath the surface, even if they despised each other.
Through some miracle, he was certain she didn’t despise him.
And they moved together, nearly oblivious to the other couples on the floor, many if not most of whom were watching them. His heart turned over to see himself reflected in her eyes, which were solemn, and searching. What did she see? Ahard man, of a certainty. He was unequivocally that. He’d earned it. Not a handsome one. But the days when he’d longed to look like Hardy or Bolt were behind him; he did not see the point in longing for what could not be. He was seasoned enough now to appreciate about himself the things he had once rued, or suffered over.
He was perhaps foolish enough now to want to be wanted because of these things, not in spite of them. Wanted for everything that he was, the way he had never been wanted as a boy.
“I overheard you laying waste to Lady Chisholm’s attempts to perpetuate the Newgate gossip. Nicely done. You might recall I told you once you’d make a good diplomat.”
“I’m not certain how admirable it is to admit this, but I found it rather invigorating,” she told him. “Like a badminton match. Perhaps I haven’t been challenged enough recently.”
“I can’t imagine stealing a carriage makes the best use of your talents. Perhaps you ought to diversify your pastimes.”
She looked both uncertain and tempted to laugh. “You’re teasing me,” she hazarded.
“Yes. A little.”
Neither one of them seemed very inclined to give each other leeway when it came to being charmed. Both were stubborn.
A slightly weighty little silence followed. If things had been different, they might have had a family of their own by now. She would have, of a certainty, been occupied.
And he knew that despite the occasional speculative appearance in the gossip sheets, she had, in fact, been conservative about her entertainments over the past five years. He appreciated this. But he also felt a little twinge of guilt about it.
“The spirited discourse at The Grand Palace on the Thames ought to keep you on your toes,” he said.
She did laugh then.
He’d forgotten her laugh was better than champagne.
“Do... do you like operas?” she asked suddenly.
He considered this. “I’m not really sure,” he admitted. “I haven’t decided.”
Her eyes lit with amusement and curiosity. “Some are easier to like than others,” she agreed.
“It’s just... I’m still trying to learn what leisure pastimes I enjoy.” He was a little embarrassed to admit it. “I’ve been a soldier for so long, and I’ve had little time for leisure pursuits since I was sixteen years old. Apart from the sort of leisure pursuits boys get up to. Shooting targets, five-card loo. Curse words. Fistfights. And I’ve been trying this and that.”
She studied him with soft, intrigued sympathy. He felt a trifle abashed.
“Let’s see. You like horses...”
So she was going to help him discover his pleasures and pursuits, and damned if he wasn’t touched.
“All animals.”