Twice Upon A Time (Unfinished Fairy Tales #2)(46)

Shaking my head, I try very hard to banish the image of a half-naked Edward from my mind.

“Also, do not worry if your steps are too small. It is the gentleman’s duty to match your step and stride.”

“Okay . . . I mean, sure.” Whenever I’m nervous, modern phrases will slip out. Thank God that we are alone.

Or not. Being alone means that he could take liberties that aren’t allowed in public.

Moments later, I feel his hand on my back exerting more pressure, bringing me closer to his body. I’m not sure whether he’s conscious of it or not, but my forehead is only scant inches from his collarbone. His clean, masculine scent surrounds me, his chest rising and falling gently. Not that I mind the proximity, honestly, but with my feelings still conflicted and nebulous, I don’t want to encourage him until I’m absolutely certain I want to stay.

“I went to the school board meeting the other day,” I say, trying to dispel the sexual tension that had inevitably built up. “I met Liam there.”

“Liam? How is he getting along?”

“I don’t think he enjoys teaching there.” I can still remember him with his arms crossed and a languid expression that clearly showed he had no genuine interest in the school. “Why did you agree to write a recommendation for him?”

Edward pauses in his step. “I do not know if your memory includes this, but when you founded the school, you had a difficult time looking for teachers.”

“Enlighten me.” My tone is such a perfect imitation of his princely one that both of us smile.

“Few female teachers are able to teach subjects other than Languages and Etiquette, and male teachers usually find it effeminate to be teaching girls as young as five. For some, it is the equivalent of being a nanny.”

Henry taught for Princess College a while ago, before he became too busy. Was it from a genuine desire to help, or was it under Elle’s influence? “Then why did Liam apply?”

“He plans to settle down in the capital when he graduates, and housing can be expensive in respectable areas. The school is not his first choice, but the pay is good and he is undeniably qualified.”

The waltz comes to an end. He bows, and I curtsy, panting a little as I sink and bend my knees. The dance is by no means strenuous exercise, but combined with conversation, I need to draw breath more frequently.

“Would you like to rest for a while? Or shall we start another dance?”

I wipe a trickle of sweat from my forehead. “Suppose you demonstrate the moves and I rest while I watch you?”

He complies and shows me the basic moves of a quadrille. Another memory surfaces in my mind—when I was still living with the Bradshaws, the dancing master had frequently complained to Lady Bradshaw how clumsy I was at the quadrille, and my ‘mother’ told me that tripping over my feet was no way to get a husband.

I wonder what Lady Bradshaw thought when I married Edward.

When he finishes demonstrating the dance, Edward holds out his hand. “Will you honor me with your hand for a quadrille, my lady?”

I place my hand into his and warmth flows through us.

“There is more that I learned at the school.” In terse words, I tell him about Lady Willoughby.

He frowns. “I have heard something about that from my mother. It seems that those noble families had expected that their daughters would be taught to gain advantage in the marriage market, but finding that the lessons are similar to what is taught at a boys’ boarding school, they chose to withdraw. Besides, I suspect that Henry’s departure has something to do with it.”

Liam’s words echo in my mind. They’re just here for Henry.

“Maybe it will help if you teach a class at the girls’ school,” I say lightly. “That will definitely bring those girls back.”

I’m joking, of course, but he seems to take it seriously. “I’ll teach as many classes as you want.” Edward tightens his grip on my hand and waist. “If you promise to stay.”

I step back, conveniently forgetting that it doesn’t match his step, and an alarmed look appears in his eyes.

“Kat, behind you—”

My bum meets something cold, hard and damp. The next second, a spray of water splashes over my head, drenching my hair completely. I’ve stepped into the fountain. Water trickles down my forehead, running down my cheeks and sliding along my neck, soaking the lovely gown that Amelie selected.

Edward fumbles for a handkerchief. “Did you bruise yourself?”

“I’m bruised, all right. Sore all over.”

“Let me fetch our family physician.”

“Wait.” I grab his arm. “I was referring to my pride.”

We look at each other while water continues to drip down my face. Then, I can’t help it—I laugh.

“It’s so unfair. I can never maintain my dignity before you.” I rub my face and neck with his handkerchief. “Lucky for me, the sun is out today. Still, I think I’d better go back and change . . .”

I trail off, as Edward is no longer listening to me. He’s staring at me like he wants to gobble me up. I dart a glance at myself. The water has not only soaked through my hair, but it has run down my front, dampening the white material of my gown (what was Amelie thinking? It is so much easier to get dirty in the garden) and revealing my corset. From a straight, red blooded male’s perspective, I suppose my look is alluring. And considering what Edward feels for me and that we’ve been practicing dancing with his arms around me . . .