How to Woo a Wallflower (Romancing the Rules #3)(35)

Inside the drawing room, Sophia held court, receiving new guests and chatting with those who’d already arrived. At the threshold, Clary stopped, and Gabriel swept past her, his coat sleeve brushing her arm. He glanced back, and his clear gaze seemed to see straight inside her. Right to the spot where she’d hidden her wayward, jumbled feelings for him.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, his gaze never wavering from hers.

“Enjoy the evening,” Clary bid him and then turned to start down the hall.

The farther she went, the faster her gait, until she was virtually running for the library. On the other side of its heavy door, she bent at the waist to catch her breath, calming herself on the scent of book leather and beeswax polish. There was one enormous window in the room, but Grey and Sophia left it covered to keep the book spines from fading. She rushed to the window, shoved back the drape, jerked up the wide pane, and sucked in deep gulps of the night’s cool breeze.

She’d known all of this might happen. That if he came this evening, he would likely bring that shy young lady who’d visited him at Ruthven’s. Clary had prepared herself. And why should it matter whom he escorted? She wasn’t even sure what she felt for the man—only that seeing him with another young lady on his arm had her stomach twisted in knots and the center of her chest burning as if she’d swallowed a hot coal.

He was the same humorless, arrogant, joyless man she’d met five years ago. She told herself that over and over, yet the damnable part was that now she knew her characterization wasn’t quite true. She’d seen flashes of more. And that was the man she truly wished to know.

Someone tried the knob on the library door, and Clary sank back into the shadows, loath to be seen. She didn’t want to speak to anyone, and she definitely didn’t want to sit in the back of a ballroom watching others glide merrily across the dance floor.

“Miss Ruthven?”

Clary pressed a fist to her chest where her heart thumped wildly. “I’m here,” she answered. The two words were shockingly hard to get out.

Gabriel stepped in and closed the door behind him as the gaslight sconce near the door devoted itself to gilding the side of his face.

“I thought this was the door you hid yourself behind.”

“I’m not hiding. Just enjoying a bit of solitude.”

“The window’s open. Were you thinking of escape?”

“Maybe.” If only getting away from him was that simple. Even if she fled the house tonight, she’d have to face him on Monday morning. And he’d no doubt crowd her thoughts every day in between. “Where’s Miss Morgan?”

“Mingling, as your sister insisted she do. Lady Stanhope has taken Jane under her wing.”

“Jane?” Clary let out a rusty chuckle. “Finally, someone you’ll call by her given name.”

“She’s a family friend.” He flicked his coat back to place a hand on each hip. “I’ve known her for years.”

“You’ve known me for years.” Clary swallowed, hating the petulance in her tone. More softly, she said, “She seems kind and completely enamored with you.”

“She shouldn’t be. Her father was a friend. My sister encouraged me to invite her.” He drew in a deep breath before continuing. “I’ve come to ask something of you.”

For a stupid, folly-filled moment, she thought he’d come to ask for a dance. But that didn’t make sense. He’d come with another, and etiquette dictated he show her special deference. Seeing as he took etiquette far more seriously than she did, Clary doubted he’d breach the rules.

“What is it, Mr. Adamson?”

“Reciprocity.” After swallowing hard, he squared his shoulders and said, “I taught you how to jab a man in the throat. Would you teach me how to dance?”

“You came to a ball without any notion how to dance?” She tried hard to temper her surprise. But not hard enough, judging by the tightening of his jaw.

“Never mind,” he bit out before turning back toward the door.

“Wait.” Clary started forward, tripped on her gown, picked up her skirt, and stumbled the rest of the way. She reached out to keep herself from slamming into him, and he pivoted just in time for her to plant her palm against the hard wall of his chest. “I’ll teach you,” she said breathlessly. Not because of her bumbling journey to reach him but because she could feel his heart thrashing as riotously as her own.

“The first dance is the quadrille,” he said, pronouncing the word as if it pained him. “According to your sister.”

“Ah.” Clary pulled away from him and clenched her fingers to trap his heat against her hand. “That’s a dance with multiple partners but fairly simple. Come this way.” She strode to the center of the library, a large open space between settees on one side and a massive desk on the other. “First, you must bow while I curtsy.”

Clary dipped, and he bent at the waist, but unlike the times her brother or dance instructor had partnered her when she was young, Gabriel kept his gaze fixed on her as he lowered and straightened again. Clary licked her lips and tried to remember what came next.

“Now you’ll come toward your partner as she approaches you. We’ll join hands, and then you’ll pass me to the next gentleman as you take the hand of the next lady.” Clary started forward slowly. “Like this.”