Tempting a Gentleman Smith, Ann (best novels to read in english .TXT) 📖

lawn shirt and trousers. His waistcoat and cravat draped over the back of the solitary wooden chair tucked neatly under her small writing desk. He dominated the small space with his size, yet he waltzed about the room as if he belonged in her private retreat. Inexplicably, Emma remained frozen on the top step. His lithe form mesmerized and thrilled her. He exuded confidence that he was probably born with. When she found herself the recipient of a charming smile that smashed her defenses, she stepped forward to the center of the loft and waited. Her heartbeat raced as he stepped forward and reached out for her hand. Ashamed of her rough hands from hours of sewing, she pulled them out of his reach and crisscrossed them at the small of her back.

Christopher asked, “Tell me, have you any experience at all?” His lips curved back into an irresistible grin. Memories flooded her mind, of boys’ lips pressed against hers as they attempted what they called kisses. No experience kissing a man like Mr. Neale.

“Emma? Have you any experience dancing before?”

“Nay. I’m afraid I’ve none. Ye’ll have to start with the very basics.”

He circled her.

Face-to-face again, he tilted his head to the side. “May I have this dance, Emma?”

She stared at his hand—palm up. His fingers were long and uncallused. She’d never cared before that her hands were not silky smooth. She whirled about to retrieve the elbow-length gloves that lay upon her tidy desk.

Tugging them on as if she was donning armor, she smiled and placed her gloved hand in his.

The glimmer in his eyes dimmed. “Do you fear me?”

She shook her head.

His brow crinkled. “Are you sure?”

She shook her head without thought.

His chuckle relaxed her shoulders. “Bronwyn warned me you might be resistant to tutelage. I think we will get along just fine, but in order for our sessions to be successful, I’ll need a little more communication from you. Part of achieving success at these god-awful ton events is executing the art of totally useless conversation. Remaining silent will relegate you to the outer walls with the wilting wallflowers. And you, my dear, are no wallflower.”

“How do ye know I’m not?”

“Any friend of Bronwyn’s must have nerves of steel. And you, Emma, are her dearest and closest friend, which means there is a clever mind in that pretty head of yours and a well-guarded heart.” He pulled her closer and whispered, “I promise not to bite if you promise to smile.”

Involuntarily her lips curved, and the man she had believed to be Lord Hadfield’s puppet transformed into an enigmatic gentleman.

Chapter Four

Christopher tried to tear his gaze from the woman’s plump lips, which were made for devouring. He took in Emma’s beautiful, tired features and was struck by the similarity of the woman’s eye color to Arabelle’s. Oddly, Emma also shared the honey-blonde hair that had lured him to endure countless ton affairs. But she wasn’t Arabelle. Emma didn’t hide her thoughts behind sweet, alluring smiles. No, the woman in his arms was like a Wordsworth poem, full of vitality with a strong undercurrent of passion. Emma was a refreshing change from the coy ladies he’d been subjected to over the past two years.

It was time to begin her lesson.

Christopher stepped back, placing a few inches between them. Space he needed to refocus his thoughts. Unable to release his hold on her hand, Christopher said, “The most fashionable couples’ dance is the waltz. However, there are two variations of the dance, the French and the German. With the limited time we have, it will be impossible to learn both, so we shall have to focus on the one most commonly danced, the French waltz.”

“Why is it the most preferred?” Curious, intelligent eyes peered up at him. No simpering looks from Emma—no, she was direct and captivating.

Lost in her gaze, he absently answered, “The French version is slower in pace. It allows the gentleman ample opportunities to gaze into his partner’s eyes.”

Her brows creased in confusion. “Why would er man want to do that?”

“There is much you can say through one’s gaze without words.”

“Really? Such as?”

She was so innocent. He chuckled, which gained him a fierce frown from his partner.

“Your eyes tell me you are already irritated with me, and we haven’t even begun dancing.”

She tugged her hand out of his grasp. “Does the woman have to gaze back at the man?”

“Only if she wants to. In my experience, most ladies prefer to look into my eyes rather than at my cravat.”

“Ye’d fink the ladies would get a crick in their neck.”

He laughed. It was an astute observation, for, like Emma, most women only came up to the top of his shoulder. “There are four basic positions to the dance. Would you prefer I explain them or simply walk you through them?”

“Ye’d best explain first. Me brain and me feet are at odds most of the time.”

He’d have to address her speech as Bronwyn had advised, but he quite enjoyed her almost lyrical accent. It made her rather unique. Instead of sounding harsh or coarse, Emma’s cockney was a soft blend of vowels. He shook his head. He was here as a favor to his brother and sister-in-law, not for any other reason.

With nowhere to sit, he began to pace with his hands behind his back. “Right, the French waltz begins with a march of sorts. The starting position would have your right foot in front, heel turned towards me, while my left foot is in front with my heel turned towards you.” He paused to demonstrate the awkward foot position. “Before we commence walking, I would place my right arm along the back part of your shoulder.” With his arm stretched out, he continued, “Good gracious, this is silly. Come. Let us do this together.”

Emma stiffly slid into place next to him, mirroring his pose. His body jerked. Emma’s touch sent an intense bolt of vitality through to every nerve in his body. It wasn’t a sensation