Phoebe gave her a commiserating glance. “We have two perfectly nice parents,” she said. “I have no idea how he turned out this way.”
“I want to teach you how my parents learned to waltz,” Gabriel told Pandora. “It’s slower and more graceful than the current fashion. There are fewer turns, and the steps are gliding rather than springing.”
“It doesn’t matter how many turns there are. I can’t even do one turn.”
Gabriel’s expression was unyielding. Clearly he didn’t intend to let her leave the drawing room until she humored him.
Fact #99 Men are like chocolate bonbons. The ones with the most attractive outsides have the worst fillings.
“I won’t push you too hard,” he said gently.
“You’re pushing me too hard right now!” Pandora found herself trembling with outrage. “What do you want?” she asked through gritted teeth.
Her pulse was pounding in her ears, nearly obscuring his quiet murmur. “I want you to trust me.”
To Pandora’s horror, the tears that wouldn’t come earlier now threatened to burst out. She swallowed repeatedly and willed them back, and stiffened against the caress of his hand at her waist. “Why don’t you trust me?” she asked bitterly. “I’ve already told you this is impossible, but apparently I have to prove it. Very well. I’m not afraid of ritual humiliation: I’ve survived three months of the London Season. I’ll stumble through a waltz for your amusement, if that’s what it takes to be rid of you.”
She dragged her gaze to Phoebe. “I might as well tell you: my father boxed my ears when I was younger, and now one ear is mostly deaf and I have no balance.”
To her relief, Phoebe didn’t look pitying, only concerned. “That’s appalling.”
“I just wanted you to know there’s a reason my dancing resembles the flailing of a demented octopus.”
Phoebe gave her a slight, reassuring smile. “I like you, Pandora. Nothing will change that.”
Some of Pandora’s anguished shame faded, and she took a deep breath. “Thank you.”
Reluctantly she turned back to Gabriel, who didn’t look one bit sorry for what he was doing to her. The corners of his mouth tipped in an encouraging curve as he reached for her.
“Don’t smile at me,” Pandora said. “I’m angry at you.”
“I know,” he said gently. “I’m sorry.”
“You’re going to be even sorrier when I heave-ho all over your shirtfront.”
“It’s worth the risk.” Gabriel slid his right hand over her left shoulder blade, the tips of his long fingers reaching her spine. Reluctantly Pandora assumed the waltz position she’d been taught, resting her left hand on his upper arm.
“No, put it directly on my shoulder,” he said. At her hesitation, he added, “It will give you more support.”
Pandora let him arrange her in a closed hold position, with her right hand clasped in his left. As they faced each other, she couldn’t help remembering those moments of being lost in the darkness, when his arms had closed around her and he’d whispered, Nothing’s going to harm you, my sweet girl. How could that man have changed into this heartless fiend?
“Shouldn’t we stand farther apart?” she asked, staring miserably at his chest.
“Not for this style of waltzing. Now, on the first count, as I start the turn, step forward with your right, so your foot is between mine.”
“But I’ll trip you.”
“Not if you follow my lead.” He nodded to Phoebe to begin playing, and slowly he guided Pandora through the first rotation. “Instead of an even one-two-three count, the third step will be a long glide, like this.”
Stiffly Pandora tried to move with him. She stumbled, stepped on his foot and made an exasperated sound. “Now I’ve maimed you.”
“Let’s try again.”
Gabriel led her through the pattern of the waltz, which was indeed different from the usual repetitive circles. In the first measure, they completed only three-quarters of a turn, followed by a closed change in the next measure, and then three-quarters of a turn in the other direction. It was a beautiful gliding pattern, and no doubt it was very graceful when executed correctly. But as soon as they went into a turn, Pandora lost all sense of up and down, and the room spun. She clutched at him in panic.
Gabriel stopped and held her steady.
“You see?” Pandora asked breathlessly. “Everything tilts, and I start to fall.”
“You weren’t falling. You only felt like you were.” He reached over to press her palm more firmly against his shoulder. “Feel how sturdy that is? Feel my hand on your back, and my arms around you? Forget your sense of balance and use mine. I’m rock-solid. I won’t let you fall.”
“It’s impossible to ignore what my own senses are telling me, even when they’re wrong.”
Gabriel led her through another few measures. He was the only steady thing in a world that swayed and careened. Even though this variation of the waltz was much smoother and more controlled than the one she’d been taught, her inner gyroscope couldn’t manage even three-quarter turns. Soon she felt herself break out in a cold sweat, a queasy feeling coming over her.
“I’m going to be sick,” she panted.
Gabriel halted immediately and pulled her against him. He was blessedly solid and still, holding her, while she struggled to bring the nausea under control. Slowly the sickness retreated.
“To put it in terms you would understand,” Pandora finally said, blotting her damp forehead against his shoulder, “waltzing is my carrots.”
“If you’ll bear with this a little longer,” Gabriel said, “I’ll eat an entire carrot in front of you.”
She slitted a glance up at him. “Would I be able to choose the carrot?”
His chest vibrated with his low laugh. “Yes.”
“This might be worth it, for that.” Easing apart from him, she put her hand back on his shoulder and doggedly resumed the waltz position.
“If you choose a fixed point somewhere in the room,” Gabriel said, “and stare at it as long as possible during the turn—”
“No, I’ve tried that. It doesn’t work for me.”
“Then look straight at me and let the surroundings rush by you without trying to focus on them. I’ll be your fixed point.”
As he guided her into the pattern once more, Pandora had to admit grudgingly that when she stopped trying to orient herself to her surroundings, and focused only on Gabriel’s face, she didn’t feel quite so sick. He was relentlessly patient, leading her through turns, glides, and change steps, paying attention to every detail of what she said and did. “Don’t lift so high on the balls of your feet,” he advised at one point. And when she wobbled dangerously at the end of a turn, he said, “When that happens, let me adjust your balance.”
The problem was fighting her instincts, which screamed at her to lean in precisely the wrong direction whenever her balance was off, which was most of the time. At the end of the next turn, she tensed and tried to stabilize herself when it felt like she was pitching forward. She ended up tripping over Gabriel’s foot. Just as the floor began to rush up toward her, he caught her easily and held her close.
“It’s all right,” he murmured. “I have you.”
“Bollocks,” she said in frustration.
“You didn’t trust me.”
“But it felt like I was going to—”
“You have to let me do it.” One of his hands moved up and down her back. “I can read your body. I can feel just before your balance falters, and I can tell how to compensate.” His face lowered over hers, and his free hand came up to caress her cheek. “Move with me,” he said softly. “Feel the signals I’m giving you. It’s a matter of letting our bodies communicate. Will you try to relax and do that for me?”
His touch on her skin . . . that low, velvety voice . . . it seemed to ease every tight place inside her. The knots of fear and resentment melted into fluid warmth. As they took up the position again, it started to feel
like they were working together, striving for a common goal.
It felt like a partnership.
Through one waltz after another, they negotiated through various difficulties. Was a turn easier this way or that? Was it better if they made the steps longer or more compact? Perhaps it was Pandora’s imagination, but the turns weren’t making her quite as dizzy and disoriented as they had at first. It seemed as if the more she did them, the more her body became accustomed.
It was annoying whenever Gabriel praised her . . . good girl . . . yes, that’s perfect . . . and it was even more annoying that the words made her flush with gratification. She felt herself surrendering by gradual degrees, focusing on the subtle pressures of his hands and arms. There were a few remarkably satisfying moments when their steps matched exactly. There were also moments of near-disaster, when she lost the measure and Gabriel fixed the break in their rhythm. He was a superb dancer, of course, skilled at managing his partner and timing their steps. “Relax,” he would murmur every now and then. “Relax.”
Gradually Pandora’s brain quieted and she stopped straining to oppose the rushing, wheeling scenery and the constant deceptive sensation of falling. She let herself trust him. It wasn’t that she was enjoying the experience, exactly . . . but it was an interesting feeling to be so completely out of control and yet realize at the same time that she was safe.
Gabriel’s steps slowed before he brought them both to a full stop, lowering their clasped hands. The music had ceased.
Pandora looked up into Gabriel’s smiling eyes. “Why are we stopping?”
“The dance is over. We just completed a three-minute waltz with no problems.” He pulled her close. “You’ll have to find another excuse for sitting in corners now,” he said near her good ear. “Because you can waltz.” A pause. “But I’m still not giving your slipper back.”
Pandora was very still, unable to take it in. No words would come, not even a syllable. It was as if some huge smothering curtain had been drawn back to reveal another side of the world, a view of places she’d never known existed.
Clearly puzzled by her silence, Gabriel loosened his arms and looked down at her with those eyes like a clear winter morning, while a tawny lock of hair slid over his forehead.
In that moment, Pandora realized it would kill her not to have him. She might actually expire of heartbreak. She was becoming someone new, with him—they were becoming something together—and nothing was going to turn out the way she’d expected. Kathleen had been right—whatever she chose, it wouldn’t be perfect. She would have to lose something.
But no matter what else she gave up, this man was the thing she couldn’t lose.
She burst into tears. Not dainty, feminine tears, but a messy, red-faced explosion of sobs. The most terrible, beautiful, stunning feeling she’d ever known had come crashing over her in a huge wave, and she was drowning in it.
Gabriel stared at her with alarm, fumbling in his coat pocket for a handkerchief. “No, no . . . you weren’t supposed to . . . my God, Pandora, don’t do that. What is it?” He mopped at her face until she took the handkerchief from him and blew her nose, her shoulders shaking. As he continued to hover and ask worried questions, Phoebe left the piano and came to them.
Keeping Pandora folded deeply in his embrace, Gabriel cast a distracted glance at his sister. “I don’t know what’s wrong,” he muttered.
Phoebe shook her head and reached up to ruffle his hair fondly. “Nothing’s wrong, lunkhead. You came into her life like a lightning strike. Anyone would feel a bit scorched.”
Pandora was only dimly aware of Phoebe leaving the drawing room. When the storm of tears had ebbed enough that she could bring herself to look up at Gabriel, she was caught in his transfixed stare.
“You’re crying because you want to marry me,” he said. “Is that it?”
“No.” A hiccupping sob escaped her. “I’m crying because I don’t want to not marry you.”
Gabriel drew in a sharp breath. His mouth came down over hers in a kiss so rough that it almost hurt. As he searched her hungrily, his entire body vibrated with thrills.
Breaking the kiss, Pandora put her hands on his cheeks, and stared at him woefully. “Wh-what rational woman would ever want a husband who looks like you?”
He took her mouth again, fierce and demanding. She closed her eyes, surrendering in a dark half-swoon of pleasure.
Eventually Gabriel’s head lifted and he asked huskily, “What’s wrong with my looks?”
“Isn’t it obvious? You’re too handsome. Other women will flirt and try to attract your attention, and chase after you forever.”
“They’ve always done that,” he said, kissing her cheeks, chin, throat. “I won’t even notice.”
She squirmed to evade his marauding lips. “But I will, and I’ll hate it. And it will be so monotonous, looking at a perfectly beautiful person day after day. You could at least try to grow fat, or sprout some hair out of your ears, or lose a front tooth—No, even then you’d still be too handsome.”
“I could develop a receding hairline,” he offered.
Pandora considered that, reaching up to push back the heavy gold-shot locks that had fallen over his forehead. “Are there bald people in your family? On either side?”
“Not that I know of,” he admitted.
She scowled. “Don’t give me false hope, then. Just admit it: You’re always going to be handsome, and somehow I’ll have to find a way to live with it.”
Gabriel tightened his arms as she tried to pull away. “Pandora,” he whispered, holding her firmly. “Pandora.”
If only she could stop the terrible-wonderful feelings that flooded her. Hot. Cold. Happy. Afraid. She couldn’t make sense of what was happening to her. Gabriel was murmuring, pouring delicious words into her ear. “You’re so beautiful . . . so precious to me. I’m not asking for a surrender, I’m offering you one. I’ll do anything. It has to be you, Pandora . . . only you . . . for the rest of my life. Marry me . . . say you’ll marry me . . .”
His mouth was on hers, stroking deeply, his hands moving over her, his fingers spreading as if he couldn’t feel enough of her. The heavy muscles of his body tensed and relaxed as he altered his hold, trying to fit her closer against him. Then he went still with his lips against her throat, as if he’d realized the futility of words. He was silent, except for his unsteady breathing. The side of her face was pressed against his hair, the gleaming locks smelling like sun and ocean salt. His scent filled her. His warmth was all around her. He waited with merciless, devastating patience.
“All right,” she croaked.
His breath stopped, and his head jerked up. “You’ll marry me?” He spoke with great care, as if he wanted to make certain there was no misunderstanding.
“Yes.” She could barely speak.
A flush of color rose through his tan, and a slow grin emerged, so brilliant that it nearly blinded her. “Lady Pandora Ravenel . . . I’m going to make you so happy that you won’t even care about losing your money, freedom, and your entire legal existence.”
Pandora groaned. “Don’t even joke about it. I have conditions. Thousands of them.”
“Yes to all of them.”
“Starting with . . . I want my own bedroom.”
“Except for that one.”
“I’m used to privacy. A lot of it. I need a room in the house that’s only mine.”
“You can have several rooms for privacy. We’ll buy a big house. But we’re going to share a bed.”
Pandora decided to argue about the bed later. “The important thing is that I won’t promise to obey you. I literally can’t. The word has to be removed from the wedding vows.”
“Agreed,” he said readily.
Pandora’s eyes widened in surprise. “Really?”
“You’ll have to replace it with some other word.” Gabriel bent over her, the tip of his nose touching hers. “A good one.”
It was hard to think with his mouth so close.
/>
“Fondle?” she suggested breathlessly.
He made a sound of amusement. “If you like.” As he tried to kiss her again, she strained her head back.
“Wait, there’s another condition. About your mistress.” Pandora felt him go still, his gaze encompassing her. “I wouldn’t like—that is, I can’t—” She broke off, impatient with herself, and forced the words out. “I won’t share you.”
The glow in his eyes was like the innermost heart of a flame. “I said, ‘only you,’” he reminded her. “I meant it.” His lashes lowered, and his lips came to hers.
And for a long time after that, there was no more discussion.
The rest of that day was a colorful blur in Pandora’s memory. Only a few moments stood out in the dreamlike haze. First they went to share the news with her family, who seemed delighted to the point of elation. As Kathleen and Cassandra embraced Gabriel by turns and inundated him with questions, Devon took Pandora aside.
“This is what you want?” he asked softly, staring down at her with those black-rimmed blue eyes so much like her own.
“Yes,” she said on a faint note of amazement. “It is.”
“St. Vincent came to talk with me this afternoon about the solicitor’s letter. He said that if he could persuade you to marry him, he would do everything possible to encourage you in your business, and refrain from interfering. He understands what it means to you.” Devon paused to glance at Gabriel, who was still talking with Kathleen and Cassandra, before continuing in a low tone. “The Challons come from a tradition in which a gentleman’s word is ironclad. They still honor tenant agreements that were made a century ago over a simple handshake.”
“Then you think we can rely on his promise.”
“Yes. But I also told him that if he doesn’t keep it, I’ll break both his legs.”
Pandora smiled and leaned her head against his chest.
“. . . we’ll want it to occur soon,” she heard Gabriel saying to Kathleen.