Chapter 15

CHAPTER 15

“ I believe we are ready to try without the blindfold,” Pietro said.

Sophia breathed out heavily and pushed up the fabric that covered her eyes. Her cheeks were pink, her eyes bright, and she stooped in obvious exhaustion, throwing the blindfold over her shoulder.

Thomas felt a smile come up and immediately suppressed it, remaining silent.

She has done well, but I can’t have her becoming complacent.

She needed to be ready for the upcoming ball; the compliments could wait until after she had proven herself there.

“Am I allowed to rest now?” she gasped.

Pietro shook his head. “One more lesson, to use everything we have learned, and then you may rest at your leisure.”

“I am surrounded by sadists,” she muttered, her hands braced on her narrow waist as she slowed her breathing.

“You will be grateful for the discipline in due course,” Thomas said in a clipped tone, deliberately averting his gaze from the rise and fall of her bosom.

Even the awful shade of her dress could do nothing to dampen his desire, for that pea-green color now reminded him of her half-naked, resplendent body on his study desk.

She squinted. “Why is that?”

“We are hosting a garden party in a few days,” he replied evenly. “My mother’s idea. I suspect it is to bolster our standing in Society, to let people see that we are entirely united. Not just you and me, but our respective families.”

Sophia stared at him like she wanted to either kill him or kiss him. “And you’re just mentioning this now?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Does the word ‘honeymoon’ not mean anything to you?” she shot back, taking the blindfold and dabbing her sweaty brow. “Are you unaware of what one entails?”

He shrugged. “A week was long enough for you to get accustomed to the household.”

“It was less than a week, and I don’t agree,” she replied.

“You rarely do.” He rolled up his sleeves. “But the invitations have been sent, and many have already been accepted. Your complaint won’t change what is happening.”

She frowned deeply. “How is that possible? How have invitations been accepted already?”

“Because this was planned before our wedding. I believe the invitations were sent out at the same time as the invitations to our… happy day,” he told her, feeling slightly guilty for not informing her sooner.

Then again, he hadn’t known that they would even be on speaking terms at this juncture.

“Happy day,” she parroted sarcastically, fanning herself with her hand. “We must have attended very different weddings.”

Pietro pretended to find something very interesting in his bag of dancing paraphernalia, while the butler stared intently at the sheet music. It was one thing for the Duke and Duchess to argue in private, but Thomas could not afford for the staff to spread rumors of discontent.

“Pietro!” he barked. “The next lesson, if you please.”

The dance instructor hurried forward. “The gentleman guides the lady to the center of the dance floor.” He split his attention between the pair. “The lady should not lead or pull ahead of her partner.”

“Nor should she drag her heels,” Thomas muttered, earning a glare from his wife.

“Your Grace,” Pietro said to Thomas, his eyes anxious. “If you would like to demonstrate how we begin a?—”

“Waltz,” Thomas interrupted, watching Sophia’s eyes widen.

“But you said it was unseemly,” she countered.

He shrugged. “It is, which is exactly why we should perform one at the garden party. Nothing will make Society believe in our union more than seeing us waltz. Why, it is practically like peeking through the window of a married couple’s bedchamber.”

Thomas took Sophia’s hand in his, sliding his fingers between hers, and moved her closer to the center of the room. She held his gaze, desire gleaming amidst her anger.

The instructor pursed his lips but said nothing about the intimacy of the grip, just as he had said nothing about Thomas commandeering his dancing lesson earlier. Although Thomas had handed back responsibility after the first few rounds of blindfolded dancing.

Pietro cleared his throat. “If it is to be a waltz, then we begin with the clasping of hands. Your arms should form a figure of eight in front of you both, so you may promenade.”

Thomas helped Sophia to figure out her arms, remembering the sloppy tangle of their previous public attempt at a dance, until the pair stood side-by-side, her hip brushing his thigh. She blinked and stared up at him.

“Now… the couple shall perform the steps together. Forward for three counts to four. You are the Duke and Duchess, united by God. This should come naturally to you. And… one.” Pietro clapped out the rhythm as the butler began to play a suitable tune.

Thomas guided her through the promenade, and she followed with ease, her gaze never leaving his. No stepping on feet this time, no awkward arms, no hunched or ungainly posture, no indication that she had ever been a terrible dancer.

“Now, the gentleman’s hand rests on the lady’s back, other hands joined as you circle,” Pietro said in a reverent whisper.

Thomas did just that, his hand feeling the movement of her ribs, her eyes sparkling as they turned in slow circles that made the music room blur and disappear. He was only vaguely aware of Pietro’s clapping and the soft lilt of the music as he stared at Sophia. And she stared back, her expression moving through a carousel of emotions—confusion, excitement, annoyance, and around again.

“Now, together!” Pietro urged. “The lady’s hand on the gentleman’s shoulder. The gentleman’s hand on the middle of the lady’s back. Hands clasped as if you wish you were closer, as if you wish you were alone.”

Thomas did not approve of the instructor’s words, but he was too invested, too swept up in the movements to reprimand him. Sophia gripped his shoulder tightly, prompting him to hold her closer than he perhaps should as they whirled around and around to the rhythm of the dizzying waltz.

As they spun, the intensity of the turns brought them even closer, until there was no gap between them, her body flush to his in a way that made him understand Pietro’s earlier words.

He did wish he was alone with his wife. Indeed, it took all of his lordly willpower not to dismiss them so he could lift his wife onto the pianoforte and lavish her with the praise of his tongue and touch until she cried out his name.

They turned faster and faster, their eyes locked, two figures merging into one, moving together in harmony. Thomas could barely catch his breath, and the sawing gasps of Sophia suggested that she couldn’t either.

“And rest!” Pietro shouted with one final clap, the butler playing the final note that Thomas had not heard coming.

The couple stopped sharply, Sophia collapsing into him, clinging to him breathlessly as he held her in return. They panted in unison, staring at one another as if seeing the other for the first time.

If I had met you at another time, with another name, what could we have been? Thomas found himself thinking, her body fitting so well in his embrace. She was beautiful. More beautiful than he had ever seen her, colored with the blush of exertion.

Pietro stepped forward, popping their bubble. “Splendid job, Your Graces. I doubt I took a single breath through all of that! Technically, you are both more than adequate.” He clasped his hands together, sighing. “Dramatically, you are exceptional. There will be swooning at the garden party—I guarantee it.”

Thomas let go of his wife and stepped back, folding his arms politely behind his back. “Thank you for coming at such short notice, Pietro.”

“It was my honor, as always,” Pietro replied.

Sophia eyed the instructor with curiosity. “In your opinion, will we be convincing as a couple at the party that I knew nothing about?”

Evidently, she couldn’t resist a jab.

Pietro hesitated for a moment. “Yes and no.”

“Yes and no?” Thomas’s curiosity was piqued. “You just said we were exceptional.”

“In the end, you were,” the instructor said cautiously. “Prior to that, less so. I would worry about you returning to the former when you dance next, as you may not have the time to… warm up. If you truly mean to convince the ton that you are in love, then you’ll need to convince yourselves first.”

Thomas and Sophia stood in silence for a while, exchanging momentary glances.

He could see the instructor’s point. The couple seemed to be stuck in a cycle of thawing and freezing, offered a glimpse of verdant spring at certain stirring moments before the winter of their hatred sent in a fresh blizzard.

We must thaw the ice between us so that it cannot freeze again.

An impossible task that would require a miracle. And Thomas was not a miracle worker.

“I think I’d like to rest for a while now,” Sophia said, her head bowed, no longer looking him in the eye.

“Of course.” Thomas cleared his throat. “Though you should not get accustomed to indulging in late mornings.”

She shot him a cold look. “And you should not get accustomed to being so close to me.”

With that, she stalked away.

“Consider today’s lesson a success, Your Graces,” Pietro called after Sophia’s departing figure, his tone almost apologetic, as if he knew what his words had done—asking something of them that was simply not possible.