Knightley's Tale Read Free Page A

voice, he offered, “That’s because the princess is Lord Dafney.”
    It took Emma a full minute to comprehend. She had always heard of such things. She gazed curiously back at the pair who were enjoying a laugh. Heads together, intimate, happy.
    Knightley interrupted hoarsely, “Don’t stare.”
    “I am not.”
    “Emma?”
    “Really, I am not.” But she could not help herself from sneaking another glance.
    It took the orchestra’s lilting music and organized movement on the dance floor to draw her attention away.
    This was something new.
    Dancers were not just touching fingertips, they were touching everywhere. Wrapped in each other’s arms, couples twirled around the floor in three-quarter time. So scandalously close. So deliciously sensual.
    “What are they dancing?” Emma asked breathlessly.
    “The waltz,” Knightley said from behind her. “From Vienna, I believe. It’s apparently all the rage on the continent.”
    “It’s lovely.” She looked up at him and he must have guessed her wistful thoughts. For the first time this night, his face beneath the mask softened. A slight smile formed at the corners of his mouth.
    “Would you like to try it?”
    She nodded. “You know this dance?”
    “I’ve had a turn or two.”
    “How? When?”
    “Would you rather pepper me with questions or dance?
    “Dance.” She raised her arms to him.
    When he entered into her personal circle, she tingled with delight. Here was her diversion. He was going to hold her again and she was positively giddy with anticipation. It was perfect.
    He did not make eye contact as he ensured the correct placement of their hands and feet. With his large hand splayed across the small of her back, she felt deliciously feminine and delicate. When his other hand possessed hers, her heart beat wildly in her chest and she couldn’t catch her breath. Apparently, he was oblivious to the effect.
    Slowly, he began to rock her back and forth, asking, “Do you feel the rhythm?”
    “Rhythm? Uh-huh.” she croaked.
    He gazed down at her then and actually chuckled.
    “Relax, Emma. Enjoy this.”
    Slowly he turned them, while continuing to rock. Compelled to glance at their feet, Emma stumbled. She offered an apology, but he only drew her closer into the embrace.
    “There’s no use looking down. I’ve got you,” he said quietly.
    He truly had possessed her. As he whisked her around the floor, her feet barely grazed the ground.
    By the second overture, she had forgotten everything except the heat of his body and the sharp jaunt of his profile as he surveyed their progress around the dance floor. How well she knew the sharp edges of his nose, his cheekbones, his chin.
    She had the inexplicable urge to run her tongue along the length of his jawbone.
    “What I wouldn’t give to have Sir Osgood’s tongue.”
    “I beg your pardon?”
    Had she made that last wish aloud? Quickly, she thought, change the subject.
    “Have you had many partners?” She blurted out, quickly adding, “for dancing.”
    His head snapped forward. He gave her a hard, quizzical look before answering.
    “A few. I’ve stood up with you innumerable times, too.”
    “Would you say I am passably fair…as a dance partner?”
    “Fishing for compliments, Emma?” He tried to tease her, but she wouldn’t allow him to avoid the question.
    “I don’t prize myself as a skilled dancer,” he said, measuring his words. “I select my partners very carefully. You and I…we fit. We’re neither overly graceful nor terribly clumsy. We laugh at our embarrassing missteps. And our heights are perfectly suited.” He smiled at her. Really smiled.
    It was these moments with Knightley that she cherished most. More, the little voice inside her begged. More.
    “So, if two people were perfectly matched for dancing, the same would be said for other activities too. Perhaps…kissing?”
    He missed a step.
    Encouraged, she proceeded.
    “I’ve read that kissing can be very…energetic.”