The Laird and the Wanton Widow Read Online Free Page B

completely honorable. In fact, she had this strange hopeful feeling.
    “This way.” He guided her up the stairs. He took her to a salon on the first floor large enough to hold a good-size ball. A pianoforte sat on the dais beside a harp, but there were no musicians. They really were completely alone.
    Her stomach gave a little jolt. Not fear. Excitement.
    And yet she still wasn’t sure of his motives.
    He took her cloak and laid it over the back of the chair. His gaze ran over her, a long, slow perusal that made her feel hot all over.
    “You look lovely this afternoon, Mrs. Anderson.”
    She had worn her most practical of gowns, made every attempt to remind him of who she was and why she was here. “Don’t flatter me, my lord. I know very well how I look.”
    His lips twitched. “Just practicing, Mrs. Anderson.”
    A laugh bubbled in her chest. In the old days, Harry had always made her laugh. “We are here to practice the waltz.”
    “I am at your disposal.”
    His eyes were laughing again, green points of light dancing amid the brown. A picture of him being completely at her disposal flashed through her mind. A deliciously naughty picture. Her insides quivered. Ah, traitorous body.
    This could well end in more than waltzing. She ought to go while she still had a little moral fiber. Unless she was imagining his interest. Trying to believe in feelings that must have died long ago.
    If only she hadn’t promised to teach him to waltz.
    Best not to think and to get on with her task. “The most important thing about waltzing is holding your partner at the correct distance,” she said briskly. “Take my hand.”
    He did. It was a large hand, full of strength. Warmth permeated through her glove and made her heart beat faster.
    “Now I put my hand on your shoulder,” she instructed, “And you put your other hand on the middle of my spine. At all times you must not be any closer than this to your partner.”
    Naturally athletic, he seemed to have no problem following her instructions. Although they were indeed the regulation distance apart, she could feel the heat of his body down the length of hers. A shocking and titillating sensation.
    Aware that she was breathing faster than the act of merely standing still should require, she released his hand and stepped out of his hold.
    He tilted his head in question.
    She pretended not to notice. “The waltz is danced in steps of three. It is too bad we don’t have any music, but perhaps I can demonstrate.”
    Circling around Harry, Kate counted out loud, “One, two, three, one, two, three.”
    He watched with narrowed eyes. The intensity of his regard seared her skin. “Stop looking at me like that,” she said.
    You told me to watch you.”
    “Not like that.”
    “Women.” He shook his head, but his grin gave him away. He was toying with her. Teasing her. And damn her, she liked it. She felt young again. Attractive. Reckless.
    More like herself than she had for years. Hardly surprising, since she was no dried up old maid. Life still coursed hot in her veins. Too hot.
    She twitched the fichu free from her bodice, tossed it over the back of one of the gilt Sheraton chairs lining the walls and fanned her face. “It is warm in here.”
    His gaze dropped to her neckline. His shoulders rose and fell as he drew in a deep breath. He tugged at his collar. “Yes, very warm.”
    “Do you think you have the steps?” she asked.
    He dragged his focus back to her face and she resisted the urge to smile.
    “I believe I do.” He held out his hand and brought her into his arms.
    “Will you sing? Or shall I?”
    “You,” he said.
    She started humming. After a couple of bars he swung her into the dance. Fluidly, effortlessly. A suspicion entered her mind and she looked up. His expression was bland. Too bland.
    He bent his head. “What do we do when we reach the end?” he murmured in her ear.
    A shiver ran down her spine. “We turn,” she gasped.
    He smiled. “Like