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He takes this very seriously…

“Now, repeat on my clap. One.”

Sophia tried to move, but Pietro immediately groaned.

“Wrong.”

“What? I barely even moved.”

“You looked down, Your Grace,” he replied sharply. “Will you also look down when taking to the floor with your husband? You are supposed to look him in the eyes.”

“But… I need to get used to it. I don’t know where I am stepping?—”

“The room is empty.” Pietro gave her a dry look. “Are you afraid you will stumble, perhaps? Are you afraid you will knock into another couple? The tables, perhaps? Again!”

She tried her best, flinching at every disapproving bark that came from the strict instructor. But it was no use.

“The string, Your Grace!” Pietro stalked over and prodded Sophia in the stomach, his other hand resting all too intimately on the small of her back. “You must remember the string! You are… lolloping around and threatening my reputation with every graceless plod!”

Holding her as if her waist were the meat of a palm sandwich, he moved her about the floor in a rough manner, grumbling “One, two, three” as if it would suddenly improve her.

“Do not touch her,” a low voice snarled from across the room.

Pietro jumped away, his eyes wide. “Your Grace!” he yelped, smoothing a hand over his hair. “Punctual, as always.”

Sophia didn’t know when Thomas had arrived; she had been too busy not melting into a puddle of humiliation.

The moment Pietro’s hands left her stomach and back, she felt she could breathe again… only to have that breath stolen away by the sight of Thomas. He stood just inside the doorway, wearing an unusually casual shirt and trousers, and nothing else. And the dark look in his eyes, flaring with protectiveness, couldn’t be ignored.

“Why were you teaching her a waltz?” Thomas continued, his voice cold. “I asked you to make her a respectable dancer. There is nothing respectable about a waltz.”

Pietro seemed to flounder. “It is the simplest to teach, Your Grace. And I only touched her to instruct her, I assure you.”

“Don’t do it again,” Thomas warned, waving a hand to the butler at the pianoforte. “A country dance, if you please.”

“She is not ready,” Pietro urged, clasping his hands together. “She keeps looking at her feet, thinking when she ought to befeeling.”

Thomas’s eyes darted to a bag on the floor. He went to it, drawing out a length of fabric. “Perhaps she was too distracted by a stranger’s hands on her,” he said roughly. “I expect better from you, Pietro.”

The instructor bowed his head. “Yes, Your Grace. Apologies.”

“This is the first lesson I was ever taught,” Thomas said, approaching Sophia from behind. “I am going to cover your eyes now.”

“You mean to tell me that little Thomas took dance lessons?” Sophia said, her heart thundering in her chest at the thought of him blindfolding her. It pounded so violently that there was no way he couldn’t hear it.

“I don’t know why you sound so surprised,” he replied, bending his head close to her ear. “You have seen me dance. One must practice often if one wants to beverygood at something.”

Her lungs took the lead from her heart, heaving frantically. Was he saying what she thought he was saying?

Do notlet him toy with you!she chided herself, fighting to regain control of her faculties.

“Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you when I sprain my ankle,” she muttered, aiming for nonchalance.

“I’ll be here to catch you if it goes awry,” he said, his breath tickling the nape of her neck.

“Oh, consider mesothankful,” she managed to utter, but she immediately felt her throat close up as the fabric covered her eyes.

She could feel his hands behind her head, tying the soft fabric, careful not to catch any of her hair in the knot. As darkness replaced her vision, she became a littletooaware of him, all of her other senses compensating.