Page 13

Raven Purfoy had not taken his eyes from Eliza’s face.

Flushed and animated, her eyes gleaming with unshed tears, she reminded him poignantly of someone he had tried not to think of in years.

He shut out this unwelcome thought and turned instead to the near present, saying in a quiet voice, ‘We found Corinna’s father through a gift she had, with a coronet engraved in the silver.

Do you have anything that could provide a clue to your origins? ’

Eliza shook her head. ‘Only a blue glass ring I gave to Rose, my friend at the circus, as a keepsake when I left.’

‘Well, you do have unusual looks.’ Purfoy’s eyes were amused. ‘Not many people have such flaxen hair and piebald eyes.’

Eliza was taken aback. ‘My lord, my eyes are just different colours, that’s all.’

He laughed. ‘Whatever they are, they’re a warning of trouble. I had a horse once with one gold and one brown eye. She was the most beautiful mare but the friskiest minx who only did what she chose.’

Zadoc Flynn said, ‘In my experience, obstinate animals need to know who’s master.’

Lord Purfoy’s glance slid over Mr Flynn’s genial face and the icy blast of his disapproval froze the smile on the American’s lips. ‘I do not treat my horses thus,’ he said with the utmost disdain.

Gibbons knocked on the door and entered in search of his mistress. ‘The dancing teacher is here, madam,’ he said. Corinna smiled her thanks then indicated that Eliza should follow her.

‘Mr Flynn,’ Corinna called to her visitor, ‘if you would like to learn the English dances, Mistress Wilson has arrived.’

Eliza was relieved to have endured her truth-telling unscathed, at least for now. She bobbed a quick curtsey to the men and followed Corinna up the stairs to the drawing room where the piano-forte stood waiting.

Mrs Wilson was an excellent dance teacher, somewhat better than her much more famous husband.

She greeted Corinna like an old acquaintance and Eliza had a chance to size her up.

She was of medium height and middle years, slender and quick in her movements; her bright eyes, in a thin wrinkled face, seemed to miss nothing and find amusement in much of what she found.

She was introduced to Eliza just as Zadoc Flynn came into the room in his stockinged feet, having left his boots at the door.

Corinna sat at the piano-forte while Mrs Wilson marked out the basic steps of a quadrille.

Following her directions, Eliza started to practise the steps in the square formations that characterised the dance.

Mrs Wilson clapped her hands together with delight.

‘You’re obviously a natural dancer, Miss Gray.

It will not be a difficult task to teach you, I can see. ’

Zadoc Flynn was apologetic. ‘I’m afraid I, on the other hand, am not a natural dancer. All I’m used to is country reels,’ he said as he attempted to follow the moves.

Mrs Wilson smiled in encouragement. ‘Your experience with American reels, sir, will make the country dances and Scottish reels seem straightforward enough. To make things easier, there’s usually someone calling the changes at a ball.’

Corinna was playing a cheerful melody as Mrs Wilson, Eliza and Mr Flynn skipped and swirled through the steps of a reel, Zadoc only trampling the women’s feet a few times, accompanied by apologies and laughter.

Mrs Wilson turned to Corinna and asked her to play a waltz and partnered Eliza with a loose hold to show her the steps.

She called across to Zadoc Flynn who was watching closely, ‘Sir, can you attempt a simple waltz? Take Miss Gray as your partner and follow my lead.’

Eliza was suddenly shy as she took Mr Flynn’s hand and placed her other on his arm.

Propriety demanded they dance with space between their bodies but, as Mrs Wilson explained, on a turn it was natural to be held closer to enable a smooth motion round the room.

Eliza may have been a performer at Prebbles Flying Circus but she had never danced with anyone else.

Here she was in the arms of a stranger who seemed to share none of her reservations.

His big hand grasped hers and he did not smell of horses, a familiar scent she loved, but indubitably something human and male.

It was novel and disconcerting, even exhilarating.

They managed the steps of this new and daring dance competently and Eliza enjoyed creating graceful patterns across the drawing room floor.

As she and Mr Flynn managed to perfect the steps, she began to appreciate the pleasure of being in the arms of a tall strong man who at times seemed to know how to dance.

She was laughing up into his face after a mistake that had made her almost trip and did not notice the striking dark figure of Lord Purfoy watching from the door.

Then Mr Flynn attempted an overambitious turn and his stockinged feet slipped on the polished oak boards.

He tumbled to the floor, pulling Eliza over with him.

She gasped in surprise and shock and quickly sprang to her feet, offering him a hand up.

The foolishness of their fall struck them both and they gasped with laughter, still holding hands while Mrs Wilson admonished Mr Flynn for his over-wide stride and clumsy feet.

Wishing to make his farewell, Raven Purfoy had sought out Corinna and had followed the sound of voices and music to the drawing room.

He stood for a moment on the threshold, his eyes narrowed as he watched Eliza being steered round the room by her beefy, be-stockinged partner.

Her elegant form and pretty dancing feet made him feel protective and possessive and he hated the vulnerability these emotions evoked.

Seeing the dancers suddenly tumbled on the ground and Eliza’s muslin gown flounced to her knees, revealing the unexpected but surprisingly affecting sight of her slender calves and fine ankles, gave him a jolt of long-forgotten feeling.

In a fluid athletic movement she was quickly upright again, and she and Flynn were laughing together as if old friends as Raven Purfoy’s fists clenched with long-suppressed emotion.

He couldn’t bear seeing this interloper making such a pig’s ear of the dance: he could not bear seeing Eliza in his clumsy embrace.

Lord Purfoy’s much-vaunted control cracked and he strode into the room in his top boots.

Corinna had stopped playing and looked up to see her old friend almost shoulder Mr Flynn aside and offer his hand to Eliza.

‘I think you should see how the waltz is properly done, Miss Gray. Would you play, Corinna?’

Eliza was suddenly encircled in his lordship’s commanding embrace and felt the call of some unruly emotion she had not experienced before.

How strange the effect, she thought, and how could dancing with each man elicit such different emotions?

Both were tall and strong, both filled with virile energy, but while in Zadoc Flynn’s arms she felt safe and light-hearted, Lord Purfoy’s embrace perturbed her body and soul to an almost unbearable degree.

Her knees went wobbly as Raven Purfoy swept her across the floor.

She could not think what steps to make next, her breath was fast and she was unable to meet his eyes.

She had never been so close to him before and the feel of him, the scent of him, filled her senses.

‘Don’t look at your feet, Miss Gray. Just trust in your partner and dance.’

Eliza looked up into his face and immediately lost her steps, trod on his foot, apologised, then laughed nervously.

On an impulse she placed her small feet in their dancing slippers on the toes of his immaculately polished boots and said, ‘Perhaps this is the best way to dance with someone so much better than me.’ She glanced up mischievously and was met by the most inscrutable countenance.

Raven Purfoy danced on a few more steps with his balletic passenger standing on his boots, but he was taken aback.

He was already regretting his impetuous intervention and was confused by how disconcerting it was to have this young woman in his arms, her breath rapid as a captive bird’s, her shapely waist under his hand, her breasts perilously close to his chest. Such behaviour was so out of character for him and had thrown his feelings into turmoil; assailed by the desire to hold her even closer, he was alarmed by the sense of his loss of dignity, his loss of control.

Lord Purfoy stopped in the middle of the room and regained his habitual sangfroid. The music stopped too and Corinna stood up, delight on her face.

Her friend continued as if nothing untoward had happened, bowing in acknowledgement of Eliza and Mr Flynn and, taking Corinna’s outstretched hand, said, ‘I must be gone. I’m riding Horatio in the Park with Taz.

He’s slightly concerned with his gait. He has to be fit for the Owners’ Race, ye know!

’ He flashed her one of his rare smiles.

Zadoc Flynn came forward. ‘The Owners’ Race, eh? It sounds amusing.’

‘It’s the most anticipated race of the Epsom season. Horses can only be ridden by their owners, and it’s highly competitive – and deadly serious, I assure you.’

Corinna attempted to ease the situation and said with a laugh, ‘And Rav and Horatio are the unassailable champions.’

Eliza’s heart was thumping but she was not certain what had just occurred. It was as if a tempest had suddenly entered the domestic scene, scattered all conventions and settled feelings to the winds, and then left as rapidly as it had come, leaving unimaginable changes in its wake.

As they returned to Mrs Wilson and the dancing lesson, Mr Flynn said almost to himself, ‘Perhaps I need to get myself a mighty fine racehorse after all.’

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