No Proper Lady by Isabel Cooper

lips.
    Oh, God. The kiss was very brief. It shouldn’t have been a big deal. She’d had much more contact with men back home, men she would never have thought of sleeping with.
    It was a bigger deal here. Maybe that was why she wanted to throw her arms around his neck and really kiss him, among other things that she wouldn’t let herself think of right now.
    She cleared her throat. “Will everyone do that?”
    “Probably,” said Simon. “It is gentlemanly behavior, after all.”
    “I’m surprised nobody’s lips get chapped. Can anyone just come up and say hello that way?”
    Eleanor actually giggled at the thought. It was the first thing like a real laugh that Joan had heard out of her, and Simon’s face visibly brightened when he heard it. For a moment, Joan forgot her desire in a mixed wave of relief and pity. Eleanor went on. “You’d have to be introduced first.”
    “Who introduces me?”
    “Any previous acquaintance,” Simon said. “You can hardly avoid the process.”
    The setup had potential. There were lots of toxins you could probably apply to gloves. Sad that she hadn’t brought any with her except for the stuff on the darts. Maybe a ring would work or a hidden needle—
    “If you’d care to begin the lesson,” Simon broke in dryly.
    “Sorry,” Joan said. “How do we start?”
    “Well, it’s a box step,” Eleanor said, and shyly demonstrated.
    Joan followed her movements, back with the right foot, back and to the side with the left, and bring them together. “Does this get tricky somewhere?”
    “The rhythm,” said Simon, “and the partner.”
    “Then we’d better practice those, hadn’t we?”
    “Precisely. Your hand?” He took it again and stepped forward, closing the distance between them. Up close, he was very big and warm, his hand smooth around hers. “Put your other hand on my shoulder, and keep your arms firm. I’m going to put my hand on your back.”
    There was pressure just above her waist. She couldn’t really feel anything else through the dress and corset, and that was probably good. “What now?”
    “Follow my lead.” Simon smiled. “As difficult as that may be.”
    His eyes really were very bright blue, and the lashes were thick and dark around them. And there was an interesting curve to his otherwise thin lips. Joan dropped her eyes, which didn’t help. It just meant she was staring at his chest. “So,” she said, a little faster than she’d have liked, “lead.”
    Dancing was surprisingly easy—of course you retreated when the other guy advanced, and vice versa—and fun, maybe because it was the closest thing to fighting Joan had done since she’d arrived. You had to wait and watch, alert to the subtle changes that told you what your opponent was going to do next. You had to be ready, moving at a moment’s notice but never too early. Like in a fight, there was energy in the back-and-forth of a dance, of the movement and tension between you and the other guy.
    Then, just when the dance started getting a little predictable, Eleanor began playing the piano. Now there was a third party to think about, something bigger than a person and with different cues to follow, and she and Simon were working together against it—or with it—as much as they were playing off each other. Sometime during the second song, she laughed from the sheer thrill of it.
    Simon lifted an eyebrow but smiled himself. “I somehow thought you’d enjoy this.”
    “You were right. You’re not going easy on me, are you?”
    He shook his head. “You catch on very quickly.”
    “Compared to company manners? You bet. I do better when there aren’t a million little details—here everything relates to each other, and I can see the shape of it. Besides, I’ve always been good at physical stuff.”
    Her thoughts shot immediately to one or two specific kinds of “physical stuff,” and she felt her nipples harden against her corset. By the way Simon’s eyes darkened, she knew