Read Online Silent Melody by Mary Balogh - Free Book Online Page B

had taken on depth and he realized with some satisfaction that he could still read them, just as if seven years had not passed since he had last looked into them. Yes, of course she longed to dance. She always had. He knew it as surely as if she had put her feelings into words. Had no one else this evening seen the longing there? The longing to dance to the silent melody she could hear in her heart? And he was drunk with longing himself.
    â€œAshley.” His brother’s voice had taken on the firmness of authority. “Emily cannot hear the music. Besides, this set is promised to Lord Powell. Come, allow me to find you another partner.”
    But Ashley was gazing into Emily’s eyes. “Let Emmy choose,” he said, smiling at her. “Which will it be, Emmy? Will you sit here, where I will wager you have sat all evening? Or will you dance with me?
Will
you dance with me?”
    For several moments she merely stared. Her nod, when it came, was almost imperceptible. But they all saw it.
    â€œEmily,” Luke said, but she was looking at Ashley, not him. “Ash—” But Ashley took no notice of him. He was still smiling at Emily, a look of triumph and recklessness in his eyes.
    Lord Powell bowed. “I shall return to take Lady Emily in to supper,” he said.
    â€œCome,” Ashley said, squeezing the cold little hand that lay in his own. “We will dance, Emmy. We will prove to these unbelievers that a man who is weary through to the marrow of his bones and a woman who cannot hear music or anything else can dance without missing a step.”
    She walked beside him to take their places in a set. Emily had not grown taller since the age of fifteen, he noticed. She had been slightly above the average in height then, and slim and agile as a young colt. She had developed womanly curves since then, accentuated by the fact that she wore stays and hoops. But she had not really changed in any other way. Not physically, anyway.
    He wondered if they really had tamed her during the seven years of his absence. If they had imposed all the trappings of civilization upon her. He hoped not. By God, he hoped not.
    She looked up at him and he smiled at her as the orchestra began to play. Ah, yes. And her face was no longer that of a pretty child, but that of a lovely young woman.
    He knew he had just done a dastardly thing. He had taken her from the man who was apparently to propose to her and announce his betrothal to her tonight. He had interrupted the set the man had reserved with her. He had stolen her away with the temptation of fulfilling a dream he knew very well she must always have had. Emmy would always have wanted to dance; anyone who had ever known her must surely understand that, he reasoned. He had not known her for seven years, but he remembered her as a child who was born to dance. He was drunk with emotion. He did not pause to analyze the strange thought.
    He had done a dastardly thing. Another heavy burden to add to a dauntingly long list.
    But he did not care the snap of two fingers. Tonight he had arrived home. Tonight he was going to enjoy himself. Tonight he wanted to dance with Emmy. And Emmy wanted to dance. And dance they would, by God. Together.
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    It was only later that she realized what she had done, how very unmannerly she had been. She was remorseful then, for herself and the selfish weakness she had portrayed and for Lord Powell, whom she must have humiliated. But it was only later that she felt those things.
    She had been caught up in some magical spell, and reality did not exist for her. He was there before her, speaking with her, holding her cold, cold hand in his strong warm one, smiling at her, calling her his little fawn as he had used to do, just as if seven years had rolled back and they were as they had used to be. He was here again, real flesh and blood.
    Ashley.
    He was the same and different. His eyes were the same,