He smiled reminiscently. “I was always glad to get one. As a beautiful young heiress, you were much in demand.”

She made a face. “Too often that was because of being an heiress. One of the things I liked about you was that you seemed to have no interest in any inheritance I might have.”

“There were other reasons?” he asked with interest.

She laughed. “Oh, yes! You were so handsome and dashing and enjoyable to talk with. There was no waltzing then, though. It was considered such a scandalous dance. Let’s waltz now!” She held up her arms and began humming waltz music.

Unable to resist her bubbling spirits, he took her in his arms and spun her across the room, which was large enough to take a couple of turns as long as he kept an eye out for furniture.

“We were so young and life seemed to be overflowing with possibilities, didn’t it?” he said nostalgically. “You were a favorite partner when we were at the same event, but there were other young ladies I liked. In the months before I joined my ship, I created a mental gallery of partners I particularly enjoyed. I’d contemplate their images in the middle of North Sea gales.”

She laughed, easily imagining that and not insulted by the notion that there were other young ladies he’d thought about. “I was looking for a husband and you weren’t on the list because you were about to leave for the navy. But you danced well then, as you do now.” She tilted her head back, her hair sliding over her shoulders as she resumed humming. “And dancing at a ball brought us together again.”

“My dancing was rather rusty when we met at the Clantons’ ball,” he reminded her.

She shivered as she remembered that night, her exuberance briefly shadowed. “I don’t remember rusty dancing, only that you rescued me when everyone else was drawing back as if I were a plague carrier.”

“I’ve wondered. What did you hope to accomplish by storming into the center of that ballroom?” he asked curiously.

She sighed, scarcely able to remember why she’d done such a mad thing. “I suppose I was looking for a friendly face. Someone who might speak for me. Or even to me. It wasn’t until I was shaking and alone in the middle of the room that I realized how foolish I was.”

“Not foolish,” he said seriously as he steered them clear of the desk. “Perhaps your instincts were pushing you to break out of your fog of despair.”

“Pushing me toward you, perhaps.” She realized their dancing was becoming slower, more sensual. “When we first met all those years ago, I never dreamed how important you would become to me.”

“Nor did I imagine this, either,” he said, his gaze intent.