MEET MR. WELLSLEY... MEET MR. WELLSLEY...
A manor house in Regency England:
Mr. Wellsley teaches Emily to waltz
from "The Verity of the Vampyre," Soulful Sex Volume III
Wellsley continued to stare at Emily. She stood and stepped hesitantly away from the piano. Her sister came over at once, saying, "Here, I know a good piece for this tempo. I'll play, dear, you must dance!"
Emily already felt strange and wondered if she could keep her feet. But then Mr. Wellsley held out his hand to her and bowed his head, while his eyes bored steadily into hers. She felt herself walk to him and her hand lift to be taken in his. He shifted her fingers into a close grip, drew her to him, and rested his other hand upon her waist.
The sudden touch made her shiver. "Lay your hand upon my shoulder," he instructed.
She obeyed, blushing, and said, "I have no idea how to do the steps."
"You will," he replied.
The piano began to play, and at first Mr. Wellsley guided her movements slowly, behind the tempo. Emily concentrated on his feet and tried to synchronize her movements, but it was a bit of a struggle.
Wellsley tipped his head down to her and said softly, "You think too hard about yourself. Look at me."
"I am . . . "
"Not at my feet. Look at me."
She looked into his face. He let go her hand and with two fingers pointed at his eyes. "Here," he told her.
"But--"
His voice went low and firm. "Here, as deeply as you can." And he took up her hand again.
Emily looked into his eyes. His black brows were stern, but his eyes were soft . . . so lovely and soft that her limbs went slack. She felt him resume their movement, and suddenly the step was effortless, literally. All at once Emily realised they were dancing up to tempo, easily, smoothly.
"Oh, that's marvelous!" cried Mr. Morrissey from somewhere far away. "As if you knew the waltz before, sister!"
Emily had never done any type of close dancing before, so had never experienced the sensation of being led through a dance as Wellsley now steered her. She felt like a doll or a puppet, guided through each motion with almost no effort on her part. And how graceful he made her feel, how beautiful and light! It felt like flying. Ecstasy rose in Emily's belly, swelling to flood her breasts.
A look of haughty satisfaction came over Mr. Wellsley's face and she found the expression exhilarating. The places he touched her, her hand and her waist, burned with thrilling heat, and her hand upon his shoulder throbbed to touch his bare flesh.
I'm in love with you, she told him inwardly, staring into his eyes. I worship you, God forgive me.
He smiled as if he had heard her, a smile that was half triumph, half tenderness.
When the music fell still and her sister and brother-in-law applauded, they whirled to a stop. Emily quickly let go of Mr. Wellsley, and stepped back, shocked at the sudden return to reality.
"That was truly delightful to observe," said Mr. Morrissey.
"From what I could see, it was indeed amazing!" agreed his wife.
Wellsley did not take his eyes from Emily's face. "She is an angel, is she not?" he said.
Emily looked at the floor, feeling her cheeks redden. "You flatter me, Mr. Wellsley," she said, her own voice sounding strange to her. "The credit is all yours, I'm sure I've never known a man with such natural grace."
In fact, she thought, preternatural.