The grand ballroom of Hastings Manor gleamed under the soft glow of chandeliers. Tonight, however, the room was empty—save for you and Simon Basset, who had graciously offered to give you a private lesson.

“I must warn you,” Simon said, his voice low and teasing, “I expect nothing less than perfection.”

You smirked. “And here I thought you were just here to entertain yourself.”

He raised an eyebrow, stepping closer, the faintest hint of cologne enveloping you. “Perhaps a bit of both.”

He guided you to the center of the polished floor. His hand brushed against yours, sending an unexpected thrill down your spine. “Relax,” he murmured. “Let the music guide you.”

As the first notes of the waltz began, Simon’s hand rested firmly on your waist, his other holding yours gently. You stumbled at first, but his calm, steady presence made it easier to find the rhythm.

“You’re improving,” he said, voice soft, almost distracted. “Much faster than I expected.”

You laughed, cheeks warming. “Are you saying I’m a natural, Duke?”

His lips twitched in a smile. “Careful. Compliments from me are rare.”