A Marriage of Charm and Confidence (extract)
“Why, hello, I’m Thomas. Thomas Gwyndaf,” says the young man, his voice richly timbred. He takes Emmie’s gloved hand and strokes it lightly with his thumb, his touch lingering just a little too long.
“Gwyndaf—what a pretty name,” says Emmie, her cheeks warming. “Is it Welsh?”
“Welsh as the misty hills,” Thomas replies with a wide smile. “It means white river—a name full of Celtic mystery and magic.”
Emmie is entranced. There’s something about the way he stands, his head tilted just so, his deep, magnetic voice weaving around her like a spell. He looks every inch the romantic hero. Arthur tuts, as he steers Kitty into the dancing couples. He’s implying he was born on the foothills of Snowdon, he thinks drily, but I’ll bet he wasn’t!…
Emmie’s fingers tighten on her dance card, now full to capacity. She frowns, pencil poised. Surely some partners could be… dispensed with? With a deft stroke of her pencil and a touch of ruthlessness, she consigns three partners to oblivion. Thomas now has three dances available to him. It’s a bold move, but she doesn’t bat an eyelid, and he wastes no time in claiming his prizes.
When they waltz, his hand is firm and assured at her waist. He steers her through the swirling crowd with perfect control, sweeping her into the notoriously tricky Viennese Waltz with breathtaking ease. Emmie is conscious of every eye in the room upon them.
“You’ve quite the talent for dancing, Mr. Gwyndaf,” she says, a little breathless as they spin to a halt.
“Only with the right partner, Miss Peat,” he replies.
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