Lord Arvis gave in to her request for a dance refresher. She knew he was a busy man and did not mean to bore him with her unease, but she had no one else to bother, and the servants of the villa were busy as always. Deirdre needed to be in her chambers soon to get ready herself, but she could not sit still with how her heart hammered.

She slipped her sandals off, leaving them before the desk as he moved a low table out of the way. Quite shamelessly, his sleeves were pinned back to his elbows, and she did her best not to stare. He needed to be ready, but how much dressing could men have to do?

"Will I have to dance with others?" she asked. He kept his shoes on, but she'd been with him long enough to know it would not split the difference between them. She stepped up to him, and he offered his hand in a familiar motion.

"You may stay by my side all night."

"I have never been to one of these before." Right? Her home was a mystery (what wasn't?), but when the wind hit the trees, the scent itched her nose and crawled up into her. Remembering her name had been a day-long feat of itself, sat with a butler to pull it out of her while the maids chatted about the master returning to this. Everything was gone from the ways she could name the months to wherever she called home (before here), but maybe some things hadn't left her.

"I have." She put her hand in his, pulled forward. Before he commented, she straightened her back. "Where do you put your hands?" he asked. This part she knew—right hands clasped together, then her left on his shoulder, his hand mimicking hers. When they do this, she often wants his hand lower, but patience was something she searched for.

Awkwardly enough, they both stepped forward. He was mindful enough to miss stepping on her bare foot. Right. She followed. He let her lead once in the privacy of one of his many dens, and while it came easier than following, she was equally poor at both. Terrifyingly, he did not wait for her to correct—he kept his steps to the music that would be; she waited before trying to join, briefly watching his feet before finding his eyes. Her fingers flex on his arm. Did she know what she was doing? She did, didn't she? Back, left, right, forward; back, left, right—

"Mind your distance." Mind her—she was barely near him. Often she went too close, yes, maybe a bit too eager with Lord Arvis, but today he instigated the wretchedness. Reeling her in, he gripped her elbow, forearms parallel. "There is such a thing as too far."

Too far. She returned the touch on his elbow, trying to mind the gap and keep her hands steady and up. "And too close?" she asked, which was her normal position. He ignored that request, so she did too. Anything less than what they were at surely. She needed to keep her comments to herself. Her hands, too, and any other foul part of her. Poor man deserved better than her wants.

She kept pace now she knew her footing. Finding his eyes was the easiest bit, along with every other embarrassing desire, made worse by his half-smile. Darnable man.

The butler taught her manners during the day. She occasionally remembered them, but he took the opportunity to speak. "Even if you make a mistake, weddings are usually merry enough that no one will notice. It's not about you, dear."

"I did not say it like that." Usually? "You've been to weddings?"

"At my age? A few." Of course. He knew all his years. "Velthomer is often invited. My attendance is rare."

Unsurprising. Little about this man said fun. "I hope you attend ours, at least."

With that, he slid his hand from her arm down to her waist. She sucked a breath in, then remembered to step back. Despite her best efforts, she was going to humiliate him. "I likely will." Likely. His smidge of humor fitted his face.

"Why—" step, step, step; how did he speak so easily? "—attend this one, then?"

"To get you out of the villa for a night. You're free to go out during the day."

She did. The large markets, winding streets, and whitewashed buildings did not bode well for a dreamy woman. Fingers flexing, his hand gave beneath hers. "I keep getting turned around."

"One of these days I may show you the city."

"You can leave the palace that long?"

"For you? Absolutely." How sweet. "We should accustom you to the city. It's important to know these things when you have a household." Managing the household—a duty she would have as his wife, the day that slowly approached. It absolutely felt foreign: servants, counts, flatware, runners, guests, thank yous. The villa worried her enough, until she remembered the lord tacked onto his name was real. A castle beat heavier.

"The hou-" One thing at a time. She bumped into his chest, certainly not helped by his innocent hand. "The household, of course," Deirdre agreed, unable to stop the droop in her voice. How regrettable! She corrected herself, matching her steps to his again. He spoke well, so he could do it tonight.

Once more, he waited for her steps before speaking. "Does it bother you?" he asked. Bother? Not wholly. But surely, somewhere out there, was a lady fit for his company. Knowing this, obnoxiously enough, she still wanted him, almost too much—when he was not home she longed for his company, yearning for his elbow to hook herself on.

"Somewhat," she managed. His thumb rubbed circles on her. Sad enough, his already soft gaze, reserved for her, darn near melted her heart. His face twitched.

"My house has stood without a woman's touch for quite a few years now. It will be fine for more."

Correcting him, "I do want to. I want to be your wife like any other woman and everything that comes with it." Gratefully, he rarely babied her for the large, empty plains of her mind. Rarely meant it did sometimes happen; she wanted to think it was out of fondness for her, not any judgement on her character.

"We will have you shown. A child can do it." Backwards, again? When had they stepped to the left, or right, or gone forward? Focus. Children danced, children ran households. A household, he promised, could run without daily touch once she found her methods. Like the dancing she flailed at, it was about footing and partners. Her horrible, horrible footing, heels banging together. "Stop looking at your feet."

"I am trying!" Hand cramping, she wrestled it back from him as they closed the box. "Do you have a handkerchief?" He shook his head. The gall of it! She dragged her palm across the lap of her dress, ignoring his sigh as she did so. Tonight, she would step on his toes, stumble, call the wrong man the wrong title, or anything else she shouldn't do. Lord Arvis, uninvited from everything, would leave her at home and being seen with him would be a thing of the past. "Lord Arvis?"

"Yes?"

Standing up on her toes, she kissed the high part of his cheek. "May I apologize in advance?"

Oddly enough, it made him laugh. Her kisses were anything but rare! "What will you do?"

"Tonight I will tarnish your reputation and you will never be invited anywhere again."

"A Friege woman marries every week." She knew nothing about that. Grannvale's duchies barely meant a thing to her. Her still sticky hand went once more across her thigh. Darnable nerves. "If I could not take you, I would not go."

Scoffing, "You say that now. Give me your hand again." He did not. She was not going, so they were not practicing. Was that it? Save face now? Well, why judge him so harshly? He was eager to marry despite her faults.

"Deirdre," he said softly. Oh. "There are few places I will not take you. There is plenty to be done first, but if you are willing to wait I will give you the world, which is more than stuffy weddings." Willing to wait for him, while her memory started not even a year ago. (Why? What took it? Punishment? Injury? An act of fate? Was she a cruel woman at heart?) Wait for him when he was kind to her without question. It was the least she could do—when her memories returned, he could follow her to wherever she hailed from. "For now we may start with the palace." They were not dancing, so she made a half effort to take a step back, but his hand held firm. Good. If she was to spend the night in his arms, he needed to get used to her. Why feign shyness when she was all but promised to him?

Pretense gone, she tangled her fingers in his hair that curled at his shoulders. "And why would I need to meet the king?" She knew—they spoke of it, what flower she would wear in her hair, the pretty dresses, and so casually, he told her:

"To make you my bride."

What a beautiful word out of his mouth. "I suppose we should finally get it over with. It would be nice to call you husband." (Husband. It fits in her mouth. She's said this word in more than passing.)

"Start when you please," he said. "My mind slips at night, and I think about coming home to my wife. You have done the oddest things to me." Coming home to her. What a ridiculous thing to say that nearly sent her sideways.

Though they were by themselves, some things she could not bring herself to say outright. Accommodating her as she stands back up on her toes, mouth ready to say a scandalous want like a rascal. "May we share your bed tonight, husband?"

This was not the first time she asked. He rarely said no (he reasonably couldn't given the amount of kissing she roped him into) but she wanted to be certain. "We may." They could! She dropped back onto her heels, tamely tilting his head to hers with the tangle on his hair. His hand rested on her waist for a moment more, close as they ever could be, almost meeting her, and before she took another kiss for the day, he pulled back. "Go ready. I would have a small bite to eat before we leave."

Deirdre hummed. "As you say."