“Oh, the dance matters less to me than the company,” Kristoffer said, voice cheerful but the inflection behind the words intended to injure. It was true, he supposed: and he would enjoy himself all the more in this one if he could make it torture to Miss Whitledge. That would rub away her patience, wouldn’t it? “A dance all depends on one’s partner,” he explained, with a look to imply and you are entirely disappointing. “But you can surely have no complaints about my technique?” Kristoffer goaded, making a point to – subtly – press his foot upon her toes in an attempt to make her trip up a step. For the entertainment of it all.
