Did I think he might… want to summon me to express an interest?Her face grew very hot indeed. She could not pretend she had not considered it, especially after he had informed her that he, too, was in search of a spouse. But then she remembered what manner of man he was, and the thought was hastily pushed aside.
Alone, however, in his townhouse, those notions came tiptoeing back. Alone with him, therewasno competition: he conversed with her the way she had imagined gentlemen might before her debut; he was lively and interesting and did not seem to believe that there were topics that should not be discussed with ladies; he made her feel seen, he made her feel important, and all while making her stomach flutter.
“Then, let us dance.” Duncan held out his hand, his blue eyes gleaming in the low light. “Let me show you how it is supposed to be done, as I do not think you received my best performance last night.”
She approached hesitantly, covering her smiling mouth with her hand as she realized they had the same issue as before. “We still have no music, Your Grace.”
“Duncan,” he corrected firmly. “While you are here, I must be myself. As for the music—I shall supply it.”
Valeria stepped back uncertainly. “I cannot address you so informally. It would… not be proper.”
She understood the hypocrisy, but there were boundaries that she did not think it wise for them to cross. In formality, there was a certain security that she was desperately clinging onto.
Brow furrowing as if in some pain, Duncan made his way toward her, gently taking her hands in his. Holding her gaze, he walked backward, urging her to the open space at the rear of the drawing room. She followed his lead, tightening her grip on his hands, certain that she was dooming herself in the name of distraction and silly infatuation.
“In that case, we will not use names at all. This evening will be anonymous—I do not know you, you do not know me. We are strangers, in a place where dancing so close is not scandalous, and to be passionate is not a smear upon someone’s reputation,” he told her, as he softly began to hum.
She blinked in surprise, trying to imagine such a place: a foreign land where ladies and gentlemen were equals in all things, where she could waltz with him at her leisure and no one would bat an eyelid, where she could make business endeavors in order to save her family, instead of relying on marriage to save her.
He pulled her to him as he continued to hum, the sound rich and mellifluous, soothing her nerves as she rested her hand on his chest; the other in his hand.
They whirled around the makeshift ballroom like they were part of a grand fairytale, her feet not missing a step, guided by his fluid grace. They moved together as if they were one, sweeping and gliding and turning in smooth circles, until she was breathless with the exhilaration. Indeed, she wondered if this was what it felt like to fly, as she twirled around and around in his arms.
He hummed all the while, his gaze fixed on hers, none of the spins powerful enough to break that connection between them. And when he smiled, she smiled, understanding perfectly well how someone could fall helplessly in love with him. Not that she would dare to, of course, but she could pretend for a moment.
All of a sudden, he stopped to spin her outward. She twirled gracefully, her arm outstretched to the air, as elegant as a ballerina, but as he pulled her back to him, her feet tangled somehow.
One moment, she was soaring. The next, she felt herself tipping, unable to snatch her balance back, her legs locked.
Duncan surged forward, his arm catching her about the waist, holding her so close to his chest that there was nothing between them. No gap of safety to maintain propriety. And she, in turn, grabbed fistfuls of his lapels as she gasped in latent fright, holding onto him as if she might still fall to the floor if she let go.
His other arm slipped around her, holding her in a tight embrace—the kind she had only dreamed about. She felt the frantic rise and fall of his chest, and heard the ragged breaths of her own, as she raised her gaze to him.
His brow had furrowed, etched with that peculiar expression of pain. Yet, she did not think she had stepped on his foot again, nor had she bumped into him too hard when he had caught her. Considering his stature and physique, she did not think there was much that could hurt him. He was the kind of man to shake off a fall from his horse with ease, laughing about it moments later.
As she looked more intently, she doubted it was pain at all, but something adjacent: some kind of restraint, as if it ached to hold her so close to him.
His gaze flitted to her lips, his teeth grazinghislower lip.
He means to kiss me.Her heart pounded wildly.He is… waiting for my permission.
She was not particularly good at hearing things that were not said, but the anguish on his face shouted loudly, that bite of his lip a waving sign of his desired intention.
Her breath caught in her throat as, wide-eyed, she peered up at him. Was she supposed to nod? Was she supposed to make the first move? Was he waiting for her to kiss him first, as permission? At five-and-twenty, how could she still be as clueless as a debutante? This was something she should haveprepared herself for, and now that the moment had come, she needed his guidance more than ever.
Teach me…she wanted to say, but the words would not come.
As if hearing her anyway, his hand came up to cradle her fiery cheek, and his head dipped, bringing his tempting lips closer. A whisper away from the kiss that her heart and mind were suddenly yearning for, silently screaming at him to give, regardless of society’s opinion. After all, there was no one there but them.
Heart thundering, blood rushing in her ears, her face so flushed that she was surprised she was not burning his fingertips, she did the only thing shecoulddo: she closed her eyes, and hoped it was permission enough.
Kiss me, Duncan. Kiss me, so that I might know what it feels like. Kiss me, so that I will know what it is to be kissed by a man I… favor, even if I am never kissed by such a man again.With a memory like that, to dwell on in lonesome moments, she imagined it would be much easier to marry a gentleman who wasnoteverything she had hoped for.
She waited. In delicious torment, she waited to feel the press of his lips. But as the moments passed, the torment grew less pleasant, receding to a hollow scrape of uncertainty that allowed her nerves to pour back in.
She knew he was looking at her, she could feel the sear of his eyes on her, and he had not moved his hand away from hercheek… so what was he doing? Was he waiting for her to speak her permission instead? She did not know why, but she had not expected him to be so honorable in that regard.
Her eyelids fluttered open.
