“Are you jealous, Your Grace?” she asked innocently.
His eyebrows twitched, as if he wanted to scowl harder. “I do not need to be jealous. I’m merely… overprotective.”
She cleared her throat to keep herself from smiling. Then, she took a step forward, intrigued when he didn’t react. But there he was, meeting her on the dance floor.
They would have to move in a moment. People were shifting around for the supper dance. After all, dance partners were supposed to sit beside each other during supper.
Straightening her shoulders, Verity lifted her gaze to her husband’s as she quietly asked him, “Is there really a difference?”
“Not tonight.”
Her heart began to pound. He was jealous, she was sure of it.
This hardly made sense to her. But she was determined to understand him, at least this bit. The blackguard kept surprising her. Every time she thought she could move on and leave him behind, he drew her in. Like the scent of his cologne, like the glimpses of his smile that made her want to cling to him.
Slowly, she started to turn right so they might retreat in that direction. But his hand shot out, still not touching her.
“Will you dance with me?”
Verity hesitated. “The supper dance? It’s a waltz.”
But he still didn’t say anything. She searched his face, running her eyes over his nostrils and lips. The man could have been stone, and she wouldn’t have known a difference.
She found herself nodding and taking his hand.
Her body moved after his, following with ease as he positioned them in an opening on the dance floor. Then, he lifted her hands, keeping one in his and putting the other one on his shoulder. It required them to be much closer, compared to most dances. She was surprised it was even permitted because it was still considered so scandalous.
I hadn’t thought much of it until now. I can feel his body heat so close to me. I can smell his cologne—a dark oak and cinnamon. He told me he doesn’t care to dance, so why is he doing this? Could it really be due to jealousy?
There was hardly time to breathe as Tristan swept her across the dance floor with ease. Whatever hesitation she’d felt at first faded as he expertly led her in the dance. His frame was strong and his gestures gentle, making it natural to slide her feet around. It was as if they had been dancing together for years.
She thought she saw surprise flicker across his face, but he blinked a few times before offering a polite nod. The hand on her back was as steady as can be. Pleasure rushed through Verity as they danced, and she looked up to find him gazing down at her with that familiar intensity.
“Your Grace,” she whispered and then hesitated, not certain what she meant to say. She licked her lips before adding, “You dance very well.”
“As do you,” he murmured softly.
Tristan kept gazing at her, steady and certain. She wondered what he saw when he looked at her. Did he have difficulty breathing now as well?
There was so much she wanted to say. To ask. It was hard to remember anything, let alone her ire toward her husband or even her name.
The room was still spinning when their dance ended. Only then did her husband look away.
CHAPTER 23
Tristan stole his wife away from the dance floor. The crowd shifted and spun around them, everyone preparing to make their way into the next room for supper. The two of them wound up in the hall, still catching their breath and uncertain of what to say.
“Goodness,” Verity breathed. “I cannot believe how quickly the evening has progressed. Warm in here, is it not?”
“Very warm,” Tristan agreed.
He didn’t remember dancing putting such a strain on his heart before. As he inhaled deeply, he glanced around and then stole another look at his wife. Her cheeks were a warm shade of pink, and her lips parted sweetly as she breathed in deeply, affected just like him.
He tried not to think about what that could mean. And yet he couldn’t help himself.
Was it the dancing that had warmed her? Or was it him? Had she enjoyed their dance?
He hadn’t meant to. When he had told her earlier that he didn’t prefer to dance, it was the truth. But then holding her in his arms had felt so perfect, so natural. She’d moved within his hold with such ease, understanding every word he didn’t have to tell her.
