Chrissy’s resolve wavered, danced on the edge of propriety and passion.In his eyes, she saw not just the flames of desire but the embers of something deeper, something that spoke to the part of her that wanted more than the sheltered existence she had always known.
She glanced at the room beyond their little cove where her sister’s guests continued to arrive.This ball was being held in her honor.She couldn’t simply vanish.Dinah would kill her.How long would this instruction that the duke promised take?Maybe he could explain just one or two things, and she could be back before anyone looked for her.
“Yes,” she breathed out, the word a fragile vessel carrying the weight of her decision.“But only for a moment or two.”
Nomansland’s expression transformed, his smile blooming like the dawn after a night of shadows.He exuded a confidence that was both thrilling and terrifying, for it spoke of things She had only dared to dream of in the privacy of her chamber.With a nod that sealed her choice, she placed her trembling hand in his.
His fingers closed around hers with a gentleness that belied the strength of his boxer’s physique.It was a touch that offered not just guidance but partnership, a silent vow to navigate the waters of passion together.
Glancing first at the crowded doorway, Nomansland instead motioned toward a door leading to a balcony outside.“Come.Pleasure awaits us.”
They were trying, as best as possible, to remain unnoticed as they moved toward the door on the other side of the room.It was a fool’s errand.There was no version of this world in which a duke and his young companion could blend in at the season’s most anticipated assembly.The string quartet tuning in the corner was like a ticking clock.
“Do you think we’ll make our escape?”she whispered.
He leaned in, his voice low and velvet-rich.“If we do, I suspect the penalty will be dire.”
“I would rather face a firing squad than a receiving line.”
He smiled, slow and predatory.“Perhaps you’ll be shot with compliments.Or, if you prefer, I could absorb them on your behalf.”
Chrissy was about to reply when Dinah materialized, an apparition in lavender silk and pearls, her smile bright enough to strip the lacquer off a sideboard.“There you are!Hiding will not do.The first dance is imminent, and you are the star of the evening.Everyone is waiting.”
“I’m certain everyone is waiting for the supper announcement,” Nomansland said, but Dinah ignored him.
She looped her arm through both his and Chrissy’s and steered them toward the center of the room.“It’s time to start the dancing.”
Chrissy’s stomach twisted in a knot, her pulse leaping as she realized there would be no reprieve, no pause, no opportunity to gather herself.She felt the burn of every pair of eyes in the room, some sizing her up as a rival, others as a curiosity, a few as an opportunity.The string quartet shifted in their seats and raised their instruments.
Guests moved aside, clearing a space for dancing.Nomansland took his place, turning to her with a courtesy so practiced it bordered on satire.“Shall we?”he murmured, and she placed her hand—gloved, trembling, and impossibly small—against the expanse of his palm.
Her feet were lead, her heart, vapor, as they waited for the music to begin.She glanced at Dinah, who beamed from the edge of the crowd like a mother sending her firstborn off to sea.For a moment, Chrissy wished Grandmama had come, but she felt too out of place amongst society matrons, she’d said.
“It will be over before you know it,” Nomansland said, his voice pitched for her alone.
“I may faint before the end.”
He squeezed her hand, the pressure gentle but grounding.“You will do nothing of the sort.If you stumble, I will catch you.”
The music started, the first strains of a waltz so sweet and lilting it seemed to drag her forward by the breastbone.Nomansland stepped into the lead, guiding her hand to his shoulder and placing his own at the small of her back.She felt the heat of him through layers of silk and stays, the quiet power in his arm as he drew her in.
“I’ve never danced a proper waltz, except with the tutor,” she confessed, panic threading her voice.
“You need only follow.I’ll do the rest.”
And then they were moving, his steps sure and measured, hers tentative but quickly swept into the current of his rhythm.The world narrowed to the click of his shoes against the floor, the sweep of her skirts, the impossible nearness of his face.He looked at her, never breaking eye contact, as if the rest of the room had ceased to exist.
She missed the first turn and stumbled.He caught her, his arm tightening, his breath a promise at her ear.“Trust me.”
She did, somehow.She let her weight shift into his lead, let herself be spun and swept in a pattern she could not remember learning.The music bloomed around them, but it was only a backdrop to the dialogue unfolding in every glance and subtle touch.
“You are dazzling them,” Nomansland said quietly, as they spun past a knot of onlookers.
“I think they’re watching you.”
He grinned, his teeth white and wolfish.“Let them.I only want you to watch me.”
A flush crept up her neck, as if he’d lit a fire under her skin.His hand on her waist was possessive, anchoring.Every movement telegraphed a message, none of it appropriate for public consumption.
