What she had expected inside the box, she did not know, but she was pleasantly surprised when she found a corsage of white, ivory, and pale pink flowers.
“Don't you like it?” he asked, his tone glum.
Cecelia glanced up, surprised to see he almost looked upset.
“It’s beautiful,” she assured him.
“Allow me?” he asked, his expression still quite unreadable.
He took the corsage from the box and held out his hand for her.
When he tied the ribbon around her wrist, his fingertips brushed over her skin, and a shiver ran up her arm and down her spine.
“I think it looks good,” he commented, and all Cecelia could do was nod, feeling breathless.
“It was expected of me, was it not?” he asked, cocking a brow, and Cecelia stiffened.
Of course, he was merely doing his duty.
She snatched her hand away from his and forced herself to breathe.
As they exited the carriage, she was careful to take the hand of a footman, avoiding the duke's gaze.
When he offered her his arm to lead her into the house, she was careful to keep her gaze low.
Entering the ball went exactly as she might have expected.
Upon arriving on the arm of a duke, she was met with questioning looks and the sounds of heated gossip.
And for the first time, she realized why her father might have chosen him.
It seemed that arriving with his grace had piqued the interest of every other gentleman in attendance.
Within minutes, her dance card was filled, and she seemed set for the evening.
Several young ladies eyed her as if she were the envy of the ball, led out onto the dance floor by the first of her partners. The mutterings that had begun from the ladies around the room turned into open chatter, and she became all too aware of their feelings on the matter of her being escorted by a duke.
It was an atrocious time for her, one in which she found her partner terrible at dancing. Several times, he stomped on her feet, and no matter how she tried to keep them out from under him, he always managed to find them.
Their conversation was a mixture of boredom and apologizing, and by the time it was over, she was greatly relieved.
Her second dance was much more pleasant, and she actually found herself enjoying it.
The man was a witty conversationalist, and Cecelia found it impossible not to laugh.
Yet, that laughter caught in her throat when she spied the duke watching her from across the room. He sat in an armchair, his eyes dark with judgement.
There was a sardonic smile upon his face that left her feeling more than a little uncomfortable.
By the end of her third dance, she was certain she had charmed her partner. His longing looks across the dance floor were quite unmistakable, and for several moments, she was quietly pleased with herself.
But still, she found the duke watching her, and his expression left much to be desired.
Requiring a rest and some refreshments, she made her way to one of the tables, only to be disappointed when she found the duke standing close by.
Unable to take the expression on his face any longer, she sidled up to him, careful not to meet his gaze as she demanded, “Why are you so determined not to have any fun?”
“I beg your pardon?” he exclaimed, and she glanced at him before picking up a glass of champagne.
