Chapter Eleven
R osilee couldn’t explain the emotion tightening in her chest. Well, some emotion tightened her chest, and the rest was rushing through her blood and heating her whole body. Her gaze flicked between the duke and the earl, the undercurrent between them unmistakable. She couldn’t quite call it tension, but neither could she not.
Rather . . . it felt more like . . .
A stand-off.
She wasn’t used to being the object of a man’s attention, let alone two men at once. It was a rather novel feeling, this sense of standing at the center of something unfolding—something she didn’t quite know how to settle.
“I’m not very good at dancing,” Rosilee said quickly before either man could make another challenging remark. She looked between them, hoping her awkward admission that she had already made to the earl might ease whatever was brewing in the duke.
The duke spared her a glance, his green eyes flashing, before he returned his gaze to Stagbourne. “I believe your dance is over. I do not want any gossip to form that might hurt Rosilee.”
Rosilee . . .
Her pulse leaped, a flutter that reached all the way to her fingertips. He’d never called her by her first name before, always using her title. But there it was—her name, spoken in his deep voice, laced with a protectiveness that sent her heart stumbling.
What was happening here?
“Of course,” Stagbourne drawled, though his smile remained amiable, undeterred by the duke’s warning. “I’d hate for Lady Rosilee’s reputation to be tarnished on her first night in London society.” He turned to her then, and there was something gleaming in his gaze, something playful yet deliberate. “About what we discussed earlier... may I call on you tomorrow?”
Rosilee blinked at the man. What had they spoken about again? Her mind raced, and her eyes widened as she recalled the part of their conversation about marriage and not wasting any time. Did that mean he wanted to call on her... as a suitor ?
Had she just found . . . her future . . .
It was all happening too fast. She hadn’t even had time to catch her breath before she’d been introduced to the earl. And there was still this inexplicable tightening in her chest because of her “guardian.”
“I...” She felt as though she were tumbling headlong into something colossal without the time to gather her wits. “Of course.”
“Splendid!” Stagbourne exclaimed. “I trust you do not have a problem with this, Crane?”
Rosilee followed Stagbourne’s gaze to the duke. Surely, he wouldn’t object, would he? Should she have asked for permission before agreeing? It was, after all, his home and she was meant to be his ward. There were rules to be observed, were there not? Living in the country was different from residing here in London.
“No.”
She froze. One word. No. Delivered in a tone that could have cut glass. A knot formed in Rosilee’s throat—whether it was disappointment or relief, she couldn’t quite tell.
“No, you do not mind,” Stagbourne said, “or no, you do mind?”
The duke’s expression remained stoic, though the corner of his eye seemed to tic. “I don’t mind.”
The knot in her throat tightened.
Why did she feel like a small rabbit caught between two hunting dogs? Well, not quite hunting dogs—one was all grins and charm, the other an irritable wolf with a handsome face. But neither comparison was particularly comforting at the moment.
Stagbourne bowed. “Until tomorrow, then.”
Rosilee nodded, her eyes following the earl retreating into the crowd, her emotions scattered. “I’m sorry,” she apologized, uncertain what else to say.
The duke turned toward her, his brows drawn together in surprise. “You have nothing to feel sorry about.”
She met his gaze. “Really? Then why do I feel that I do?”
He paused, his jaw tightening slightly before he spoke. “ I am sorry you feel that way. I shouldn’t have interrupted you and Stagbourne. This is your first night entering society. You should be able to enjoy it.”
“Considering why I am here, I don’t think I can fully do that.”
“It seems you don’t have to worry much longer on that score.”
Rosilee blinked. “Was that a grumble?”
“What? No. I don’t grumble.”
“It sounded suspiciously like a grumble to me, Your Grace,” she murmured. “Or should I call you Blake and cause a stir?”
“You...” He suddenly tugged at his cravat. “You may do what you want.”
She grinned at him. “I’ll refrain. For now. Can we go? I believe the excitement of my first ball has made me suddenly weary.”
He glanced over the room. “I don’t see why not.” He offered his arm, and Rosilee readily took it. “Why didn’t you tell me that you cannot dance?”
“I’m not good at dancing,” Rosilee clarified. “And I didn’t want to embarrass myself and the earl.”
“I see,” he murmured. “Do you like dancing?”
“I do enjoy it,” Rosilee answered, though her dancing usually consisted of drifting along alone in the library or in the garden while snipping roses. “However, all the noise, the stares...” Even this dress. “It’s all much more than I expected.” Not even to mention the fact that it would have been her first official dance, and she hesitated to give it away so easily to a stranger.
“I understand.”
“You feel the same?” she asked him.
“I do.”
She nodded. “And what about dancing? Do you enjoy dancing?”
A small pause. “I haven’t danced with anyone since my instructor attempted to teach me when I was a boy.”
“Attempted?”
“I was not a good student.”
Rosilee chuckled. “Well, now I am glad I did not ask you to dance.”
His steps hesitated. “You were planning on asking me?”
“It was Mrs. Prune’s suggestion if no one approached me.”
He snorted. “Well, that was never going to happen.”
“I do believe that was another grumble.” She laughed at his stiffened posture, walking with him from the ballroom. The stares no longer made her skin prickle or set her heart in disarray.
Yet prickles still ravaged her skin, and her heart still beat out of rhythm.
All because of one man.
Him.
The memory of their kiss resurfaced, vivid and breathtaking. She could very well kiss him again right now. The thought should have brought her up short, but it did not. Instead, it made her pulse quicken. She felt an attraction to this man she’d been denying, or rather, shelving it in favor of attending to her circumstances. But she couldn’t help but wonder how it would feel to have this man all to herself in all possible ways. How would it feel to make a choice for herself that didn’t include obligation or necessity? How would it feel to be selfish for once?
Dare she find out?
“Where are we going?”
Blake wondered the same thing as he led them to the tree that would always bind them together. Or rather, he wondered not where they were going so much as what the devil he was doing. All he knew was he didn’t want the night to end yet.
He glanced upward. The moon hung high in the sky, casting a soft glow over the garden. The echoes of that fateful night no longer bounced around his head. All that remained was her.
Always her.
And he felt he might die if he did not dance with her.
They stopped beneath the tree, and he held out his hand. She glanced at it and back at him. “What are you doing?”
“Would you do me the honor of this dance?”
She blinked at him before glancing around. “There is no music.”
“Oh, but there is,” Blake murmured, staring as the same moonlight that illuminated the garden danced upon her. “In our imagination.”
She cocked her head. “Didn’t we both admit to being terrible dancers?”
“All the more reason to dance where no one can see us.”
She laughed. “That is true. What are we dancing? A waltz? I’d love to waltz.”
“Whatever the lady wishes.”
She placed her hand in his. “Then I accept.”
He closed his fingers on hers, leading her a few steps away from the tree. When he would have let go of her hand to resume the proper position, she wove their fingers together.
“Let’s skip the formalities.”
Blake shuddered. Those words were as dangerous as this bloody dance—the cloak of night, her intoxicating proximity, the sweetness tickling his nose. And then there were her bright blue eyes, staring up at him with complete trust in their depths. He couldn’t deny her even if wanted to.
“Very well,” he said softly, drawing her closer, one hand resting on her hip.
She tilted her head toward him, a teasing smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Shouldn’t you move?” she asked, her voice light and playful.
Blake swallowed. “Yes, I should, but I... don’t recall the steps.” And his legs wouldn’t move.
“Then . . .”
“You should lead this dance,” Blake said. “Or we might stand here like this the entire night.” Which also wouldn’t be so bad.
She blinked at him. “Me? Lead?”
He squeezed her hand. “You have more experience than I do.”
She suddenly burst out laughing. “Are you sure? Will your male pride not be wounded?”
What male pride? “In the absence of an audience, there is only you.”
With a mischievous smile, she lifted her other hand to his shoulder, and together they began the first steps. “Very well, but I shall take liberties since I might forget a sequence or two.”
He didn’t mind.
He shut his eyes for a moment, enjoying the moment, the feeling .
“Is this all right? I’m taking liberty with the pace, too,” her soft voice came.
He opened his eyes, his gaze sweeping over her face. He drew her closer, improperly so. “This is perfect.”
He mirrored her light steps, allowing her to steer him, his focus entirely on her. She swept to the side in a smooth turn, her feet gliding effortlessly along the grass. She didn’t seem to care that his limbs had taken on the stiffness of the branches overhead them. The way she looked up at him, the way her body fit so perfectly with his—it all made him feel as though they were part of something larger than the sum of their individual parts. Something inevitable. Something right.
“Oh!” She faltered on a step.
“You are doing perfectly.”
She laughed. “Are you sure?”
“Between the two of us, I believe there is no wrong way to dance the waltz.”
“Such romantic words.”
“If you find the truth romantic,” he murmured.
They were already so close, but he wanted her closer.
So much closer.
Blake’s hand at her waist shifted slightly, daring to draw her a bit nearer still, as they danced around the tree. Her lips parted as if to say something, but the words seemed to die on her tongue.
Instead, she smiled, and a moment later asked, “Is that not my move? Slyly drawing you closer?”
Blake’s face heated. “Should I return the distance for you to steal?”
She shook her head. “No need. This is good, too.”
“I’ll remember it for next time,” his voice came out rougher than he intended. If a next time existed for them.
“Good,” she said, her voice barely louder than a whisper.
His heart thudded with agonizing force under his ribs, and he wanted nothing more than to ease her fully up against him, to surrender his whole being to the irresistible pull that grew stronger with each step. But he held back, matching her flow, branding each precious step into his memory. His thumb did, however, trace small circles against the fabric of her gown.
Lightly. Ever so lightly.
She felt so soft. Breathtakingly so.
When last had he felt the touch of someone before these last few days? Allowed anyone to touch him? He couldn’t remember. Perhaps that night, after she had hugged him and returned home. More recently, their kiss had been his most memorable touch. Now, he had yet another memory to cling to forever.
“You follow so obediently, Blake,” she murmured with a small laugh.
Say my name again.
“At this moment, I’d follow you anywhere.”
Her steps slowed, melting into a subtle sway, until they came to a complete halt, standing in the quiet of the moment. “I—” she murmured, her breath shaky, as if she weren’t quite sure how to continue. “I think I might just follow you back.”
“The two of us following each other? Who would lead then?”
“We could both lead, and we could both follow.”
Blake smiled faintly, his face mere inches from hers now, so swept up in the moment he couldn’t think straight. “That sounds like a catastrophe.”
“So long as it is a good one.”
“You should take the lead more often,” he whispered.
“You know, I do think I’m good at it.”
Yes, she was. His gaze fell to her lips. There was no music, no audience, no expectation—just the two of them...
God, I want to . . .
His thought was cut off by her next words. “I might just lead you into trouble.” And without another word, she just did that, stretching upward and capturing his lips in a soft, lingering kiss. She took what he hadn’t had the courage to claim again, but once she did, his control was all too happy to snap.
He deepened the kiss with a sweep of his tongue, a low, almost pained groan leaving him when her arms looped around his neck, pressing her body flush against him.
Could he kiss her until dawn?
Beyond that?
Could she just . . . claim him?
She pulled back slightly, her eyes finding his, but the loss of her lips made his chest tighten in protest. “Blake...”
“I’m here,” he said gruffly, not sure how else to respond. His brain had already been scrambled by his name on her lips in that breathless whisper.
A hand cupped his face, and he shuddered.
“I want you.”
He blinked at her. “You want . . . what?”
“Not what. You .”
“I don’t understand.” He didn’t want to understand. If she said marriage . . . Christ . . .
“I want to make this choice, not out of obligation, out of necessity, but because I want to. I want you. I want you in a way a man wants a woman.”
“Hell and damnation, woman. What am I to say to this?” How could he deny her?
“Say yes or say no.” A pause. “Can you? Can you give me this?”
God, no.
He’d fought so hard, and failed even harder, to keep his distance. This...
“Yes, I can give you this.”