Chapter 13 #2
The voice coming from the drawing room doorway made her jump.
She looked around to find her mother standing there, watching the two of them like a hawk.
“You must go now before you are late,” her mother urged, shooing them with her hands.
“Be calm, Lady Westmere,” his grace said gently, “the ball cannot start without us.”
Cecelia felt a thrill at his words. Though it was not entirely true, she could almost believe it.
Glancing at the grandfather clock, she said, “Mother is right.”
His grace sighed. “You ladies are always in such a hurry. Don't you grow tired?”
Cecelia smiled.
“You are the one who always insists you are far too busy to waste time,” she pointed out, and the duke cocked his head.
“That is true,” he admitted, offering her his arm. “Shall we?”
Cecelia hesitated for a second. This felt familiar. It stunned her, made her stiffen.
Could this truly be the moment where their friendship was rekindled? After all this time, was this finally it?
She laid her hand in the crook of his arm and allowed him to guide her out of the house.
“Do remember your manners,” her mother reminded her as they went. “And be careful not to draw too much attention, especially the wrong kind.”
“Of course not,” Cecelia said over her shoulder, and she was most relieved when she, his grace, and Sophia were alone in the carriage, well on their way to the ball.
“This is for you,” his grace said, and Cecelia was only half surprised when he produced another corsage.
It was even prettier than the last, and Cecelia was surprised at how well it matched her gown and mask.
“It is beautiful, Your Grace,” she said, admiring the corsage on her arm, trying not to think of how her arm still tingled from his placing it there. “Thank you.”
His grace did not speak. Instead, he simply smiled, and Cecelia sighed as she leaned back in her seat.
The silence that filled the carriage was not nearly so awkward as she might have anticipated, and before she knew it, they arrived.
When the duke helped her down from the carriage, she felt the warmth of his touch through her glove, and her arm tingled once more.
This feeling, this way her body responded to his touch, was entirely new to her. At least, she had never felt it with anyone else.
I can trust him, she thought as he led her into the ball, their entrance not nearly as jaw-clenching as usual, for nobody knew their identity.
Her dance card was slower to fill, though fill it did.
And before she knew it, she was swept away onto the dance floor, mesmerized by the candlelight and conversation.
All the while, she found herself glancing back over her shoulder, looking for her keen-eyed chaperone.
And just as he had been the day before, he had his eyes upon her always.
Though he was surrounded by others, by gentlemen, eager mamas, and young ladies all admiring his broad shoulders, athletic physique, and his sheer presence within the room, his eyes always met hers.
That security left Cecelia breathless. And she felt as if she had fallen into a dream, conversing with every gentleman she danced with, without a single word of it truly sinking in.
She felt as if she were in a haze, a sea of suitors taking her to the dance floor, the night moving steadily forward.
And yet, she found herself wishing it would never end.
Just when it seemed there was a lull in the evening, just as she paused to find herself refreshment, she felt a delicate hand on the small of her back for a mere second.
She dreaded who she might find beside her, not yet ready to accept another dance.
But when she turned, recognizing those brilliant blue eyes beneath his golden mask, Cecelia's heart leapt.
“My Lady, might I have your next dance?”
Cecelia's heart nearly exploded at that.
This was not their first ball, nor was it the first time he had ever asked her to dance – they had practised many an hour during their childhood – but this was different.
She hesitated.
Was this a good idea?
If she were to accept his hand, was she accepting something more?
Don't be ridiculous! It is just a dance between friends, she told herself, hopeful that was indeed what they were to each other now.
“Yes,” she said the word rather breathlessly as she placed her hand in his.
Her knees grew weak as he led her out onto the dance floor, and she gripped his hand a little tighter.
As if he sensed her nerves, he squeezed back.
And when she turned to take her position in his arms, she found him smiling.
His free hand slid into position at the small of her back, a tingle shooting up her spine.
The music began, and as if they had danced together a thousand times over recent days, they fell into perfect step.
“I must admit,” he said, his mouth awfully close to her ear, “I find this ball lacking.”
Cecelia was stunned, for she had been having a wondrous time. Yet, at his mention that he had not, she felt an immediate need to change that.
Remembering how they had always played games to pass the time during dance practice as children, she suggested, “Perhaps we might play pretend for a little while?”
His grace scoffed, and for a second, she feared he might find the notion too childish. Her cheeks grew hot, and she prepared to be snubbed.
“Why, your highness, I do believe that is an excellent idea, for I fear I may have been a little too hard on you previously,” he said, spinning her around in such a way that did, in fact, make her feel like a princess with all eyes upon her.
“I am glad to hear you think so, your highness,” she responded, holding back a giggle.
“This ball might be much more fun if I had spent more time in your company, princess,” he continued with their little game, and Cecelia's insides flipped.
“I have to agree, my prince,” she said, her heart skipping a beat. My?
“I have been wondering all evening how I might approach you,” he said, his mouth drawing closer to her ear, so close now that she felt his breath tickling her skin. “I fear to admit I have been watching you, and I would very much like to get to know you better.”
A surge of sensation rushed through her entire body at that, and she was sure that had he not been holding her up, her knees might have given way.
“I am glad that you have, your highness, for I feel much the same way,” she said, feeling once more as if she had stumbled into some fairy tale that her sister so desperately loved. How would Mary react when she told her about all of this in the morning?
“Tell me about yourself, your highness,” she insisted, holding onto this moment for all its worth. She could feel the seconds ticking by, hoping that the music would last forever.
“Well, I am Prince Gabriel Montague of Italy,” he stated, and Cecelia's chest exploded. He remembered. The name he had given was the very same he had used so often during their childhood games. “And you are?”
He looked at her with such expectation in his gaze that for a second, Cecelia couldn't think.
Then, the answer came to her.
“I am Princess Isabella Conleone,” she said, the thrill running through her once more. “And I call Italy home, also.”
The smile that broadened across her face was not so disguisable as the flushing of her cheeks.
“Well, Princess Isabella, do tell me about yourself,” he said, his grip seeming to tighten on her. He held her close now, so close that she felt the buttons of his waistcoat pressed against her breasts.
“I … umm … my parents have sent me to England to marry,” she said, trying desperately to come up with a good story to keep their game going. “Though I admit, I have found my options severely limited.”
“Might I ask as to why?”
Cecelia's throat constricted.
“My chaperone, though he appears to have my best interests at heart, has been quite overbearing,” she said, her chest tightening as she wondered whether she might have perhaps chosen another answer.
If it grated upon him the wrong way, the duke – the prince – did not show it.
His lip brushed her ear then, as he said, “I can see why.”
Cecelia's breath caught in her throat. Her head started to spin almost as much as they were dancing, and suddenly she wasn't sure which way was up.
Then, suddenly, as if all the life had gone out of the room, the music came to an abrupt halt in the ending of the dance, and the duke was quick to pull away as the other dancers around them started to part.
Cecelia's only relief was that he continued to hold her hand, that he lifted it to his lips and pressed a kiss upon her gloved knuckles. Heat seared through her glove, up her arm.
“Your Grace, perhaps we might let bygones be bygones and start afresh?” she suggested, desperate to learn where they stood beyond this childish game.
At her words, she felt his grip on her hand loosen. She held her breath, fearful of his answer.
And when he released her hand to lift it to the ribbon of his mask, she started to feel light-headed.
He removed the mask for all to see, his gaze entirely upon hers as he said in a stony voice, “I do not think our past can be so easily put aside.”
With that, he dipped his head and swept away from her, leaving no time at all for her to react.
Left standing on the dance floor, her heart in shreds, Cecelia couldn't help wondering where she had gone so wrong.