Chapter Five #2
He could instantly tell she was caught somewhere between retreat and uncertainty, her eyes darting to her left shoulder, then her right, as if seeking someone to carry her away from this moment.
So, she had recognized him. And yet, she didn’t run.
He felt it then—that connection that thrummed through his blood and never seemed to leave him.
He wouldn’t hesitate or be side-tracked this time. He wanted her back in his life. It didn’t matter which way or how; he’d do anything to reclaim a spot at her side. Even if just as a friend.
His mother had been right.
The dance goes on.
But he didn’t want it to go on without her.
Stopping just two feet short of her, he cast a brief glance at her friends before meeting her gaze again.
“My lady. Would you do me the honor of the next dance?” Adam extended his hand, palm up, his smirk laced with both confidence and promise.
“Yes,” his voice dropped low, intimate, meant only for her. “I’ve come for you.”
Her hesitation spread like ripples across water, visible only for a breath before she lifted her chin and placed her gloved hand in his.
Without a word, Adam led her to the floor, trying hard not to grip her hand tightly and run for the doors.
It was all he could do not to groan at her fingers’ light pressure and the faint lavender wafting from her skin.
Oh, how he’d missed her scent.
He turned to her, offering her an assured nod as they positioned themselves for the music. The first strain began, a waltz that swelled with lush, lilting rhythms, and they moved.
She still hadn’t said a word.
Actually, thinking of it, Adam had never danced with Charlene more than once before. They’d been at countless gatherings together over the years—at least before this past year. And then he had taken a step back when she showed interest only in his brother.
It was clear within the moments that the waltz started that she was no trained dancer.
Her body fought against the natural fluidity of the steps, as though coiled too tightly to give over to the music.
She moved stiffly, her feet catching now and again on imaginary threads of the polished floor.
The awkwardness should have annoyed him—it usually did—but instead it fascinated him.
She was a blank page with uncharted potential.
Was she really not going to utter a word to him?
He could tell that she was trying very hard not to, just as she was trying hard to keep up with him in the dance. The verbs of Latin, Adam thought, biting back a smile. She’s dancing like I once conjugated amicus, amica, amicum. Painfully methodical.
He couldn’t take it anymore. He chuckled.
Her eyes instantly shot to his, narrowing beneath her mask.
She was endearingly full of contradictions.
Her dress—scandalously cut compared to the sea of pastel silks and cream flounces surrounding her—suggested she knew how to play the dangerous game of allure.
The deep-green fabric hugged her waist, flaring to emphasize the tempting length of those legs hidden beneath layers of skirts.
The mask, though simple, framed high cheekbones and a soft mouth that Adam couldn’t help but notice as her lips pressed together.
It prompted the urge to tease her, to get her to respond.
To say something. Anything. “I would have thought that a woman dressed so strikingly,” he mused, “would be able to dance well.”
She arched a brow, her lips curving in a faint, almost teasing smile. “I dance tolerably well.”
He chuckled low, the sound warm enough to brush against her skin. “And modestly, too, I see.”
“Why did you ask me to dance, Lord Rotheworth?”
“Ah,” he said lightly, though his gaze lingered on hers a heartbeat too long, “so Lady Charlene recognized me after all.”
“It’s difficult not to,” she replied, just above a whisper. Then, after a pause, she added, “You knew me as well.”
“As you pointed out,” he said, his voice softer now, “some things are impossible to miss.” Then, almost imperceptibly, he pulled her closer.
She stiffened at first, but when her eyes searched his with a flicker of surprise, the corner of his mouth lifted in quiet amusement.
“Although it seems your dancing could use some refinement.”
She averted her gaze, clearly intent on masking the sudden flush at her cheeks. “Flawless footwork has never been my ambition.”
“Allow me, then,” he murmured, his tone touched with mischief, “to instruct you.”
Her head angled sharply in his direction, her eyes narrowing as though seeking to uncover the hidden motive in his words. “And why,” she asked cautiously, “would you do such a thing?”
For a moment, he faltered, his usual easy confidence slipping into something unguarded. “Perhaps,” he said finally, a softness entering his voice, “I miss what we once had.”
“What was it?” she asked without looking at him, and her mask didn’t hide the blush creeping up her face.
“Friendship. Trust.” Adam swallowed hard. “Perhaps a past strong enough to warrant a future?”
“Is this what you call a polite gesture, Your Grace?” she asked, her voice low enough to keep their exchange from curious ears. “Forcing your company upon me under the cover of civility?”
“A truce, perhaps?” Was there such a thing as a truce for avoiding one another? He tilted his head just slightly, drawing her close as they began to move. “Would you rather I called it an honor, instead?”
Honor?
Charlene narrowed her gaze, but he smiled—she could tell even under the mask, from the way his mask shifted, and his forehead wrinkled.
Her heart skipped a beat, though her steps were seamless. “I would rather you hadn’t called it anything at all.”
“Perhaps,” he murmured, his tone unreadable, “but then I would have missed the pleasure of this moment.”
Charlene bristled, her fingers tightening against his shoulder. “Do not mistake this for some act of pleasure. I am here only because decorum demands it.”
His lips curved faintly as they turned with precision, the whisper of her skirts brushing against his leg. “Then allow me to thank that ironclad decorum of yours. It does me a great service.”
Her frown deepened, though it only made him smile more. Her cutting glances might pierce others entirely, but Adam seemed to be made of steel. “For a man who claims to wish for peace, Your Grace, you do seem intent on stoking the fire.”
He leaned a fraction closer, his voice now edged with something more dangerous. “And for a woman who declares herself indifferent to me, you seem determined to keep striking the match.”
Her breath hitched at his words, the precision of his steps never faltering. Her annoyance rose with every beat of the violins, her pulse matching the tempo. “Do not insult me with these games, Your Grace. I know what lies beneath the surface of your words.”
“Enlighten me.”
She fixed him with a glare that could have frozen fire. “A Cross man polished to perfection, charming everyone until his way is secured. But beneath it all? Empty words and empty promises.”
Adam’s jaw tightened, but he remained steady, his grip resolute.
“You may have me confused with my brother,” he said at last, each word measured.
“But if all I am to you is a reflection of his sins, then I will do whatever it takes to shatter that mirror. Charming as I am.” A glimmer of mischief lit his gaze as he inclined his head just so, the faintest wink escaping unbidden.
It was an instinctive gesture, born of years entwined in shared confidences and easy familiarity with Charlene, a deeply rooted bond that required no words.
“You overestimate your ability,” she retorted coldly, spinning gracefully under his hand before returning to him. “There is nothing you can say or do that will undo what has been done.”
“And yet you still dance with me,” Adam replied, his voice just low enough to cut through her resistance. “If my cause were so hopeless, would you have granted me this waltz, even for appearances? Or is it that some part of you remembers me before that night, Lady Charlene?”
Her breath caught. The question struck deeper than she cared to admit, but she masked her reaction with a sharp laugh. “What I remember, Your Grace, is that some lessons are learned only once. Do not test my memory.”
His gaze softened, almost imperceptibly, though his tone remained firm. “Then know this. I am here. Not as him, not as the man you believe me to be, but as the man who will spend every day proving otherwise. If you’ll only look hard enough to see it.”
“That is your burden, not mine, Your Grace.”
Adam’s gaze stayed locked on hers, unwavering. “A burden I will carry gladly.”
“Then enjoy carrying it,” she returned softly.
And he would. He would also keep holding his breath in her presence.
She felt wild and untamed beneath the exquisite surface polish.
Whatever sophistication this girl had cloaked herself in, it had gathered cracks—but that didn’t matter.
Each of her flaws, each unstudied movement, pulled at something deep within him, a curiosity and a lust to unravel her further.
“Is that a position I can never hold again, Char?”
She stiffened. “Don’t call me that.”
Adam tilted his head and leaned close, nearly brushing the shell of her ear.
“Relax,” he murmured, unreadable but charged with intention.
Her breath hitched, an audible draw of air that made his grip on her waist tighten slightly.
He adjusted their step, guiding her more assertively now, his hand firm against the curve of her back. “Just feel my body.”
And for the briefest heartbeat, she yielded. Her body softened against his lead, her movements trusting for just a measure before the tension crept back in again. But Adam didn’t mind. That brief moment meant everything to him.
Perhaps he had a chance after all.
*
She’d vowed never to give a Cross brother the time of day again.
Then what was she doing here?
Charlene’s steps faltered slightly as Adam guided her into a wide turn.
She caught herself, adjusting her footing with a sharp intake of breath.
Her gloves felt too tight on her hands; the pressure of silk against her fingers made her all too aware of the firm warmth of his grip.
The room seemed to sway with the music, violins filling the air with a lilting elegance she could not seem to match.
“I should warn you, Your Grace,” she said, her chin tilted high even as her words were clipped. “It’s better to stop distracting me with senseless platitudes. I am not an accomplished dancer. This requires my full attention.”
“Does it?” he replied, his tone maddeningly light as he adjusted their course with a gentle flick of his wrist. He led her through a backward glide. “You seem to be managing… just fine.”
Charlene scoffed. Her slippers brushed faintly against the marble with every step, and it took all her determination to keep her movements in rhythm with his. “I am managing, yes. But that does not mean I wish for conversation.”
Adam’s gaze rested on her, steady and appraising. The amber light of the chandeliers above reflected in his eyes, softening what might otherwise be a too-direct stare. “I can give you lessons to improve your dance,” he said smoothly.
She snapped her head up. “I beg your pardon?”
“Lessons,” he repeated, the faintest hint of amusement curling at the edges of his mouth.
“Should you wish to ease your difficulty, I would be glad to assist.” She wasn’t sure if he winked at her and barely had time to complete the thought when he added, “To maintain the truce, of course. Nothing else.”
I don’t believe him.
Charlene’s pulse quickened, but not from surprise.
Her cheeks felt hot beneath her mask, and she counted every delicate footfall as though it might disguise the sharp anger twisting beneath her ribs.
“How very magnanimous of you, Your Grace, but I would rather endure my shortcomings than accept your tutelage.”
“We don’t have to make our interaction a battleground, you know.
” His voice softened then, carrying just enough intensity to pull her eyes back to his.
“What I mean is simple—I wish to help. And to encourage something I daresay would suit us both.” He paused briefly, then added with a clarity that made her wish they weren’t crossing the center of the ballroom. “I want to be friends again.”
Friends. The word hung in the air between them, incongruous in its simplicity.
Charlene’s gut twisted, though not in the way she might have expected.
She averted her gaze, watching how her skirts brushed against her feet, the hem threatening to catch in the delicate arches of her slippers.
A thousand retorts swirled in her mind, yet none seemed sufficient for the weight behind his offer.
“I am not certain what you expect of me,” she murmured at last, just above the swell of the orchestra. “Friendship under these circumstances feels unsuitable. And unwelcome.”
He didn’t release her hand, didn’t falter in his steps. “Then consider it patience. I’ll wait until it becomes welcome.”
“Why?” she all but croaked.
His mouth twitched as if he were suppressing a laugh. “My mother said these balls are to forge connections. Let’s connect.”
She tightened her grip on his shoulder. “You misunderstand me, Your Grace. What you ask is not merely unwelcome. It is impossible.”
Charlene was glad her mask offered her a layer of protection from the heat she glimpsed in those eyes.
They had no business looking so sincere, so utterly determined.
The realization chilled her more than she wished to admit.
And when the violins began to ease into the final stretch of the waltz, and he steered her into a graceful turn, she counted the seconds until she could slip free of his touch.
“I hope you don’t think these dances will soften my resolve,” she said stiffly as the music slowed, her curtsy already forming in her mind. “Whatever lesson it is you imagine teaching me, Adam, I have no interest in learning.”
He bowed as their movements came to a natural end. “Perhaps not yet,” he said softly, his gaze lingering on hers. Then, with a bow sharp enough to suggest he meant every word, he stepped aside, leaving her with the space she had craved.
Charlene clenched her gloved fingers at her sides, standing tall even as her breath wavered. She refused to look back at him as she turned and moved toward the edge of the floor. But his words lingered behind her, daring her to dwell on them. Friends. Lessons. Patience.
Impossible. And yet somehow, impossibly tempting.