Chapter 22
Twenty-Two
FRIEDRICH
I’m sitting with my family on the dais at the front of the ballroom, trying my best to appear interested as each of the remaining forty women is paraded before us by her father or some senior member of their government.
For some, this is their final attempt to win my attention, and many have gone to great lengths to stand out with glittering gowns and complex hairstyles.
But none of them stick in my mind after they’ve moved aside, and the next woman is presented. Am I really this shallow?
I’ve been trying to scan the room subtly since this entire charade began, but there’s no sign of my cousin or my favorite nanny. If I know Trixie, she’ll wait to make some sort of grand entrance. That still doesn’t stop me from searching for Aurelia in the crowd of taffeta and lace and sequins.
The last hopeful to be presented is the granddaughter of the English Duke of Bedford.
Juliette. Neither Father nor the duke himself will let me forget that this mess is a direct result of me breaking off my attachment to her.
The longer I’ve had to think about it, the more I’m sure parliament invited her solely to get a jab in.
Or maybe they’re hoping I’ll see the error of my ways.
Lady Juliette is as lovely as ever; that was never in question for her.
But she’s halfway across the ballroom on the arm of her grandfather when the doors behind her open again, and all the air leaves my lungs.
I’ve remained seated through the entire procession, and the ballroom bursts into a frenzy of hisses and whispers as I jump to attention.
I’m not sure what kind of pep talk Trixie gave her, but Aurelia strolls in by my cousin’s side like she owns the goddamn place.
She keeps her head high but looks in charge rather than haughty.
A perfectly placid expression graces her infinitely kissable lips, painted the color of rich wine, standing out beautifully against her fair skin.
She meets my gaze and doesn’t smile, but I swear I can see her eyes sparkle even across the room.
Christ, this woman. And damn Trixie! I feel like a randy teenager as my stomach fills with butterflies, no, not strong enough.
Bats. And my cock stirs in my admittedly tight military dress uniform.
Father clears his throat behind me, and I realize the duke and Lady Juliette are directly in front of me. The genteel smile she had been wearing when she entered the room is now a searing scowl as she’s realized she wasn’t the object of my attention.
I feel her cold glare as I bow, taking her hand and brushing a quick kiss over the back of it. She curtsies and slips away to join a crowd of her friends, and they start tittering rapidly. No doubt she’ll spin that so it looks like the show was for her.
Music starts to play from the string ensemble behind us, and the middle of the ballroom clears of all talkers as people take to the dance floor.
A thin hand rests on my shoulder. “Fritz, I think it best, after that display, that you dance first with Lady Juliette,” Father whispers in my ear.
I give a stiff nod. “Yes, Father.”
He pats my shoulder, then holds an outstretched arm to Mother, and they glide to the dancefloor and settle into a simple waltz.
Mother positively glows in the arms of her husband, and I don’t think I’ve seen Father so at ease in months.
They gaze at each other through the whole dance, pure electricity passing between them even after thirty years.
Father leans down, his lips so close to Mother’s ear they’re almost touching.
Mother throws her head back and lets out a burst of laughter like the chiming of church bells.
My chest aches as I watch them together.
They’ve found happiness, even deep love, in an arranged marriage. Who’s to say I can’t as well?
But then I see her again, my shy little nanny in her stunning gown the color of champagne, and I know I’ll not have that kind of happiness without her.
I do as Father suggests and dance first with Juliette.
She’s terse through the whole thing, so tense I have to work to lead her through the dance.
She doesn’t speak, merely glares, and I feel like I’ve just stepped off the battlefield when the song finally ends and we break apart.
I ignore all the other women I’m actually supposed to be dancing with as I make my way to Aurelia, released from my sentence with my sort of ex.
Miles and Trixie are bickering about something, as usual, but I don’t even hear what it’s about as Aurelia locks eyes with me.
I hold out a hand for her without needing to say a word.
I curse the elbow-length gloves she’s wearing for dampening the spark I always get when I touch her, but as I pull her to the middle of the ballroom and place my hand on her lower back, I’m glad for the restricted contact to keep me from totally losing it.
“I told you I can’t dance,” she breathes as she positions her hands on me.
“And I told you I’m a good leader.” I give her my best smirk, and she straightens her back as the music begins.
She’s better than she thinks, perhaps a bit stiff, but she does well for a few measures.
“Oh, gosh! I’m so sorry,” she moans, catching my foot when she’s supposed to be stepping back.
I chuckle. “You’re in slippers, mi’ lady. No harm done.”
She looks down to where her feet are hidden under billowing skirts of pale gold fabric, redness rising in her cheeks that I can’t kiss away, no matter how badly my lips ache to.
“Here.” I stop us in the middle of the dance floor, and other couples continue around us.
I hear several other cries of pain and mumbled apologies.
Placing both hands on her waist, I shift her body just a bit to the side before returning to the proper hold.
“It’s easier sometimes if we’re not exactly face to face; that way, there is some margin for error without the risk of injury. ”
She groans under her breath, and I shoot her a quick wink for reassurance.
“Not to worry, princess. You’re not the first to miss a step, and you certainly won’t be the last in this ballroom.”
She makes a most adorably unladylike snort, and I can’t help but chuckle.
Which then causes her to laugh for real, and I’m joining in.
I should be more concerned about putting an even bigger spotlight on her tonight.
But I’m immune to the stares from those around us; it’s only Aurelia and me and the music.
I clear my throat to bring us both reluctantly back to the moment, and we resume our proper positions, a bit to the left as I had suggested. “Now we each look over the other’s shoulder so we don’t accidentally bump into anyone.”
I lead her in the same simple box step that we began with, but she’s still a bit tense in my arms.
I bring my lips to her ear, and she shivers as my warm breath touches her. “Now, feel, don’t anticipate.”
I begin to turn us a fraction on each side step, flexing my arm ever so slightly under her hand as I wish to turn. Her knee brushes mine on one step when she doesn’t move quite in sync.
“You’re still thinking, Nanny Sumner,” I whisper. “Let go.”
She lets out a big breath, and I feel her relax in my arms, the low neckline of her gown making her neck appear so long and graceful as her shoulders drop and her chin lifts.
I lead her through a few rotations, and when she at last settles into the dance, it’s pure magic.
The whole room falls away, and the music weaves its spell around us as our bodies become an extension of one another, moving in perfect synchronicity like we are in each other’s minds and hearts. Her body is mine, and mine is hers.
All too soon, the music ends, and we bow to each other.
I can’t keep my eyes from lingering on her a bit longer.
Christ, she’s beautiful. Stunning. Radiant.
All those prosy adjectives the romance novelists love to employ.
My entire being cries out as I place a kiss on her gloved hand and turn away to find another partner.
Fuck duty. I’d dance with her all goddamn night if I could.
I catch sight of Lady Margaret LaFleur carefully cutting through the crowd and make a mental note to catch her at some point tonight.
A dance with her is basically meaningless since we both know she would never be my choice for a bride—Bro Code and all that—but at least I know she’s a good dancer.
As much as I’d rather mingle and talk without worrying about footing and hand placement, I get roped into several more dances with noble ladies from around the world before I can peel myself away to grab a drink that isn’t wine from Miles.
“So,” he drags the word out as he watches me from the corner of his eye. “Juliette seems rather pleased tonight.”
I sigh, rubbing a hand in my beard. Mother had implored me to trim it up a bit before the ball, but Aurelia begged me not to, and the choice between pleasing my mother and having Aurelia dig her fingers into it as I worship her delectable pussy was a no-brainer.
I catch sight of my little nanny next to Trixie and a few other women, the aforementioned granddaughter of a duke included.
Aurelia nods along with the conversation, sipping occasionally at the champagne in her hand.
Juliette has a particularly smug expression plastered on her face, and when she spots me watching, she gives me a little finger wave.
Aurelia sees me at the same time, too. I can feel the electricity between us all the way across the room, and it goes straight to my dick.
Her eyes are on me as she laughs at whatever story is being told, and fuck if she’s not the most gorgeous thing in the world.
I can’t hear her from over here, but the sound of her laughter is ingrained in my brain.
My pulse thrums in my chest as her sinfully crimson lips rest on her flute again.
She watches me watching her as she slowly tilts the glass to her barely parted lips.
Her mouth is the most beautiful pucker as she lowers her glass, and the bob of her throat as she swallows has all my blood rushing away from my brain.
Christ. Does she even know what she’s doing to me? She has to know.
“Fritz, knock it off.” Miles claps me on the shoulder. “You’ve already drawn enough attention to her tonight.”
A young viscount approaches Aurelia as the current dance ends, arm outstretched, his intentions clear.
My world turns red, and every muscle tightens into a ball of rage as she takes the offer for a dance.
His hand is resting far too low on her back, and all I can hear is my heart pounding in my ears.
He whispers something to her, leaning in far too close, making her giggle, and I feel like Mount Vesuvius on the verge of exploding.
I want to look away, to pretend like Lord Teague is not currently charming the pants off my woman, but I can’t stop, and I can’t breathe.
Calling up all my willpower is the only thing keeping me from marching across the dancefloor right now and ripping her from his arms. But I’d be in so much shit if I threw her over my shoulder and carried her out of this ballroom like a caveman, like I really want to right now.
I make a line for my cousin instead, who is now making a solo lap around the room. My grasp on her arm is perhaps a bit too strong as Trixie hisses.
“What the fuck, Fritz?”
“Don’t make a scene about it, but get Aurelia to the Hildegard parlor in thirty minutes.”
Trixie raises an eyebrow at me. “Really, Fritz? At your own ball when you’re supposed to be picking women to date.”
“Just fucking do it, Beatrix,” I growl. My cousin scowls and jerks her arm away. I hold my hands up in surrender. “I’m sorry, Trix. Just…” I run a hand down my face, gritting my teeth so hard I think they might crack. “Will you please help me?”
She huffs. “Ugh. You know I can’t resist when my little cousin needs me. But you should make an effort through the next few songs. This whole shindig is about you, you know.”
“Don’t remind me.”
The song is over, and right when I think I can breathe again, someone else has asked Aurelia to dance, and I’m losing my shit all over again.
Mine. Mine. Fucking mine. I never learned to share well; my siblings are all many years younger than me, and seeing other people play with the woman I’ve clearly claimed as mine is making me insane.
And it’s not fair for me to feel that way.
Because Aurelia’s not mine, not really, but it’s getting harder and harder to keep that just-friends-who-mess-around distance in my heart and in my head.
I take my cousin’s advice and dance the next three songs with different women, making sure to take them on sweeping turns about the room so no one can miss us, all while trying to keep an eye on whoever dares to place a hand on my woman.
As the ensemble strikes up another waltz, I slip into the crowd around the dance floor, excusing myself around nobles and ladies until I reach a small door at the side of the ballroom.
A new member of the guard, whose name I keep forgetting, is standing watch, but he inclines his head and pushes the door open for me.
“Thank you,” I say with a nod, exhaling a deep breath as I walk through, and the music and chatter are shut out when the door closes behind me.
Justin! That’s it.