Chapter 24 #2
“If the attention of other men bothered you so, we could have returned to Westvale for me to change,” she retorted.
“Why should it bother me? We are not truly married,” he muttered coldly.
“Well, what made you so angry then?” she demanded, “and do not say that you are not angry. I can see it in your face.”
“Well, I have no concept of how my face looks.” He fixed a wry smile.
“But you know well how you feel.”
“Had I refused you permission to dance with other men, it would have drawn unwanted attention to us,” he stated bluntly.
“So, you were bothered by it?”
“Of course I was!” he finally snapped. “What kind of man do you think I am? I could not see you to read the expression on your face or see the language of your body. That was all left to my imagination.”
“I would have made an excuse if I knew it’d make you jealous,” Georgia added hushedly, “and was your canoodling with the French woman to console yourself?”
Keaton heard the click of her teeth as she bit back the words.
“If you are seeking to replace me, it is well and good, but at least have the decency not to do so in front of me.”
He scoffed. “I am blind, dear. I hardly invited her to talk to me.”
“No? But you did not rebuff her either!”
“What would you have me do? Push her away. Pick up a chair to keep her out of arm’s reach?” he demanded drily.
“Well, if you won’t do it, I will!” she exclaimed.
Keaton cut short his retort, realizing that their voices were growing louder by the minute.
The babble of gathered guests and the constant stream of music being played even when there was not a dance taking place muffled their words, but would not for long if they ended the night yelling at each other.
“I think our time here has served its purpose. We should take this opportunity to leave,” Keaton grated.
“I wish to have another dance,” Georgia said, stubbornly.
“I will refuse.”
“I do not want to dance with anyone else.”
“I cannot!” Keaton barked, frustration boiling within him.
“Do you not remember the steps?” Georgia asked.
“Of course I do!”
“Then execute them. I shall give you direction so that we do not collide with another couple and I will ensure my feet remain clear of yours. Good dancers can manage with their eyes closed.”
She threaded her fingers through his as an announcement was made by the Master of Ceremonies of the next dance’s commencement.
She stepped away from him, heaving him after her.
Keaton found himself following her onto the open dancefloor.
He could almost hear the surprise of the gathered guests.
The Blind Duke believing that he could dance?
This would be a disaster. A humiliation!
Is this where she sabotages me? To prolong the arranged marriage and delay having to return to her prison at Silverton?
He knew he could still refuse, but it was far too late. To do so in front of everyone would be even more humiliating than making a botch of the dance.
“Trust me,” Georgia whispered as she came to a halt and raised her hand.
Keaton put his own to her hip, clasping her raised hand in the standard pose for ballroom dancing. He recalled it from his youth, had been fond of dancing with pretty girls far below his rank, though his father despised it.
“I am trying to,” he whispered back.
The music commenced, and Keaton took his first step.
He let the memory of the steps dictate his movements, imagining the room was empty but for Georgia and himself.
The fabric of her dress was soft, indecently so.
It felt like an undergarment. It was sensual and suggestive.
The lightest touch seemed to melt through it to the flesh beneath, reminding him that only a minute width of cloth protected Georgia from being exposed to all the leering men present.
He felt an almost overpowering urge to drape his coat about her shoulders and cover her from their gaze. At the same time, he felt pride that it was he whom she chose to dance with.
“Were they gathering like buzzards to be the first to ask for your hand?” he asked.
Georgia whispered a direction to him, and he pivoted, trusting that they were avoiding others rather than cutting a swathe as people tried to get out of their way.
“They were,” she replied quietly.
“I was in error to allow it.”
Another direction, and he smoothly spun.
So far, they had not missed a step. Georgia was light and graceful, her body close enough to tantalize him.
A pressure was building up within him, demanding release.
It was a desire, frustrated by the people who surrounded them, demanding propriety by their very presence.
Keaton wanted to wind back the centuries of time to a primitive era when he could have taken Georgia like a wild animal, with no thought of social convention.
“You were not. I was imagining that it was you,” Georgia smiled.
“But it was not,” Keaton said with heat, his desire leaking into his tone.
“They held my body, but it was thoughts of you that aroused me. What about when you smelled Mademoiselle de Marigne’s perfume?”
“It left me cold.”
“I do not believe it. She is very beautiful.”
“I could not tell.”
“You see better than that.”
“I see you.”
Another turn. Keaton drew her closer than the form of the dance demanded.
But he could not stand the gap between them any longer.
He felt her breasts push against his chest. His hand slipped around her hip.
Georgia gasped. Keaton wondered if anyone else was whispering about the Westvales’ inappropriate behavior.
Dash it all! I cannot hold onto myself any longer. When will this interminable dance end?
His hand wandered briefly to her wrist, feeling her rapid pulse with his little finger. He sensed her breathing quicken, almost panting. It gladdened him to feel her arousal, to know that she was just as helpless before him as he was before her. The dance came to an abrupt end.
“Shall we leave then?” Georgia whispered, breathlessly.