Chapter 5 #2
He blew out a breath. “I am supposed to be here pretending to have a very good time, and in a few moments, you have…”
“Ripped your mask away?”
“Rather dramatically put, but yes. I’m not used to such a thing.”
“I am sorry,” she said. “But I cannot help but be who I am.”
“Why not?” he asked.
She blinked. “Why not?” she echoed. “Good God, man. What kind of reply is that?”
“An honest one,” he replied, his voice low as he turned her under his arm.
Yes, every step was just as it needed to be. Nothing more. Nothing less. But their conversation? It was far more than it needed to be.
It was strange. Very, very strange.
He couldn’t tell if he loathed it or loved.
He wasn’t certain. He wasn’t uncertain about her entirely, but he was certain that most of the room was watching them, and he wasn’t about to get caught up in a scandal with Lady Phoebe.
Unless, of course…he could. He really could. The idea had already struck him.
No, no. She was too difficult. She asked too many challenging questions, and he was not about to spend the rest of his life being challenged daily by his wife, especially when most of the time, he just needed to get through.
He didn’t need a lady trying to figure out what was going on inside him. He preferred not to know most of the time because, well, that led to difficulties.
“You look as if you are experiencing distress. I occasionally have that effect on people,” she said. “Might I suggest a glass of spiced punch? It will do the trick.”
He scowled at her. Again. “Are you asking for me to take you to get a drink?”
“Yes,” she said. “I think it wise. Besides, you’re not actually a very good dancer.”
It was his turn for his jaw to drop, something that never ever happened. But drop it did. “I beg your pardon?” he asked.
“You dance like a disgruntled Latin teacher.”
He let out a shocked laugh. “I dance like a what?”
“Well, you are hitting all the right notes, conjugating every verb, as it were, but it is clear you do not enjoy it. It’s as if you would like to enjoy it, but you can’t, which is rather dismaying and insulting to me as a person, since you can’t enjoy dancing with me.”
“Dancing,” he pointed out as the music faded, and he let his hand slide down from her shoulder, loathing the loss of touch, “is merely a possibility for a man and a woman to get to know each other a little better.”
“Oh dear.” She sighed, shaking her head, which caused her dark curls to caress her neck. Just as he would like to do with his lips.
“That is a most distressing answer,” she said. “But it’s early days yet. I won’t judge you for such a thing. I know dukes have a very difficult time in this life.”
He arched a brow, rather surprised. Most people thought dukes and princes had the sort of life one dreamed of. For many, it was a nightmare.
“Thank you,” he said.
“Now lead me off the floor, lest we start another dance.”
He was stunned. No one had ever told him he was a bad dancer before. He wasn’t. He’d worked hard. He’d studied with a tutor, and he could make every single beat. He could move about the floor with skill, but suddenly he knew exactly what she was talking about.
She was talking about feeling the music, feeling the floor, feeling the steps, but he did not do any of those things. He had not done a single one of those things since he was nine years old, and he never would again.
Most women would not require it.
Her comment was simply a nail in the coffin of the idea that he should ask Lady Phoebe to be…
No. It wasn’t even a real thought. He had been in her company for but a few minutes. It didn’t matter that she came from the perfect pedigree. It didn’t matter that… No, a Briarwood, even if she had been born a Ripton, daughter of the Earl of Hythe, would be a disastrous bride.
“Are you quite all right?” she queried. “Perhaps you should go upstairs and lie down. The whole effect of the party seems to be causing you to—”
“Look,” he said, “you are a rather shocking person.”
“No one has ever told me that before,” she said, her eyes widening with surprise.
“Well, no one has ever told me that I’m a bad dancer before,” he said easily. “It is apparently a night of firsts.”
She laughed then, a sound that was free and full. “How exciting for the both of us.”
“Yes,” he said as he led her to the punch table, covered in crystal bowls and silver cups. He picked up a small glass and handed it to her.
“Thank you,” she said, taking it with her gloved hand.
For a moment, just the barest of moments, their gloved hands touched, and he didn’t want to let her go. Ever. He wanted to keep this touch for all time, and it was the most absurd thought he had ever had.
No one could make time stand still. No one could touch forever. No one should ever wish to.
“Obliged,” she said, pulling back from him, as if realizing that they might cause a scene.
He took up his own and drank from it. His eyes fluttered at the delicious taste of cloves and spice, brandy, and wine. “That’s quite delicious.”
“Yes, it is. Cook excels at such things, and the newest member of our family, Hester, is an excellent pastry cook. She and my friend, Mrs. Ellen, had a strong hand in the sweets being served this night. Christmas is the time to allow oneself to have a bit of merriment,” she said.
A tray of marzipan passed by, and he took a piece, marveling at the intricacy of the winter rose. He met her gaze and slowly, oh so slowly, bit one of the petals.
Her eyes widened and her pupils darkened. “You like that, do you?”
“I do.”
He popped the rest into his mouth and let the sugars melt on his tongue, imagining what he would like to do to her.
Her pink lips parted. “You are a conundrum.”
She eyed his lips as if she wished he would treat her mouth like the marzipan.
And the desire that coiled in his belly was intense, and it was all he could do to maintain his good manners.
He gazed down at her, taking up his punch again, drinking deeply, allowing the rich liquid to coat his throat. “Can you forgive me?”
“Why should I forgive you? For being a bad dancer? That’s not your fault. You can’t help it.”
Oh, but he could. He could help it if he let himself. Once…he had been so free. Once, he had danced like the wind.
He looked away. “Thank you,” he said, “for being so understanding.”
She gazed down into her punch, stroking the rim with her gloved fingers. “You’ll find that we’re very understanding in this house, and we want everyone to be happy. We want you to be happy, so we’ll do anything we possibly can to make you happy.”
He looked at her then, letting his gaze grow half hooded. “Oh really? Anything?”
Her cheeks turned a bright shade of pink. “My goodness. I never would’ve expected this out of you.”
“Why?” he asked, unable to explain why he was being so bold with her.
Especially since she was Laertes’s sister.
But he couldn’t stop himself. It was as if she had cast some sort of spell upon him.
And it wasn’t a spell that bewitched him.
Oh, no, it was a spell that felt like she was setting him free.
“You seem so…”
“What?” he asked.
“Distant,” she offered.
“Aha,” he replied.
“But the way you look?” she mused. “It suggests that you don’t wish to be distant.”
He leaned his head down towards her, for there was a considerable distance in their heights. “Perhaps I’m just trying to warn you off with my scandalous ways.”
She laughed. “You’re not scandalous. I know scandal, and you are not it.”
He didn’t know if he should be offended or honored. Honored. Yes, honored. “Thank you,” he said with an incline of his head.
“I’m glad you’ve taken it the right way,” she said brightly. “I would never wish to marry a lecher.”
“Are we still talking about marrying me?” he teased.
“Oh, yes, best way to make a duke uncomfortable, don’t you think?” She bit her lower lip and glanced around him. “Now, you best take me out of the room for a quick breath of air before that crowd can catch you.”
“What crowd?” he asked, confused.
“That one,” she said, indicating over his shoulder with a slight jerk of her elfin chin.
He glanced back and realized she was quite correct. A groan nearly tore out of his throat, but he kept it in. He wasn’t surprised. It happened to him wherever he went.
A large group of mamas were congregating, eyeing him, feathers bouncing in their coiled hair like a collective brood of hens. They whipped their fans and handkerchiefs and eyed him like a prize stallion at Newmarket.
He felt no offense. It was simply the way of things when one had a pedigree like his, titles for days, and a fortune that could manage a kingdom.
“Come on,” she said. “I’ll save you.” She hooked her elbow in his and began sashaying him out into the hall.
“Where are we going?” he asked, rather enjoying her sudden care, but also slightly alarmed to be heading out into the cool corridor alone with a young lady.
He was familiar with dark corridors, but not with innocent young misses.
“Somewhere secret,” she said with a wink.
And he could swear that he heard the gaggle of mamas following close behind.
“We’d better speed up,” he said.
“Then let us make haste,” she said before she pulled him with her.
And in that moment, he knew he wanted to follow her anywhere. Everywhere. Always.