Chapter 6
Elowyn drank in the swirl of dancers with glowing anticipation.
Stagbourne was one of those dancers. All she had to do was step up to him after this dance ended and offer him her own dance card.
The meaning would be abundantly clear. And, if he remained true to character, she would finally experience her first dance.
“I haven’t spotted her,” Persephone murmured softly from her side. “Lady Gabrielle is either fashionably late or not attending tonight. I wish Isadora was here. I can’t believe she came down with a cold.”
She loved her friend, but better her than Elowyn. “Don’t worry about Lady Gabrielle. She has nothing to do with me.” She considered all matters regarding the fox and the wolf settled.
“That still doesn’t stop me from worrying.”
Elowyn patted her friend’s arm. “You can worry if I worry, and I’m not worrying.
” She was only dreaming. Dreaming of running from foxes, only to be saved by a wolf, and then devoured at his lair!
She couldn’t remember a time when she had so many nightmares in one night.
They seemed endless. Every time she closed her eyes, there was the wolf.
Persephone laughed. “It doesn’t work like that, my friend.”
“I know,” Elowyn murmured. “But think about it, why need me when she can simply attempt one of her traps again? It would be much easier.”
“I still can’t believe your luck,” Persephone muttered. “But don’t worry, I’ll do what I can to keep those vultures off your back if they dare any shenanigans.”
Elowyn smiled awkwardly. She hadn’t told her friends about the kiss after Mandeville left yesterday.
She didn’t know why. All she knew was she wanted to keep the shameless, intoxicating stolen first kiss a secret that existed only between her and the duke.
It might not have been the perfect kiss in the perfect setting, and it also might not have had any special meaning beyond sealing a deal, but it was her first secret kiss.
A stolen one, a secret one, a first one, even a forbidden one, all in one.
She considered that a success.
“You should just have some fun,” Elowyn murmured. “Don’t waste your whole night on me. Dance. Be merry.”
“How tragic, coming from you.”
Elowyn laughed at her friend’s teasing. How many times had they said that to her and how many times had she ignored their urging in favor of her beloved seat on the side. “I’m being serious.”
“I’ll enjoy myself once you enjoy your first dance,” Persephone said. “My heart will rest easy once I witness you stepping on Stagbourne’s toes.”
Elowyn rolled her eyes.
Almost in unison, the music drew to a close on a final, lingering note, and the dancers came to a gradual stop.
Elowyn’s heart gave a determined little leap. This was it.
She glanced at Persephone, and her friend answered with a bright, encouraging grin.
“Wish me luck.”
“You don’t need it, Elowyn.” A bubble of laughter escaped her friend. “I take that back, perhaps you do. Good luck.”
Elowyn inwardly scoffed at the tease. She couldn’t even argue.
However, that was still all the encouragement she required.
Straightening her shoulders and lifting her chin, she marched straight toward Stagbourne before she could lose her nerve.
The previous night was still ripe in her mind, but she wouldn’t let such a slight setback ruin this moment.
He stood not far off, handing off his dance partner, his profile pleasant in a way that made her stride purposeful and unwavering. Unlike a certain duke.
Don’t think of that coxcomb barbarian, Elowyn.
Elowyn scarcely felt the floor beneath her feet as she reached the earl and, with as much composure as she could summon, simply held out her dance card. In her head, that was all she had to do, but standing before the man, she couldn’t help but add, “Lord Stagbourne, would you do me the honor of—”
Her dance card was snatched out of her hand.
“No need,” a deep voice followed, sending shivers all over her body.
She glanced over her shoulder and met dark eyes that burned so hot she swore twin flames danced within them. “I’ll do you the honor.”
***
He stood corrected. Lady Elowyn’s schemes were a big bloody problem.
A problem he’d never experienced before.
A problem that wasn’t going to go away until he did something about the problem.
After all, a fact was only a fact until faced with evidence to the contrary.
And he was staring at that face right now.
Staring into its eyes that sparkled like jewels.
What happened to staying away, you fool?
What happened was he’d gotten hot coals beneath his feet and wished to observe from a distance.
What happened was that distance evaporated step by step as she stared at Stagbourne dancing with stars in her eyes.
What happened was his bloody temper snapped the moment she stopped before the earl and handed her dance card over like the man was her damn hero.
A waltz struck up, and Julien gave a curt nod to Stagbourne, who looked at them quizzically. He ignored the man and scribbled his name on the card before pressing it back into her hand, his own moving to the small of her back and guiding the stunned wildflower to the dancefloor.
“What are you doing?” she hissed in a hushed voice.
Julien pulled her into his hold, his hand pressing more firmly against the small of her back, the other closing around her gloved fingers and lifting them to shoulder height.
The proper distance the waltz demanded between a man and a woman who had no business being anywhere near each other.
And it didn’t feel proper at all. Not with her standing close enough that he caught the faint scent of orange blossom clinging to her skin, close enough to see the exact moment fury replaced shock in those jewel-bright eyes. “Dancing.”
He pulled her into the first turn, and the ballroom tilted around them—candlelight, curious faces, Stagbourne’s frown—all of it spinning past while she remained fixed at the center of his vision.
“That’s not what I’m asking, and you know it!” She missed a step, and he caught her before she stumbled, his hand tightening at her back, listening patiently to her vent. “I thought we had a deal, Mandeville. An exchange. Not you glued to my hip for all of London to see!”
What could he even say to that? That his command over his impulses had perished a tragic death where she was concerned? “I couldn’t help myself.”
“That’s not answer enough.”
Julien cursed in his heart. He’d acted bloody impulsively and now he didn’t know how to counter his recklessness, so he opted for the most truthful thing he could offer, “Dansbury came to call on me.”
She blinked up at him. “So?”
“He is that chit’s uncle,” he enlightened the confusion gathering between her brows. “This is about more than snagging a duke for a husband, I’m afraid. They might not give up.”
“And you don’t trust me,” Lady Elowyn accused.
“It’s not that simple—”
“I’m a woman of my word, Mandeville. You might not trust me, but you have no other choice.
We already exchanged,” her face flushed, “that thing. While it apparently might not mean something to you, it means everything to me. That was my first,” she glanced around to see that they couldn’t be overheard, “kiss you stole. This is now my first dance you stole as well. You are ruining my season!”
His brows pulled together, his hand flexing at the small of her back. “You’ve never danced with a man before?” A kiss he expected, but not a dance.
Her fingers curled tighter into his at his question.
So, yes.
Her eyes flashed. “That is not the point!”
True, and the breath of satisfaction filling his chest wasn’t bloody helping.
“Forgive me if I don’t see the problem. Have you not gotten exactly what you wished for?
” Barring the fact that he wasn’t Stagbourne.
Or was that where her ire stemmed from. It was certain the spark arose from the knowledge that he didn’t come up to snuff against the earl.
Probably not a dispute.
Stagbourne was the better man. The kind one. A man not consumed by revenge.
“Only a man would say that.”
“Probably,” he agreed. “But we can’t stop now.”
That earned him another hot look.
“Not without causing a scene,” he corrected. “Settle down, Lady Elowyn. It’s simply a dance. Or do dances also have a thousand settings?”
She averted her gaze, but not before she muttered. “As a matter of fact, they do. But that isn’t all you stole from me.” Her fierce gaze returned to him. “You stole the most important thing. You stole the ability to enjoy my first. You, sir, are a joy thief.”
Julien’s chest tightened.
He leaned in to whisper into her ear. “You are not wrong, Lady Elowyn. I am exactly that.”
“Then let us not meet after this again.”
Coldness spread through him, the same coldness his mother’s death had left as a parting gift, but he still said, “As the lady wishes.”
The final strains of the waltz wound down, the last note hanging in the air between them.
He should let her go. Every rule of propriety, every ounce of sense he possessed, demanded he release her the moment the music died. Then why the hell was it so damn hard?
“Mandeville.”
Julien bit back a curse and stepped back and bowed, the picture of propriety, when the entire moment felt all wrong. She dropped into a curtsy, chin high, refusing to give the watching room the satisfaction of seeing anything but composure.
They’d barely pulled apart when someone gave a cry of alarm.
Bright red flashed before his eyes before he heard Lady Elowyn gasp.
He didn’t know what the hell just happened, but he tried to block it.
Unfortunately, the damage was done. The woman in red stepped back to reveal an even redder stain covering Elowyn’s white gown from her bosom down to her midriff.
Droplets of red, too much like blood, even coated her neck, dripping in between her breasts.
The culprit was none other than Lady bloody Gabrielle.
A well-placed look of horror plastered her face, at odds with the look of glee in her eyes.
The sight brought on a fury Julien could barely contain. He didn’t think. He shrugged out of his jacket and draped it around the wildflower’s shoulders, pulling it close around her and angling his own body between her and the worst of the room’s stares.
That was it.
Done.
Dansbury and his niece officially climbed to second and third position on his revenge list. He wouldn’t be satisfied until they both got what they deserved.
He turned back to give the woman that put a look of shame on his wildflower’s face a piece of his damn mind, a slew of curses that would send her fully into ruin, but before he could open his mouth, the chance was stolen from him.
A second splash of red arced through the air and caught Lady Gabrielle square across the face, dripping from her chin, her lashes, her hair.
“Oh!” Lady Persephone pressed a hand to her mouth, eyes wide with an impure innocence no one in this ballroom was fool enough to believe. “I’m so sorry! I must have gotten caught up in your spectacle.”
The room dissolved into scandalized whispers.
Julien turned back to Lady Elowyn.
Only to find her gone.