Chapter 7 #3
“Let’s dance,” he said. There wasn’t an edge or command in his voice, only invitation; and it made Hannah wonder if the wine had softened him or her, or both. Whatever the truth was, she was accepting it. Anything that would take her mind off the food-encrusted threat that hung off her side.
Hannah stood and Magnus offered her his hand.
Her attention flickered from his hand to his face.
She was actually thankful for the distraction, but it didn’t mean that she wasn’t also curious about his motivations.
And like usual, his face gave nothing away.
His gaze was soft but the rest of his face was the same stern, neutral expression that he always wore.
With a sigh, Hannah placed her hand in his.
The couple moved from behind their table and out to the makeshift dance floor that was situated directly in front of them. When they reached the middle of the floor, they stood side by side with their palms pressed together. “Do ye ken traditional Scottish dance?” he asked in a low, amused whisper.
Her face flashed with irritation. Was this all a ploy to embarrass her or something? “Of course not, why would I?” she mumbled.
“Alright then, lass. Just be sure to actually let me lead,” he said, leaning to be right in her ear as he said the words.
Hannah scoffed and wanted to rebut, but the music started again and Magnus was moving.
His movements were confident and fluid, without being forceful or commanding.
Each step was slow at first, letting her see his movements and copy them before they moved on.
And before the crescendo of the song, she had the hang of it.
The way they stepped around one another rhythmically with palms pressed together, before switching on the other side.
He even made gentle hand motions with his free one to show her when to lift the edge of her skirt dress.
The entire thing was perhaps the best conversation that the two of them had ever had.
It was all looks, body language, and touch that guided them through it instead of bitter words that fought for dominating one another.
By the end of the first song, Hannah actually felt the desire to dance again.
And when she looked at Magnus with a hesitant look, all he did was give her a curt nod.
When the music began again, others joined the dance, and Magnus guided her to the start of the dance once more.
The song filled the air and this time, Hannah could focus on more than just her feet and the way Magnus guided her through the steps.
This time, she felt acutely aware of the way his hand brushed against her waist as they moved between dance moves.
And the way his calloused hand felt rough and warm and inviting against her own.
“Ye’re more tempting than the ripest berry on the vine,” he whispered right into her ear. The words were so scandalous, it took her a moment to really register their meaning. Her face grew hot and her heart fluttered unexpectedly.
“You’re so crude,” she hissed under her breath.
“Ye believe that crude?” he chuckled, his lips still against her ear. The low, humming notes made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. “Oh dear. Then, perhaps I’ll keep the rest of my thoughts to myself… For now.”
Hannah thought if embarrassment was a burning sensation, then she would be set aflame at any moment.
And yet even as she tried to muster words together to chastise his decorum, she couldn’t help but notice the way the embarrassment didn’t sting as it usually did.
It felt… peculiar. Almost like it wasn’t embarrassment at all, but something more.
Something that left her flustered and wanting to know more about the curious feeling.
Each touch started to feel like that heat that moved through her when they kissed at the wedding. It was a building heat like spicy food, the more they touched, the more it burned and the more she craved it even when she couldn’t logically explain it.
And then there were his eyes. The soft gleam that had been in them all day had shifted into something longing.
It stole her breath away and in spite of herself, she could feel a blush creeping over her features.
She was used to men leering at her at balls, but this was different.
Not because he was allowed to touch her now that they were married, but something more.
Magnus was a brute who had forced her hand into this marriage, but he was looking at her as though he had a level of gratitude that she was his bride.
And that the way he wanted her was specific to her, not the title of his wife.
It surely was all the wine she had consumed giving life a dewy, romantic haze to it. That was what she kept telling herself, at least, when she found herself unable to rip her gaze from him.
When the song came to an end and they were once again hand in hand, Magnus’s voice was right in her ear. “I believe it’s time we take to our marriage bed, wife,” he purred.
Hannah should be disgusted, she should want to slap him. And yet, there was no denying the shiver that traveled down the length of her spine at those words.