Chapter 18 #3
“Ah.” Nell looked up at him then, her expression razor-sharp. “Still. She is practically a child, and I am sure the ton approves. It’s much more appropriate than a thirty-four-year-old baker.”
His mouth went rigid as he stared down at her. “Nell.”
“Mrs. Ashford.” She corrected him, her words short and clinical. She shifted her gaze toward the other dancers, effectively shutting him out while they moved in perfect, agonizing rhythm. “We agreed on propriety, did we not?”
“You agreed on propriety.” He finally looked at her, and she saw a dark frustration simmering in their depths. He guided her through a turn with effortless strength. “I agreed to nothing.”
“How quickly you’ve moved on.” She continued, ignoring his protest, her fan dangling from her wrist as they turned. “Not even a week after proposing to me, and you’ve already found a replacement. I suppose I should be flattered that you waited even that long.”
“Is that what you think?” He leaned in until his forehead nearly brushed hers, his words vibrating with a dangerous, low-thrumming intensity. “That I have moved on?”
“What else am I supposed to think?” She tilted her chin back, meeting his stare with eyes that burned.
For a fleeting moment, she let the mask slip, allowing him to see the raw, jagged jealousy she could no longer suppress.
“You are hosting a ball in her honor. You are walking arm in arm through your gardens. You are smiling at her the way she hung the moon in the sky.”
“You are jealous.” The realization seemed to please him. His stare sharpened, and his hand moved instinctively, pressing more firmly against the small of her back to pull her a fraction closer.
“Don’t be ridiculous.” The denial snapped between them, far too fast to be believed. She jerked her gaze away, her heart hammering a frantic rhythm against her ribs.
“You are.” A sense of wonder smoothed out the rough edges of his expression. He didn’t look away, tracking the way the flush deepened across her cheeks and down the curve of her neck. “You are jealous of Catherine.”
“I am not.” She held herself perfectly still, daring him to argue.
His thumb moved. It was a small circle on her waist which made her lost her train of thought entirely as the heat of the contact bloomed through her.
“You refused me.” He said it quietly, his iron eyes burning into hers with an intensity that made her lightheaded.
“You told me no. You said my feelings would fade.”
“They clearly have.” She shot the words back, her chin lifting in defiance. “Given how cozy you’ve been with Lady Catherine.”
“And yet here you are.” His hand shifted lower on her back, far too low for propriety, and pulled her closer until her body was pressed flush against his chest. “Seething with jealousy.”
“I am not seething.” She panted the words, her hands trembling where they rested on him.
“You are.” His lips curved just slightly. It was not quite a smile, but it was close enough to one to be dangerous. “Your eyes are practically shooting sparks. It’s magnificent.”
She tried to pull away, but his arm was like iron around her waist. “Let go of me.”
“Not until you admit it.” He held her firm, his steely eyes burning down into hers from his great height.
“Admit what?” She glared up at him, her jaw tight and her neck craning.
“That you are jealous.” He pulled her closer still, until she could feel the heat of him through every layer of silk and cotton. “That you hate seeing me with another woman. That you want me, even though you told yourself you didn’t.”
“People are watching.” She hissed the words, her cheeks flaming as her fingers curled into the fine wool of his shoulder.
“Let them.” His cold eyes never left hers. They were dark with a hunger that made her knees weak. “Let them all watch.”
“You have lost your mind.” She aimed for a dismissive scoff, but the words hitched in her throat, coming out thin and breathless. Her traitorous body leaned into his warmth of its own accord, seeking the very heat she claimed to reject.
“Oh, have I?” He bent low, his mouth hovering near her ear, his breath hot against her sensitive skin. “You showed up in that dress looking like every dream I have had for the past five days. And then you stood there glaring at me while I danced with Catherine, as if you wanted to murder us both.”
“I didn’t.” She started to protest, her face burning hotter than the ovens in her shop.
“You did.” His hand pulled her tighter still, flush against him in a way that was utterly scandalous. “And it’s taking every ounce of control I haven’t to drag you out of this ballroom and show you exactly how little I have moved on.”
Her breath caught. Her fingers dug into his shoulder hard enough to bruise the muscle beneath.
“Dominic.” His name escaped her like a prayer or a curse.
“Don’t.” He tensed, throat tight, bending until his breath warmed her forehead. His smoke eyes were bright with something that looked almost like pain. “Don’t say my name like that. Not here. Not when I cannot touch you the way I want to.”
The music ended.
They stood frozen in the sudden silence, their bodies still pressed together. The ballroom had gone quiet around them—far too quiet—and Nell became acutely aware of the stares and the fluttering fans of society matrons leaning toward each other with gleaming eyes.
Everyone was watching. Everyone had seen.
Dominic released her abruptly. He stepped back, his face shuttering as the mask slammed back into place, for the hunger in his eyes vanished so quickly she might have imagined it.
“Thank you for the dance, Mrs. Ashford.” He spoke with a cold formality. He clasped his hands behind his back, his spine rigid. He acted like nothing had happened.
He turned on his heel and walked away without waiting for a response. He disappeared into the crowd, leaving her standing alone in the middle of the dance floor with her heart slamming and the bitter, hot taste of jealousy still burning on her tongue.