Page 51 of The Insufferable Duke
Is it possible the two are courting?
CHAPTERSIXTEEN
“Thank you, My Lord. It was a pleasant dance indeed.” Helena released her hand from Lord Mistwood’s and walked toward the drinks table. It had been a pleasant dance, and Lord Mistwood had gone to no great lengths to disguise his identity, yet Helena felt lost during the music, almost listless, as if a part of her wasn’t on that dance floor at all.
What is wrong with me?
She hastened back to the drinks table and reached for a champagne glass. As her fingers closed around a glass, another’s found it too. There was warmth in that touch, so strong that she even felt it through her elbow-length gloves. Startled, she moved back, her eyes flicking toward the gentleman that had reached for the glass.
He cut such a dapper figure, striking in the room, that she was speechless as she stared at him. The mixture of black and amber in his disguise was rich and almost mystical as if he wore the colors of a phoenix upon him. She could barely see his face at all, and with his hair slicked back so much, she could not recognize him.
Who are you?
She saw only enough of his lips to see the glimmer of a smile as he lifted that glass and proffered it to her.
“Do not let me take it away from you,” he said, his tone so deep and husky that she knew she had no chance of guessing his identity.
“A false voice?” She teased him and took the glass from him. Yet both of their hands lingered there, touching one another.
This is scandalous, wrong indeed.
Despite the knowledge, she couldn’t resist, and he slowly released her, letting their fingers part.
“Perhaps,” he said in that husky tone again. “Consider it a chance to be near you without alarming others.” He glanced at the crowd and turned his back on it, facing her completely. “Would you dance, My Lady?”
“You do not know who I am, do you?” she queried, noting how well their disguises fitted together with the gold and amber hues. Others that walked past stared at the two of them, plainly mistaking them for a courting couple who had planned their costumes in advance.
“That would be telling.” He put down his own glass on the table and raised his hand toward her. “Would you leave me standing alone, My Lady?”
She raised the glass to her lips and took a hefty gulp. Now this was what she had been missing. This excitement, the flirtation, it was all a chance to forget the rather dull dance with Lord Mistwood and to stop her thinking and searching for another.
The Duke of Bridstone.
Constantly, she had searched for him, despite warning her own mind not to do it. The gentleman before her was certainly tall enough to be him, but he had gone to an elaborate extent with his outfit, more than she believed the Duke would attempt. His hair looked different too.
Sadly, it is not him.
Yet as those lips flickered into another smile, she couldn’t resist. She put down her glass and placed her hand in his, allowing him to escort her toward the dance floor. They walked slowly, both of them looking at one another more than where they were going.
As the last number ended, he drew her onto the dance floor. Rather than releasing her, he laid a hand on her waist and held her near.
“This is unorthodox, sir,” she whispered, standing so close to him that she had to tilt her chin up toward him.
“Consider it an attempt not to part from you in this crowd.”
She soon understood his meaning. The floor grew so crowded that some couples, in their effort to step back from one another, lost themselves amongst other couples and had to rearrange. The whole time as they waited for the music to begin, his hand rested on her waist with a firm but not demanding touch. It did something to her and had her imagining things she knew she should not be thinking of with a complete stranger.
“Why pick me to dance, sir?” she asked, just as the violin music started. They parted a short distance though his hand didn’t release hers. As he bowed and she curtsied, he didn’t answer her, choosing only to speak again when they came back toward one another.
A lively number struck up. It was supposed to be a Scottish reel, a bouncy and demanding number where the couples repeatedly spun round one another, relying on each other’s hands and movements to catch each other, yet the music had been given an Italian inflection, to match the theme of the night, and wasn’t recognizable as Scottish in origin anymore.
“Was it the gown?” she asked, encouraging the gentleman to speak as they circled one another, performing a hopping step with their feet. “Did I suit your own costume, sir? Or was it any charm on my own part?” She laughed at the absurdity of the idea. They released one another. She circled another gentleman, as he did another lady, then they came back together.
He took her hand and her waist, holding her close.
“I highly doubt it as you cannot see my face.”
“Perhaps your charms are not just in beauty alone,” he whispered in her ear then moved her in quick turns around the room. She had to grip tightly onto his bicep so that she didn’t release him. The intensity of the moment had her gripping tighter than she should have done though that touch only seemed to make him smile more.
