Page 27 of A Scottish Bride for the Duke
“I believe I do.” He extended her his hand. “Would you do me the honor of the next dance?”
“I—” She sucked in a breath, looking stunned.
No doubt she had not anticipated his asking her to dance, and truthfully, it had not been his intention. But there was nothing else he could do that would more firmly snub Miss Wentworth the way he thought she deserved to be snubbed.
Eliza nudged Lady Isobel in the side with a pointed look, which Lady Isobel returned in kind. There was a lot to be said about her, much of it unflattering, but she could certainly be said to give as good as she got.
Perhaps that was what drew him to her. Miss Wentworth was silent in her rage and humiliation where Lady Isobel would have fired back at him.
No doubt she would fire at him when they were dancing together.
He could not find it within himself to regret his decision.
“Very well,” she said, accepting his hand. “Ye see, I can be kind, too,” she murmured as he led her out to where couples were gathering.
A waltz—that was just his luck. For a heartbeat, he thought she might not know the moves, the dance being a more modern addition to ballrooms, but she did not hesitate as she accepted his hand and allowed him to place his other hand on her waist.
Heat erupted from the contact. He looked down into her face, alarmed by his own temptations. Women never usually tempted him like this; they were pleasant enough as occasional lovers, and he enjoyed getting his needs sated—he was a man, after all—but this felt entirely different.
Rawer. Visceral. Desire did not so much exist in him as take hold of the reins and demand that he acquiesce to its urging.
He did not. Instead, he swept her smoothly about the room.
“People are staring,” she said.
“I know. Tell me.” His hand crept a little higher up her back. “Did you consider rejecting me in front of Miss Wentworth?”
Her eyes sparkled, green in his light, like moss or light through forest leaves. She was a wild, fey thing, and he held her too close to his body.
“I did,” she said.
“Why?”
“I told myself I wouldnae dance with ye.”
“Why?”
“Because I daenae like ye.”
“I know that much.” He cocked a brow as he looked down into her face. “And yet you accepted.”
“The look on her face was too tempting to resist,” she admitted.
“Ah, so you can be petty too.”
“I never claimed I couldn’t.”
“I thought you were different from other ladies.”
“I hardly see why,” she countered, her hand on his shoulder contracting slightly. “I never claimed such a thing.”
He felt the contact, felt the press of her fingers through his body, though it shouldn’t have affected him so much.
“And yet your behavior indicates it from every angle.”
“Everyangle?” Her gaze darkened, and he knew she was remembering that shadowed hallway.
Their kiss.
