Page 63 of The Wayward Duke
“We’ll speak later in a more private setting,” Julian said.
“You’ll hear from me soon.” Wentworth finished off his brandy in one long swallow. “And Hastings – watch your back. You’re a target now, too.”
Then he slipped into the crowd of aristocrats.
25
The opening notes of the waltz swept through the ballroom. Caroline resisted the urge to adjust her gloves or fiddle with the diamond drops dangling from her ears. Instead, she donned the mask she’d perfected – the consummate duchess. Poised. Controlled. A portrait of calm on the surface.
“Shall we have a dance, duchess?” Julian murmured at her side. He held out one gloved hand.
Just one dance. You can endure one dance, Caroline told herself, slipping her hand into his.
He pulled her close, and the ballroom and all its glittering occupants faded away as they began to dance. The whispers and assessing glances melted into insignificance until nothing remained but the two of them, suspended in their own private orbit.
Julian led them flawlessly through steps ingrained in muscle memory, so attuned to the changes in Caroline’s body – the hitch in her breath, the tension singing through her limbs. Her thoughts drifted back through the years to another dance beneath endless blue skies. Just a wild, barefoot girl dancing with a boy in the meadows. No titles, no expectations, only possibilities.
She risked a glance upward, taking in his remote patrician features and pale eyes. To the rest of the ballroom, he wore his distant mask, the consummate duke – cold and untouchable.
But not to her. Never to her.
“You dance as flawlessly as I remember,” she managed.
His voice was smoke against her skin. “As do you. Just the same as always.”
A wistful smile teased her lips. “That’s not true, and you know it. I was all tangled feet and clammy palms back then. I couldn’t stop stepping on your poor toes.”
“Understandable, given your tendency to dance barefoot through meadows. All that wild spinning can’t have helped matters.”
The shared memory kindled a spark of warmth. She pictured his hands at her waist beneath sprawling oak branches, spinning faster and faster until they tumbled breathlessly into the grass. Her body tingled everywhere they touched. She had ached for more even then, before she understood this clawing need.
So many possibilities lived in every touch since he walked back into her life weeks ago. When he worshipped her body until she came undone beneath his hands.
She never wanted that to end.
“Where did your thoughts wander off to just now?” His voice pulled her back to the present. When she stayed mute, he made a rough sound of understanding. “Not so very proper thoughts, then. Well, my imagination is vivid. Care to share?”
Caroline fixed her gaze at a point beyond his shoulder, watching the other couples twirl by. “Admiring the architectural details. The crown moulding is just exquisite.”
His low laughter teased her. “You’re a dreadful liar, Linnie. I see you blushing and want to hear every improper thought you’ve ever had.”
Whispers surrounded them at the unfamiliar sound of the duke laughing. “You’re causing quite the scandal,” she murmured. “What will they think, seeing the Duke of Hastings laugh?”
The possessive hand at her back urged her closer as they moved in effortless synchronicity. “I suspect they’ll think I’m besotted with my wife,” Julian said. “And they wouldn’t be wrong.”
The confession shattered the last remnants of her composure. Without thinking, she tipped her face up to his.
His arm tightened almost painfully around her waist. Her poise was burning away, reduced to a pounding heart and visceral need. She stared into familiar eyes gone hungry, feral. On the razored edge of losing control. That same madness fraying the ends of her own restraint.
“Careful,” he warned, voice rough. “Any closer, and I won’t be able to resist kissing you senseless in front of all these fine people. Think of the scandal we’d inspire. Her Majesty may banish us from polite society for depravity.”
Caroline sucked in an unsteady breath, drunk on his nearness. She wanted nothing more than to close those last few inches between them. “Then let’s finish this dance and go home.”
The answering flare in his gaze promised retribution. “Can’t leave before the queen. Proper protocol. But at home, I fully intend to punish you for tempting me so shamelessly.”
Molten heat pooled low and aching between her thighs at the promise in those words. She wanted him wild, wanted that iron-clad control stripped away. Again and again, until thought fractured.
Reckless, she leaned in. “However will you discipline me for my depraved behaviour?”
