Page 33 of The Duke of Fire
“Yes, of course,” she said, distractedly, trying to smile. Amelia offered her wrist where the dance card was tied with a purple ribbon. Lord Newcombe quickly signed his name.But even as he did, the duke was already walking toward her.
“My lord—” she uttered, but was quickly interrupted by the duke. He hovered like an infernal shadow right behind the earl and was edging closer, taking over the other man’s place.
“I am afraid her next dance belongs to me,” he said softly.
“Your Grace, I… your name was not on Miss Warton’s dance card,” the earl managed to force the words out, avoiding looking the duke in the eye.
“Oh, but she had promised me this dance.”
“I am fairly certain I did no such thing,” she insisted.
“You did,” he said. “In the way you looked at me the other night.”
Amelia glanced at Lord Newcombe in panic, recognizing the offended look. The earl was merely too polite to say anything, but the implications could ruin her.
How dare he say such a thing in public?
“I looked at you in what way?” she asked, truly awed at his words, but also internally reminding herself what a cad he was.
Was she really looking at him a certain way?
“Yes, you were. Give me the next dance. The one after this song,” he said, giving a soft command.
It was not just a command, but also a demand. He reached for her dance card without asking and crossed out Lord Newcombe’s name that was written there, boldly replacing it with his own.
“That is unbelievably rude even for you, Your Grace!” she hissed, looking left and right. People were watching them with idle interest. The women who were gossiping about them werestill focused on them, their faces red from either exertion or simmering envy.
The duke did not respond to that. He merely took her hand and glared at the earl. The other gentleman shrank away, giving way to the duke. The authority with which the duke handled the other man made something tighten low in her belly, but she tried not to show this. She lifted her chin, not allowing herself to be intimidated.
Startled, Amelia followed the duke to the midst of the ballroom. His hand on her back remained respectful, but there was heat in it. She should know. It seared through her.It was nothing mundane, like a reassuring caress. No, it was a brand. The duke wanted her to know and remember that she belonged to him. Still, she squared her shoulders, knowing that she would have lost if she showed how much he unsettled her.
Finally, they faced each other. The new song began, with his hand still on her back. It was possessive without being indecent, but she felt when his fingers flexed as if testing his restraint.
They moved together, effortlessly. He was a superb dancer, and although not experienced, she found herself keeping up without thinking. His smell of clean spice and sandalwood intoxicated her senses. He also watched her intently, as if there was nothing else in the room. It was hard to keep her footing with her mind clouded, but she still managed to float with him.
“Why did you do this?” she finally managed to find her voice.
“Did what? Save you from a spineless earl? If he truly liked you, he would have made more of an effort.”
“No. He could be my chance to—to,” she stammered. She did not think that she should say the words, not to him. He was her onlychance out of Warton House, but she could not fully trust him.
“Your chance to what? Marry?”
“Is it so bad for me to wish that?”
“You said you wanted freedom. Independence. Or at least that was what I saw in you. A kindred spirit,” he said serenely, as they continued to twirl to the music.
“Sometimes, we must consider all options. Not everyone is a wealthy, influential man of society,” she said, a little bitterly.
“Are you telling me you are envious of me?” he asked, with a smirk.
“Think whatever you want, Your Grace. But what about you? Do you ever think of what people say about you? I thought you did not attend these sorts of events.”
“I do not, Miss Warton. I came for you,” he said smoothly, his molten eyes affixed on hers. “And no, I do not care what people think of me.”
“You cannot say that, Your Grace,” she whispered, even as the music reached its crescendo and their movements sped up.
“What can’t I say, Miss Warton?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
