Page 19 of A Chance to Dance with the Duke
She frowned. He still was. But somehow he made it seem as though they were on the same team.
Ludicrous.
“I am sorry, Miss Taylor?—“
“Please, just set me down. I may not be an elegant dancer, and my gait may leave much to desire, but I assure you, Your Grace, I am fully capable of standing on my own two feet.”
His brows drew together. “I know that.”
She hated the sympathy in his eyes. Hated even more that his arms around her were so strong that she wasn’t just comfortable in his arms, it was starting to feel downright lovely.
And that was not all right. She did not need to know that the handsome Duke smelled like heaven, or that his chest wasas hard as it was broad, or that this close she could see a five o’clock shadow starting, and the place where a blade had nicked his skin. And somehow those little imperfections made him that much more attractive.
He’d seemed outrageously perfect before she’d had the misfortune of interacting with him, and now he was only growing more appealing up close.
Except for his abysmal personality, of course. That had only grown worse.
To think she’d ever thought him charming.
He shifted her slightly, making her even more comfortable. “Someone will be here shortly with blankets.”
She narrowed her eyes. “And you must continue to hold me until then because…”
She’d drawn out the last word, her tone nothing short of caustic.
A muscle ticked in his jaw, and his gaze flickered over her features as if cataloging her every freckle. “Because I want to.”
She blinked in surprise and was rewarded with a small, lopsided smile as he held her gaze.
Her breath caught, and her words came out uneven. “Even now, you tease me, Your Grace?”
His eyes flared wide, the laughter fading. “No. I never intended for any of this, Miss Taylor.”
She looked away. But this was a mistake because the crowd was inching closer for a better view of the peg-legged spectacle.
“I can stand, Your Grace.” Her eyes stung and her cheeks burned. “Surely you can tell by now that my nickname is erroneous.”
His hands shifted beneath her legs, the movement subtle but so intimate it brought a rush of heat coursing through her.
She did not need a mirror to know her cheeks were a bright pink. “Please. Everyone is watching.”
She hated how weak her whisper was, hated even more how vulnerable she sounded.
His throat worked and this close she could see his Adam's apple bob and a muscle in his jaw tick.
But he set her down on her feet at last, so gently it made her knees go weak.
Or maybe that was just her blasted leg.
Water pooled at her feet and her gown felt so heavy she wasn’t sure how she could walk in it even if her leg was fully able.
She felt ridiculous.
And she likely looked even worse than she felt.
Carver repositioned himself so now his whole body was blocking her from view. Her gaze settled on his chest, which was wet along with the rest of him.
It was abundantly unfair that he did not look ridiculous as well.
