Page 71 of His Mad Duchess
“I am devoted.”
“You are dangerous.”
“You are mine.”
The simplicity of the words disarmed her far more than his practiced flirtations, making her pulse race. She faltered a step, and he steadied her instantly, his grip firm at her waist, eyes burning into hers.
“Careful,” he murmured. “You nearly betrayed yourself.”
Her chin lifted, regaining her composure. “And you nearly tripped me.”
He chuckled low. “Never. You’re safest when I’m the one holding you.”
The music tapered, the final chords lingering like a caress through the hall. Sebastian guided her into the last turn, and for a heartbeat, the world held its breath with them.
He kept his hand firm at her waist, drawing her closer than propriety required, his forehead brushing against hers ever solightly. She could feel the rapid beat of his heart beneath her palm, echoing her own.
He finally stepped back just a fraction, offering his arm as they glided from the floor, but his eyes never left hers. Even as applause rippled through the ballroom, and other dancers circled about them, it felt to Margaret as if they were still suspended in the waltz, in the private, perfect orbit they had created together.
His eyes held hers, dark and heated, and a slow, teasing smile curved his lips.
“I think,” he murmured, voice low, almost private, “that we have earned some refreshments.”
Margaret raised an eyebrow, breath still uneven. “Are you suggesting we abandon the floor so soon?”
“Not abandon,” he corrected, pressing a lingering kiss to the back of her hand. “Merely retreat. I shall be swift. And I shall return with refreshments.”
Her pulse quickened at the deliberate possessiveness in his tone. “And you imagine I would protest?”
“Not for a second.” With that, he eased away, gliding through the throng with that same ease that commanded attention wherever he went, leaving Margaret standing on the ballroom floor, awareof every lingering trace of him, every memory of his hand and gaze.
CHAPTER 24
Margaret slipped toward a shadowed alcove near the tall windows, half-concealed by the sweep of heavy draperies. She drew a steadying breath, trying to calm the pulse that still raced from the waltz, when she felt a presence behind her—a hand brushing lightly, too deliberately, against her arm.
She turned, and her stomach dropped. A gentleman, his smile smooth and dangerous, stepped closer than propriety allowed.
“Duchess of Ravenscourt,” he said, voice low and mocking, “how very brave of you to slip away from the crowd. Alone… quite daring, isn’t it?”
Margaret’s pulse jumped, and her hand lifted instinctively toward him, though she did not step back. “I am quite capable of navigating the ballroom, sir. There is no need for assistance.”
He chuckled, a dark, unpleasant sound. “Ah, but one can see why you might need it. So quick to fluster, so tense… There’s a fire about you, isn’t there? They say the Ravenscourt Duchess is… cursed, in a way. Mad, some call it. I wonder if it is true. Are you, perhaps, mad?”
Margaret’s stomach turned, a flicker of fear threading through her irritation. She lifted her chin, trying to steady her voice. “I am very much myself, sir. I suggest you step away before my husband finds you lingering so… personally.”
He tilted his head, his eyes raking over her face. “Ah, yes… your husband. Sebastian, is it? I imagine he is… formidable. But would he care for you, mad or cursed as you are? Or does he merely tolerate your fire?”
Margaret’s pulse surged with alarm. She tried to put space between them, but he mirrored every step, his presence pressing in on her. “You would do well to leave. Now. Or I assure you, you will regret testing me.”
He laughed, low and cruel. “Test you? I only wish to know the truth. And truth, my dear, is often unpleasant. Especially for a woman such as you.”
Margaret’s hands lifted in a subtle defense, though she remained firm. “I am not as fragile as you imagine. Leave before my husband returns and discovers your audacity.”
He scoffed, circling her like a predator. “Audacity… yes, that’s one word for it. But there’s more to you than I expected. Danger, madness, cursed beauty… such things fascinate, do they not?”
A shiver ran down her spine, but she squared her shoulders. “Fascination can be dangerous, sir. For you, if you linger here.”
The man’s smirk deepened as he hovered, clearly readying some insolent remark.
