Page 41 of When Bones Whisper
Chapter Eleven
As Charlotte descended the grand staircase into the ballroom, her eyes flicked to Nathaniel, who was standing in the center under an iron chandelier. His dark gaze followed her down each mahogany step, the smoke in his irises flickering under the candlelight.
With a deep breath, she lifted the heavy skirts of her midnight black dress, the lace rough against her fingertips. Lace trim adorned the sleeves, patterns reminiscent of spiderwebs and the velvet layers of her skirt bounced with each step.
Her heart was still pounding from the encounter with what she only hoped was a spirit and not something far more sinister. But the dead were the least of her problems. If she didn’t find a way out of the ritual soon, she would join them.
With parted lips, he grumbled, “You came.”
“You wrote,” she said and walked to him, her gaze turning to the weeping, veiled stone statue behind him, surrounded by pillars and tall arched windows covered in black tracery and metal roses. Filagree molding sprawled over the baroque, velvet crimson wallpaper, which led up to an ivory, vaulted ceiling that reminded her of a ribcage.
When her eyes landed back on him, he extended his hand.
“May I have this dance?”
Hesitantly, she took his hand, her heart racing when his strong fingers enclosed around hers.
“Why do you want to dance now?” she asked breathily.
“Because you will be with me on my arm all night on the eve of the ball.”
“So thisispractice.”
“Yes,” he said in a low, grave tone, eyes fixed on her. “Come closer.”
He placed his other hand on her waist, tugging her closer. His gaze dropped to the curve of her lips, which she had painted in a deep, velvet crimson. “The dress suits you.”
The compliment only made her more nervous.
Music quickly filled the air. Charlotte whipped her head around to see a man in a dark suit over the instrument, his fingers dancing over the keys. Goosebumps bloomed over her arms and back as she closed her eyes, dragging her fingers over the back of his neck as he pulled her deeper into him.
I don’t know what version of you is real,” she confessed. “The predator or the gentleman.”
“I can be both. Everyone has a devil in them, Miss Lovett. If they try to convince you otherwise, run,” he teased, but it only sent goosebumps traveling all over her.
An uneasy, faint smile played on his lips, the corners creasing as if the gesture was foreign to him. She was certain the smile was meant to reassure her, but it did the very opposite. Was he trifling with her? Allowing her to feel a sliver of hope before leading her into slaughter?
He looked human, and handsome with his tousled black hair and that curl against his forehead that her fingers itched to smooth back. She wondered if it was as soft as it looked.
“You are flustered,” he said when she didn’t respond.
She steadied herself, allowing her body to move with his, a blush staining her cheeks. “I am acclimating myself.”
With a deep inhale, her chest rose and fell. She could’ve sworn his eyes tracked the movement, but it was too quick to be sure. She’d had a lifetime of pandering to everyone else’s wants. It should not trouble her to do it now, especially when her life depended on it. But dancing again, so soon after Alice, felt like a betrayal. “I’m also thinking about my sister.”
“What about her?”
“It will sound ridiculous,” she stated, her voice rising higher than she expected.
“Nothing is ridiculous.”
He at least sounded as if he meant that.
They moved without structure. Not steps, just slow turns of two people unexpectedly holding each other while the pianonotes surged. Despite being in the arms of a monster, she found his closeness oddly comforting.
“I haven’t danced since she died,” Charlotte whispered against his shoulder. “It was something we always did together. Unconventional, I know. We told our father it was a practice for upcoming balls, but in truth, we just enjoyed twirling around aimlessly. Doing that with someone else, it just feels like…” She paused, unsure of the right word to capture what she meant.
Nathaniel pulled her back to look at him, his brows deepening into the bridge of his nose. “Sacrilege.”
