She’s flushed and so fucking beautiful as she looks up at me, strands of blonde hair escaping her ponytail and framing her face. Her gaze takes in my tank top and flits over my shoulders and arms, and when her eyes widen, I could punch the air.
Instead, I bite my lip as I check her out in return. Tight little top. Leggings like a second skin. And between them, a few inches of stomach so pale and smooth my mouth waters as I recall how that expanse of skin felt under my lips. My tongue.
I slide my hand around her waist and pull her into me more forcefully than I intended, my palm delighting in the light slick of sweat on her low back. She hesitates as she puts her hand on my now bare shoulder, her fingers closing over my skin. I hadn’t thought that through; maybe I should have worn a T-shirt, but she’s in a fucking crop-top, for chrissakes.
Jack has a loud metronome sounding out the beat over the music, but as we all start to move in a careful circle around the floor, the others start to count along to the beat.One, two, three, four.They recite the numbers quietly at first, then more loudly, and Elle and I join in.
As the dance gathers momentum, we’re not just circling the floor, but each couple is spinning as they circle. It’s heady and fun, and it feels like we could all lose control at any minute, as we shout out the count. When I look down at Elle, she’s laughing and holding onto my shoulder for dear life, and it’s such a miraculous sight I could weep. I fucking love havingher this close to me, being reminded of how tiny and fragile and hyper-feminine she feels in my arms.
The dance ends, and people break away to clap, and someone wolf whistles. I release Elle to applaud the dancers—they really are awesome—and smile down at her. I forget to be careful and I forget to protect my heart from her wrath. Instead, I give her a totally genuine grin. She smiles back a little, and there’s wariness, but not hostility there. I’ll take it.
We do the whole routine a couple more times.
‘Elle and Josh, if you guys know your lines for this scene and want to run through them, feel free,’ Jack says. ‘I’m sure you won’t be saying much during the wide shots, but it might help to play around with timing before we block this scene out on the stage.’
He’s right. It’s one hell of an ask, to layer dialogue over the effort just getting through the dance requires, but it could help to run the lines while we have all the other guys here to keep us in our rightful positions.
‘You game?’ I ask Elle.
She raises her eyebrows. ‘Why not?’
I get the feeling she’d say yes to any challenge I set, just to prove to me (and herself) I’m not affecting her. I just hope I can remember my lines and deliver them while not steering the pair of us into a wall.
‘Great.’ This scene between the two of them is fun. And heated.Bring it.
‘We’ll give it a shot,’ I tell Jack. We all take our starting positions.
Elle and I begin to move, and I look down at her. I can focus just fine on her face, keeping the position of the couples nearest us in my peripheral vision.
‘You may be interested to learn, Miss Kenworthy, that both your mother and Lord Rutland have declared themselves in favour of our marrying.’
Elle’s eyes flash, and adorable, pointy little chin juts higher. ‘So they have informed me, Your Grace.’
‘And you? What say you to a union between us?’
Her face and voice are utterly blank. ‘I understand how advantageous a union with you would be, Your Grace. I consider myself most fortunate to have the opportunity to serve my family in this way.’
I can’t hide my amusement. Georgiana’s a piece of work. ‘You would consider marriage to me to be a form of servitude?’
She drops her eyes. ‘I would. But you need not doubt my commitment to being a loyal and dutiful wife.’
‘Georgiana, look at me.’
The other couples swirl around us. I have eyes only for this woman in front of me. She looks up at me with all the defiance that Georgiana should have. Jesus, she’s the perfect person to play this role, to be my fiery little wife. ‘If we are to be married, I think it appropriate that I call you Georgiana. And you must call me Dominic in return.’
‘Yes, Your Grace.Dominic.’ I have a sudden flashback to heryes, sirline in Gracie. I’d be lying if I said I haven’t watched that movie a million times in the past five years. We’re both getting tired from the effort of dancing, and the sound of my fictional name on Elle’s lips, her voice breathless, spurs me on to roughen my voice for my next line.
‘Georgiana. My beloved betrothed. As soon as this dance ends, you will come with me to the parlour just beyond, where I shall kiss you, do you hear? I shall kiss you most ardently, dammit, and I shall demonstrate to you that marriage to me willnotbe an endless sentence of servitude, but will instead hold numerous and profound pleasures for the both of us. Pleasures you have no earthly concept of in this instant, but which you will come to want. To need. Tocravefrom me. Do you understand?’
I grip Elle’s waist as I whirl her around with one final, perfectly timed flourish, and have the total satisfaction of seeing her staring up at me, speechless, the size of her pupils giving me all the response I need.
CHAPTER 22
Elle
Olive has adopted her favourite Dead Dog pose and is out cold on her back, paws in the air, catching flies. She’s asleep on a pile of jumpers and therefore not helping my packing much, but she’s so bloody cute I’ll forgive her anything. I’m going to miss her so much.
Shooting starts tomorrow at Elstree Studios up in Hertfordshire. While it’s perfectly commutable from London, I don’t fancy an hour’s car journey each way at the end of long shoot days, so I’m staying up there Monday to Friday for the next few weeks. They’re putting us up at The Grove, which is a lovely country house hotel in nearby Watford. I’ll be home at the weekends to hang out with my baby girl and her foster mother, who can’t wait to get her to herself.
