Dominic turned to face her fully, his expression suddenly intense. "Is that what you thought?"
"What else was I to think?"
He took a step closer, close enough that she could see the fine lines around his eyes, smell the faint scent of sandalwood that always clung to him.
"I said it was polite because I couldn't bring myself to say the truth."
June's heart stumbled in its rhythm. "And what is the truth?"
"That I've watched you all evening, dancing with men who don't deserve to touch your hand." His voice dropped lower, almost a confession. "That seeing you in that red dress has made it impossible for me to think clearly. That I've wanted to dance with you since the moment I saw you step onto the terrace, but I was afraid of what might happen if I did."
June stared at him, her carefully constructed defenses crumbling at the raw honesty in his voice. This was not the practiced charm of a rake. This was something else entirely—something real and fragile and frightening.
"My dance card has a space now," she said softly. "If you're still feeling up to it."
Dominic's eyes searched hers, as if looking for some hidden trap. Then, with a formality that made her heart ache, he bowed and extended his hand.
"Lady June Vestiere, would you do me the honor of dancing with me?"
She placed her hand in his, a simple touch that sent warmth cascading through her. "The honor is mine, Your Grace."
He drew her into the space before the open balcony doors. There was no music save the distant calls of night birds and the whisper of leaves stirred by the summer breeze. Yet as his hand settled at her waist, as her fingers rested on his shoulder, June felt as though an entire orchestra had begun to play within her chest.
They moved together in the steps of a waltz, their bodies finding a natural rhythm that required no external guidance. The proper distance between them gradually diminished with each turn, each step bringing them closer until June could feel the warmth of him through the silk of her dress.
"Why did you leave the party?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Dominic's eyes remained fixed on hers, though something shifted in their depths—a vulnerability he seemed reluctant to reveal.
"I found I could no longer bear to watch you dance with others," he admitted. "My own fault, of course. I should have requested a dance earlier, before your card was filled."
"You could have claimed a dance regardless," June pointed out. "You're a duke. No one would have refused you."
"And force you to dance with me against your wishes?" He shook his head. "I may be many things, Lady June, but I am not that sort of man."
They turned again, their steps perfectly aligned, as if they had danced together a hundred times before.
"What sort of man are you, then?" June asked. "Not the rake of rumor, I think. At least, not entirely."
Something like pain crossed his features. "Perhaps I am worse than the rumors suggest. Perhaps that is why I should not be here, with you, like this."
Yet his arm tightened around her waist, drawing her closer as they continued to move in perfect synchrony.
"You speak in riddles tonight," June said. "What haunts you, Dominic?"
The use of his given name hung between them, intimate and significant. Dominic's steps faltered for a moment, then resumed with renewed purpose.
"Many things," he replied, his voice so low she had to strain to hear it. "But chief among them is the knowledge that I am not free to pursue what I want most in this world."
June's heart raced at his words, at the intensity in his gaze. "And what is it you want?"
He stopped their dance, though his arms remained around her. One hand rose to touch her cheek with exquisite gentleness, as if she were made of something infinitely precious and fragile.
"You," he said simply. "But I cannot have you. I should not even be here with you now."
June's breath caught in her throat. "Why not?"
Dominic's thumb traced the curve of her cheek, his touch leaving a trail of fire in its wake. "Because I will ruin you."
