“That I know well.” He accepted her hand. “I’ve been watching you for quite some time. Will your friend mind you dancing with me?”
Theo tossed her head, the wine making her bold. “No one can command me.”
The music began—a waltz—and he placed his hand on her waist. Though they had danced before, this was different; he guided her body to slot against his like two puzzle pieces, and even through her dress, she could feel the heat of his hand.
Her flush extended down her neck in a rush of warmth she could do nothing to hide.
“Are you all right, my muse?” he asked, clasping her hand in his. When she met his gaze, there was unexpected softness there. “We don’t have to do this.”
If Nathanial had been any other man, she would have asked to return to the side, knowing Sir Montague would find her. She would have chosen Sir Montague over every other gentleman in this placeexceptNathanial. And he had told her, when they married, they would not behave as husband and wife.
This might be her only chance.
“I love to dance,” she said, resting her hand along his arm. In response, he pulled her even closer.
“Then let us dance.”
He had never treated her with this reckless abandon, with such a want of propriety. For a moment, she wished they were not masked, and they were in the privacy of their home; that he knew it was her and was holding her close regardless.
She wanted him to look into her eyes and seeher.
For now, though, she would settle for this dance.
“I’ve never been to a masquerade before,” she said, hoping the confession wouldn’t give her away.
His eyes were magnetic. “And what do you think of them now?”
“I think they are something I could grow accustomed to,” she said as he guided her across the ballroom. Each step was sure, each movement precise. Dancing with him was like flowing; she followed where he led, losing herself in the intricacies of his touch. She had not known so much could be conveyed through subtle presses and pushes. She had not known that her body could match another’s so perfectly.
She was blind even to the way Sir Montague prowled around the edges of the ballroom, his black figure towering over everyone.
All there was, all there ever could be, was Nathanial.
The music stopped.
There was a hush, a pause, a space where the spell hadn’t broken and reality hadn’t yet intruded. Nathanial looked at her with that same spark in his eyes, and his hand still pressed against the small of her back—not that she knew precisely when it had moved to that position—bowing her body to his.
The other couples laughed, moved, changed positions, but Theo kept staring at Nathanial. He looked at her now, like . . . like he was hungry.
Answering heat moved in her, an ache low in her body that she had never experienced before. Nathanial could ease it for her, she knew. All she had to do was give in to him. Here, where her identity was safe, and he would never know he was consorting with his wife, she could be as wanton as she dared.
The thought made her shiver, and she blinked. The spell broke, and Nathanial straightened. He didn’t move the hand on her back.
“I’ve heard the garden is especially beautiful this time of year,” he said.
“March?” She swallowed a laugh, because she knew what he was asking, and she knew what her answer would be. “I would love to see it.”
“Then please, my love,” he said, the endearment dropping from his tongue with the sweetness of honey, “follow me.”
The world took on the blurred quality of a dream as she accepted Nathanial’s hand and allowed him to lead her outside. At first, the coldness in the air made her shudder, but the heat from under her skin—heat that seemed to emanate from her very core—burned away any lingering chill.
The gardens were just as grand as she had imagined. Flaming lights illuminated the vast lawn and the gravel path along which couples wandered. In the distance, a fountain glinted in the lights, and further away there was a maze. With the statues pressing against the hedges, and the small walls that separated the gardens and walkways, there were ample places a couple might find privacy.
“Are you cold?” he asked. “No matter; we shall warm you soon enough.”
This couldn’t be happening. Nerves jittered in her stomach. She must be out of her mind, allowing any man to compromise her like this, never mind her husband.
“Or,” he said, raising an eyebrow, “are you wishing to remain inside?”
