He spun me with a gentle pressure from his palm. When I returned to the prince, he caught my hands and lifted them high, drawing me onto the balls of my feet as we turned. We never broke our eye contact, not until my palms rested flat against his chest. His heart beat against my fingers, quick and hard…or perhaps it was my own pulse I was feeling.
As the song reached its conclusion, he leaned me back so that I was weightless. For one breathless moment, I was suspended there, held by nothing but his strength.
A steady round of applause filled the room. Nicolas pressed against me, his face hovering just out of reach as our chests rose and fell in synchronized rhythm. He pulled me back with darkened eyes, fighting against something monstrous inside of him, and then tore away as I found my balance. He lost himself in the crowd, leaving me completely powerless at its center.
I stood frozen, barely hearing the new song begin. The other dancers began to settle around me, and I realized with growing panic that I was stranded, no clear path to escape. I tried to move to where I thought a gap might be, but I was ignored. Other couples cascaded around me like an obstacle, the colors of their finery creating a disorienting mirage.
The music livened, and the dancers moved faster. I couldn’t breathe, caged between so many forms…
Then a hand seized me by the arm, and Viscount Quinn pulled me against him.
“Once again, it falls to me to protect you.” He laughed, dancing with me so we moved with ease through the groups of entangled couples. Another pair took the center while we headed for the outskirts. “Perhaps I should consider being knighted.”
I raised a brow, then began searching for the prince. There was no sign of him, not even a glimpse of blond in the room.
Quinn knew who I was looking for. “Don’t trouble yourself, my lady. It’s likely he went to douse himself with cold water.”
Around the ballroom, women were dressed in all manner of lascivious clothing. Some of them left precious little to the imagination. My eyes fell on one of these women as she conversed with Lady Angharad’s husband, her fingers tempting him with a single brush along his arm before dragging him away to some lawless destination.
Quinn took gentle hold of my jaw and turned me back to face him. He’d find only understanding in my eyes: I knew that the prince had taken at least one mistress back at Castle Altaigne, that he was a willing patron of the oldest sort of business. Still, a frown tugged Quinn’s lips. His thumb brushed my cheek as he released my face, the touch so brief I might have imagined it, just as I imagined the devastating embers beneath his gaze.
“You’re a quick study, Lady Alana,” he said, distracting me. “You mastered dancing as swiftly as you learned the customs of Gallaean court. It took me a great deal longer to adjust.”
At last, we were near the edge of the dance floor. Quinn removed his hands from me and swiveled his head.
“I shall locate Lady Winnie for you—”
I cut him off before he could excuse himself, taking hold of his sleeve. I met his eyes again. Only in this lighting could I tell that they were brown; a rich, dark brown like aged whiskey, framed by thick lashes any woman would envy.
For once, he couldn’t read my mind. He tilted his head. “Do you want me to stay?”
I nodded, squeezing the fabric a little tighter. His presence was strangely comforting.
The viscount softened, then returned his hands to me. There was hesitation to it, but he ultimately surrendered to my will with grace.
The song slowed. Quinn placed a hand on my waist while offering the other palm-up, waiting. I accepted, and he drew me into a more traditional frame, always maintaining a space between us.
Our steps were simpler than what I’d shared with Nicolas. Quinn occasionally guided me into a modest turn, his handreleasing mine just long enough for me to spin before catching my fingers again. It was a comfortably predictable dance, steady and rhythmic.
“Would you like a story?” he asked.
I smiled, nodding again. Anything to take my thoughts away from where they were headed.
“When I first met Nic, I was only seven,” Quinn said, leading me into a promenade that brought us side by side for a moment before returning to our facing position. “He might have been the most pompous, arrogant brat in all the continent, and I didn’t care that he was a prince. I wanted to teach him a lesson in humility.”
Two steps forward, one back; a quarter turn that let me glimpse the other dancers before returning my attention to him.
“I challenged him near the stables, out in the field where they trained yearlings. If there’s anything you should know about the prince, it’s that he seldom refuses a chance to prove himself. We fought it out, rolling about in mud and horse shit, soiling our clothes to the absolute horror of our servants. Believe it or not, the boy bested me, and I was two years his elder! We were fast friends after that.”
I made a quizzical look. How could it be that such a heated encounter had forged the sort of friendship they shared?
“At first, I saw him only during visits. As he learned to read and write, we exchanged letters. I might still have a few; you should see how terrible his handwriting was.” He smiled distantly and I followed suit, amused by the idea of a tiny Prince Nicolas struggling with a quill. “It wasn’t until much later that I came to court. You see, something terrible happened, and the prince needed a friend. I found myself shipped out with little warning, and quite resentful of it, too. At sixteen, I was rather fond of Miss Sofia, with every intention of asking for her hand. We Hadrians are romantic by nature, highly in-touch with our emotions, and in Gallae, people are stoic.”
As the musicians finished their song, Quinn slowed our movements to a sway, his hands lingering perhaps a moment longer than necessary before he stepped back with a respectful bow. “Let’s catch our breath. Care for a drink?”
Gods, yes.
I held him by the arm, accompanying him up the stairs. He stopped at the buffet, serving me a glass of some chilled concoction. I recognized the scent of oranges, but there was something red floating along the orange blossoms that was entirely unfamiliar. With a sip, I compared the flavor to a sour cherry, though it was a bit tangier.
