I want to laugh at the look of disgust on her face but keep my expression neutral. “Can you now see what lengths he’s gone to please you? You cannot expect him to know our most complicated group dances.”
“No, I suppose I should feel honored. But please tell me he isn’t an awful dancer.”
“He isn’t, trust me. Just be patient with him tonight. He will dance, but he may spend a greater amount of time watchingyoudance.”
Her eyes widen with delight, and she opens her silk fan to flutter over the bottom half of her face.
The music picks up with a sudden tempo change, a tune I recognize from the musicians’ earlier practice. A tune that denotes my employer’s entrance at the ball.
My pulse increases, and it seems everyone in the room turns to face the doorway with me. There Elliot strolls in with slow, confident steps, just the slightest hitch in his cadence. There’s a collective silence at his entrance, all eyes upon his striking appearance. Dressed in an impeccable black suit with a silver brocade waistcoat and ruby cravat, he stands out as a specimen cut far above the rest. I’ve grown so used to his company, especially when he’s either at ease or sulking, that it’s easy to forget just how fae he truly is—a wild, beautiful creature in both looks and poise. For the first time, I can almost see his seelie and unseelie forms as if they were one, the man and wolf united, indistinguishable. He has the same prowling grace as a wolf, the same dangerous stare, the same powerful build.
For a moment a strange sense of thrilling terror washes over me. This is the creature I’ve allowed myself to bully and argue with? Forced to dance and entertain humans? If he wasn’t cursed and had his magic intact, how long would it take him to kill everyone in this room?
A chill crawls up my spine, but it doesn’t make me want to run. It makes me want to move closer to him, as if he’s a hearth fire on a chilly day, capable of burning those who get too close…and yet doesn’t.
He pauses, and the guests offer bows and curtsies. A flicker of hesitation crosses his face until his eyes find mine. His gaze slides over my dress, and his lips pull into the warmest smile I’ve ever seen him wear, which doesn’t help me rid myself of the image of him being a fire…nor the heat that floods every part of my body. Imogen must feel the same, for she fans herself faster as he advances toward us.
“Mr. Rochester,” she croons, stepping to the front of our retinue to greet him, “this ball is simply marvelous. You’ve truly outdone yourself in giving the people of Vernon the honor of dancing in your home.”
He offers her an easy smile, but his eyes flick to me. “You can thank my steward, for she’s done all the work.”
Imogen purses her lips and I give Elliot a warning look.
He returns his gaze to Imogen and takes her hand in his. “I have you to thank for procuring the guest list. This night wouldn’t have happened without you.” Then, lifting her hand, he brings the back of it to his lips.
My stomach ties itself in a knot, and for a moment I feel paralyzed. Then Elliot releases Imogen’s hand and greets the rest of her party, including my father. They exchange tense formalities, and I’m impressed how well he’s playing his role as host, his expression betraying not a hint of the disdain I’m sure he still feels toward my father. Finally, his eyes land on my sister, and his tone takes on an apologetic note. “I’m sorry, but we have not been formally introduced.”
“Oh, right!” I say, stepping forward, remembering how he’d almost growled at her the day she came with Father. “Mr. Rochester, please meet my sister, Nina Bellefleur.”
They exchange greetings, then Elliot straightens his posture. There’s a bit of mockery in it, but I doubt anyone but I can recognize it. “I am pleased to see you all again, but as host, I must greet the rest of the guests so our dance can begin. Miss Bellefleur, come make the proper introductions. Miss Coleman, I shall see you lead the first dance.” With a bow, he turns and starts off, and I’m forced to follow.
“You should have asked Imogen to make introductions,” I whisper furiously once we’re out of earshot. “She’s your hostess tonight. Also, you should have said you’relooking forward to seeing herlead the first dance, not simply state you’ll be watching.”
He turns to me with a sardonic look. “First of all, you’re my steward. You have a job to do, and I’m going to make you do it. If you’re going to torture me by forcing me to dance at a ball, then I’ll torture you right back and have you make my introductions to the people you despise probably more than I do. Second of all, if I were capable of lying, I would have said how greatly I looked forward to seeing that girl dance, but alas, I cannot, so there you have it.”
A corner of my lips tilts into a grin. There’s the unrefined wolf man I know. “I suppose that’s fair enough. Now, come, let the torture commence for us both.”
I lead Elliot around the room, making the proper introductions until all required greetings have been made. Then finally, the first song begins. I guide Elliot to stand where he’ll be in Imogen’s sight for most of the dance, then leave him alone while I survey the room, ensuring everything is running as smoothly as I intend. As predicted, every moment Imogen can spare, her eyes depart from her dance partner to lock on Elliot with a coy smile. Elliot, in turn, does his part to look pleased. As I study his face from the other side of the room, I begin to wonder if maybe heistruly pleased watching Imogen’s elegant yet controlled moves as she circles her partner on the floor.
My thoughts are interrupted by a figure parting the crowd to approach me. Gavin Aston. Dread and irritation send my feet into a flurry as I shuffle between a group of guests, then weave my way to the other side of the dance floor. Casting a glance around, I see no sign that Gavin has followed. Thank the saints. I’ll do whatever it takes to avoid saying a word to that man tonight.
As the song comes to an end, I rush to Elliot’s side and mutter, “The next song is the waltz. It’s time to ask Imogen to dance.” Seeing Imogen’s eager face as she leaves her former dance partner to approach Elliot, I move to step away. My breath catches as I find Elliot’s fingers suddenly circling my wrist.
“Stay,” he says through his teeth, face going a shade paler.
“Mr. Rochester,” I hiss, trying to tug my arm away. Luckily, our hands are hidden behind my billowing skirts, but we’re standing too close.
His expression softens. “Please, Gemma,” he whispers.
“Fine,” I say, and he releases me just as Imogen parts through the crowd.
“How did you enjoy watching the first dance?” she asks, angling her back toward me as if to push me out of the way.
I give in, taking a few steps back until Elliot burns me with a beseeching glare. Then, composing his expression, he answers Imogen’s question, his words slow and calculated. “It was a lovely song and…and you looked like you greatly enjoyed dancing.”
She cocks her head, clearly having expected a more gracious compliment. Then she somehow manages to pucker her lips and smile at the same time, her lashes fluttering like butterfly wings. “Will you be dancing the next?”
Elliot’s throat bobs once. Twice. Then a quiet, “Yes.”
