The couples were taking their places for the first dance. His teeth clenched as the first strains of the waltz echoed throughout the hell. Bellemere’s hand dipped low to frame Eliza’s waist, the other grasping her free one.
He was already moving before the first note hit the air. His eyes clung to Eliza, following her, anticipating her next steps as the couple spun in and out of view. His feet took him down the stairs and to the edge of the dance floor, where the bright, floral scent of heaven teased its way into the acrid burning oil of the lamps in the hell.
Again and again, Bellemere spun his Eliza, the petals of her dress splaying out with every turn, a loose curl from her artful arrangement teasing her neck.
With each step, Bellemere brought Eliza closer to Benedict.
He could no more have stopped himself from stepping forward than he could have stopped the sun from rising in the morning. Bellemere stopped short, preventing an inevitable collision. Benedict’s voice was hoarse with an unnatural, covetous rasp as he asked, “Might I interrupt?”
Eliza stepped from Bellemere’s arms. The man met his gaze, recognition falling over the features Benedict could make out from beneath the powder blue mask. His attention flicked down to Eliza.
She was flushed beneath her floral mask, her lips parted in precisely the same way they had been in the orangery.
Whatever Bellemere read in Eliza’s expression, his lips pursed, and he offered her a bow. “Perhaps another time, then,” he said as he pulled away with evident reluctance.
Silently, Eliza turned to Benedict, her frame rod-straight and her eyes alight. Savoring the moment, Benedict set his hand on her waist. It belonged there, as though it had been longing for the sumptuous feel of her curves every moment they were kept from them. His other hand found her gloved one, and he stepped into her.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Eliza’s tonguebled for how sharply she bit it. Fury seeped from her very being as Benedict advanced into her orbit and pulled her too close.
She allowed him to guide her through the steps in silence, pointedly not considering how natural, howrightit felt to be held by Benedict Sinclair. The butterflies in her chest only contrasted this man’s arms from the ones she’d left seconds before.
Determined not to allow him the advantage of eye contact, she kept her gaze firmly fixed on his chest. Unfortunately, that drew her gaze to the singular violet pinned there. She couldn’t help but wonder when he’d procured it. He’d probably plucked it from one of her mother’s arrangements that lined the paths on the heavenly side of the gaming hell. That seemed the sort of thing a liar would do.
“Eliza,” Benedict whispered, the low, graveled note causing a flutter in her belly and a fire in her center.
“It is Miss Eliza, Lord Sinclair,” she corrected, hoping desperately that her voice sounded more unaffected to his ears than it did to hers.
He dipped his head, catching her gaze against her will. “Eliza,” he repeated.
She swallowed, turning her attention to the world that spun around her. The muted pinks, purples, and whites of the floral heaven swirled with the burning carmine and burnished oranges of the fiery hell. Around and around she twirled until they blended into a breathtaking eternal torment, or a devilish boundless rapture. The perfect summation of Benedict Sinclair. One moment utopia, the next damnation.
“Eliza,” he tried a third time.
“Lord Sinclair,” she repeated the formality, desperate for the distance it provided even as he tried to claw it away from her with familiarity. “What do you think you are doing?”
“Dancing with the most exquisite woman here.”
“Be serious.”
“I am entirely serious. From the moment we met, I found myself unable and unwilling to look away.”
She rolled her eyes, meeting his gaze once more. “Are you trying to ruin me again? Is that it? You’ll chase off a perfectly respectable suitor to do so?”
“Perfectly dull.”
“He is offering me a life! What have you given me? Heartache and humiliation.”
“I know you will not accept me, not after what I’ve done. But, Eliza, there is so much love, tenderness, and passion inside you. You cannot settle for aperfectly respectablelife. There could be no greater mistake. I know I am the cause of your humiliation and heartbreak. But please, you cannot let my foolish, hateful choices keep you from a life with someone who inspires that passion. I could not bear it if I snuffed that out permanently.”
“You don’t get to make demands of me. My choices are mine, not yours. You broke me. You get no say in how I piece myself back together.”
With that final furious sentiment, she whirled away from him, ripping free from his arms.
She made it only five steps before his footsteps echoed behind her. Her sister’s cutting voice interrupted him. Relief surged through her, limbs loosening. Desperate for a reprieve, for a moment to breathe, she stumbled toward the double doors that led to a stone balcony.
She slammed them behind her before collapsing, elbows first, against the cool, rough balustrade. Her breath hitched, choking her, clawing along her throat. Tears scorched her cheeks. She brushed them away angrily, but they pooled beneath her mask. Two angry tugs ripped it from her face.
