His smile broadened slightly as he smirked at her. “I was only teasing, of course, Lady Isabella. You will find me nothing butpleasant and proper, should you accept my invitation to dance. I am afraid that I do like teasing a little too much. My mama tells me that it shall be my undoing one of these days.” His cheeks dimpled slightly as he smiled and placed his hands behind his back.
Isabella allowed herself to relax again. Lord Woolridge was quite charming, if not entertaining. “Very well then, Lord Woolridge.”
Lord Woolridge nodded and reached out to sign his name on her card, but before he could, a hand reached out and stopped him.
“I beg your pardon?” He said incredulously, and Isabella’s heart skipped a beat as soon as she looked up.
Chapter Sixteen
“Will it not end?” Cassian seethed.
The orchestra struck its first bright, sweeping note, and he felt every muscle in his body coil at the sight before him. It hadn’t even been five minutes since the last gentleman walked up to her, yet another, young, ambitious, and too eager for his liking, walked up to her and reached out for her dance card after what seemed like a brief conversation.
Was that all that it took?
The fellow’s gloved hand hovered over her wrist with presumptuous confidence, and something sharp and bitter flared in Cassian’s chest.
Absolutely not.
He had tried to behave as a respectable gentleman should; he had tried to master the storm within him, to stand at a distanceand ignore the way Isabella seemed to pull at his thoughts with every quiet glance and every faint blush, but tonight, he snapped.
He marched forward, not caring who he shoved aside, his jaw clenched as if he were ready to go to war. The poor lord was just about to place his name upon Isabella’s card when Cassian’s shadow fell over them both as he reached out and placed his hand in front of the card.
“Your Grace?” Isabella almost gasped, looking from the young Lord to Cassian.
“Lady Isabella,” he said, his voice low, controlled, and entirely dangerous, “would you honor me with this dance?” He held her gaze, noting the surprise that arose in her eyes.
Isabella blinked as though he had just materialized out of thin air.
“Your Grace,” she began, her tone taut with disbelief, “this gentleman asked first.” She nodded toward the young man who stared at Cassian in disbelief.
Neither of them seemed to know how to handle the situation, but Cassian did not allow it to stop him.
Cassian turned his head slowly, almost lazily, toward the young man. The look he gave him was nothing short of murderous, and the spineless lord went pale, bowed so quickly he nearly toppledover, and stammered, “I—of course—Your Grace may take the first dance. It is of course, your ball, and it is customary for the host to have the first dance. I should be honored to request the second,” then he scuttled off like in terror.
Turning back to Isabella as if the man had ceased to exist, Cassian noted the scowl on Isabella’s face and offered her his hand.
Despite the indignation burning in her eyes, she placed her gloved hand into his.
“Very well,” she said tightly.
He led her to the center of the floor as the couples formed their lines. As the first movement began, Cassian lifted her hand and took his position.
The moment their fingers touched, something warm and electric pulsed through him, a sensation he despised for its lack of control yet needed with a hunger he refused to acknowledge.
“You were a brute,” Isabella whispered the instant the dance pulled them close, her tone a fierce hiss behind her polite smile. “A complete and utter brute.”
“And you are welcome,” he replied, leaning in just enough for her to feel the warmth of his breath along her cheek. “The man is an idiot. You would have been bored senseless by the second turn.”
“You overstep,” she snapped. “That is my decision to make, not yours.”
He flicked a glance at her soft, tempting lips, then forced himself not to look again. “I saved you from a dull dance. You may thank me later.”
“You seem to forget,” she whispered sharply, “that you declared our kiss a mistake. You said you pushed me away because it was a moment of weakness. So, you cannot act jealous, Your Grace.”
The accusation hit him squarely in the chest. He felt something dark coil through him, a possessive, reckless emotion he had been battling for weeks.
“And you,” he murmured, drawing her closer as the dance demanded they turn, “seem to forget that you are not helping matters.” His eyes lowered to where her neck met her shoulder, where her pulse fluttered in wild rhythm. “Especially with that blush of yours whenever I touch you.”
