“Your Grace—” Isabella’s breath caught in her throat.
“No other man here,” he said with quiet, devastating certainty, “knows how to make you blush like that.”
She swallowed, her gaze flickering traitorously to his mouth. “You cannot say things like that,” she whispered. “Especially not when others are likely to hear us.” She glanced around quickly, checking to see if anyone had reacted.
The couples continued in ignorant bliss as the music guided their steps.
“How am I to stop?” he countered, voice thickening, “when you look like this? When you turn to silk in my hands? When you blush like this only for me?”
Her breath trembled. “Do not play with me, Your Grace,” she said, though her voice barely held steady.
He opened his mouth to answer, to tell her that he was not playing games with her, that she haunted him more than he dared admit, but the final chord of the music cut through the air like a blade, and the dance ended.
Cassian held her hand a second longer than propriety allowed, then guided her off the floor, leaning close enough for her to feel the warmth of him, close enough for her knees to weaken.
“Meet me at the terrace,” he whispered. “In half an hour.”
Before she could speak, before she could scold him or succumb to her own rapidly unraveling restraint, he turned and vanished into the throng of guests.
Isabella stood frozen, her heart pounding erratically beneath the confines of her gown. She inhaled sharply, trying to steady herself as the dancers shifted around her. It took severalmoments before she found her way through the crowd to the faces she trusted most.
“Bella!”
Beatrice’s voice carried above the swell of chatter as she waved her over. Leo stood beside her, both wearing knowing smiles that made Isabella want to flee.
Beatrice linked her arm with Isabella’s the moment she reached them.
“Well,” her twin began in a tone of unmistakable mischief, “that was quite the sight.”
Leo chuckled. “The Duke of Everthorne nearly knocked over a viscount to claim the first dance.”
“He did no such thing.” Isabella flushed violently.
“Deny it all you want,” Beatrice insisted. “We saw it happen. That poor man looked ready to faint.”
“It meant nothing. He only asked because I have been helping Lady Kendrick. That is all.” Isabella glared at both of them, and Beatrice arched a brow.
“Is that what you tell yourself?”
“Bea,” Isabella warned.
“Bella,” her twin countered sweetly, “he stared at you as though the rest of the room ceased to exist.”
Leo nodded. “Even I saw it. The man looked ready to commit murder.”
Isabella’s cheeks heated further.
“You are both being absurd. He is a grump who does not know how to behave in polite society.”
“Yet you are very red for someone so unaffected,” Beatrice smirked.
Isabella spluttered, unable to conjure a coherent retort.
“The ballroom is warm,” she attempted, but Leo shook his head.
“The ballroom is freezing.”
She glared at him, too.
