“G—good evening, your Grace,” she replied, her voice tight. He bowed; she dipped a low curtsey, hardly daring to look up. Her palms were damp. Heat shimmered through her, as though his nearness alone could set her aflame.
“May I have the honour of a waltz with you?” he asked.
Evelyn gaped. She never danced. She had danced at her first Season, but so many absences due to Papa’s illness had ensured that she had little opportunity since then. That someone would ask her was strange, given the recent scandal. Thathewould ask her was beyond any wild expectation.
“Yes,” she stammered. “Yes, your Grace. You may.”
He smiled then—unexpectedly, brilliantly—and Evelyn nearly forgot to breathe. He was handsome without the smile; with it, he was devastating. The brief curve of his lips carved dimples into his cheeks and lit his eyes with a spark that dazzled her.
It vanished almost at once, replaced by the composed reserve expected of a duke—but some brightness lingered in his eyes, and it made her blush.
The music began as they stepped onto the floor. The moment his fingers closed around hers—warm through the thin satin of her glove—her breath trembled. His grip was steady, strong, assured in a way that spoke of hours spent riding or handling reins. Even that simple contact sent tingles coursing through her.
Then his other hand settled at her back, just at her shoulder blade.
She swallowed. The touch was shockingly intimate, warming her through the fabric. A cascade of heat rippled outward from the point where his hand rested.
The waltz began in earnest.
Evelyn forced herself to concentrate. It had been years since she had danced, yet his steps—precise, measured—guided her effortlessly. What she had feared she would muddle came back to her feet as though it had never left. She moved with him down the ballroom’s length, the music lifting her, his touch steadying her.
Her skirt brushed lightly against his legs. His hand held hers with quiet assurance. They turned the corner, and her body swept briefly, startlingly close to his—her breast grazing the firm plane of his chest, her knee brushing his thigh. Such nearness was why the waltz was considered scandalous, yet she had never felt its impropriety so acutely before. The contact sent a hot, fluttering shiver through her.
She dared a quick glance up.
His blue eyes were already on her.
The look in them unsettled her—curious, intent, something else she could not name. She dropped her gaze again, a tremor tightening low in her belly.
A couple ahead veered slightly, and the Duke guided her deftly aside. Even that shift brought them nearer, his leg brushing hers again, making her breath catch.
The cadence shifted; the waltz was drawing to its close. They finished the last few graceful steps. He bowed; she curtseyed; polite applause rippled around the room.
Evelyn straightened and looked up at him, unsure what she would find in his expression.
He was still watching her.
“Thank you, Miss…” he began.
Evelyn swallowed hard.
“C-Caldwell,” she murmured. “Miss Evelyn Caldwell.”
“Miss Caldwell.” He bowed once more. As he straightened, his gaze held hers—steady, lingering—sending warmth flaring through her all over again.
He turned away, striding toward the tall doors that opened onto the garden.
Evelyn stared after him, bereft of thought for several moments. She could scarcely comprehend what had transpired. The dance—the beautiful, flowing rhythm of it, the way it felt so natural, so exciting—made no sense. She had never responded like that, not to anyone. He did not know her, and yet he had sought her out. The thought made heat flood her cheeks, heart pounding.
He is a duke,she reminded herself sternly as she walked back toward the refreshment table.He will not look twice at a baron’s daughter without a penny to her name.
All the same, she flushed as she recalled his gaze on her and frowned as she tried to understand what it meant. It made no sense at all. She cast her gaze around the room, looking for Lucy. Perhaps her friend could offer some interpretation that made sense. She did not spot her, and she moved slowly away from the table, aware that people’s gazes were upon her.
Evelyn flushed red and pushed her way out onto the terrace.
The cool air embraced her. Only a few guests stood about in quiet conversation. Evelyn went to the railing, leaning her hands on the cool stone as she stared into the shadowed garden. Shame coiled in her stomach. Had she truly risked fanning the flames of scandal by dancing publicly with the very man whose name was now entangled with hers? And yet… she could not regret it. The memory of his closeness, the warmth of his hand at her back, the deep blue intensity of his eyes—she could not wish it undone.
A light touch on her shoulder made her start and turn.
