“Then execute them. I shall give you direction so that we do not collide with another couple and I will ensure my feet remain clear of yours. Good dancers can manage with their eyes closed.”
She threaded her fingers through his as an announcement was made by the Master of Ceremonies of the next dance’s commencement. She stepped away from him, heaving him after her. Keaton found himself following her onto the opendancefloor. He could almost hear the surprise of the gathered guests. The Blind Duke believing that he could dance? This would be a disaster. A humiliation!
Is this where she sabotages me? To prolong the arranged marriage and delay having to return to her prison at Silverton?
He knew he could still refuse, but it was far too late. To do so in front of everyone would be even more humiliating than making a botch of the dance.
“Trust me,” Georgia whispered as she came to a halt and raised her hand.
Keaton put his own to her hip, clasping her raised hand in the standard pose for ballroom dancing. He recalled it from his youth, had been fond of dancing with pretty girls far below his rank, though his father despised it.
“I am trying to,” he whispered back.
The music commenced, and Keaton took his first step. He let the memory of the steps dictate his movements, imagining the room was empty but for Georgia and himself. The fabric of her dress was soft, indecently so. It felt like an undergarment. It was sensual and suggestive. The lightest touch seemed to melt through it to the flesh beneath, reminding him that only a minute width of cloth protected Georgia from being exposed to all the leering men present.
He felt an almost overpowering urge to drape his coat about her shoulders and cover her from their gaze. At the same time, he felt pride that it washewhom she chose to dance with.
“Were they gathering like buzzards to be the first to ask for your hand?” he asked.
Georgia whispered a direction to him, and he pivoted, trusting that they were avoiding others rather than cutting a swathe as people tried to get out of their way.
“They were,” she replied quietly.
“I was in error to allow it.”
Another direction, and he smoothly spun. So far, they had not missed a step. Georgia was light and graceful, her body close enough to tantalize him. A pressure was building up within him, demanding release. It was a desire, frustrated by the people who surrounded them, demanding propriety by their very presence. Keaton wanted to wind back the centuries of time to a primitive era when he could have taken Georgia like a wild animal, with no thought of social convention.
“You were not. I was imagining that it was you,” Georgia smiled.
“But it was not,” Keaton said with heat, his desire leaking into his tone.
“They held my body, but it was thoughts of you that aroused me. What about when you smelled Mademoiselle de Marigne’s perfume?”
“It left me cold.”
“I do not believe it. She is very beautiful.”
“I could not tell.”
“You see better than that.”
“I see you.”
Another turn. Keaton drew her closer than the form of the dance demanded. But he could not stand the gap between them any longer. He felt her breasts push against his chest. His hand slipped around her hip. Georgia gasped. Keaton wondered if anyone else was whispering about the Westvales’ inappropriate behavior.
Dash it all! I cannot hold onto myself any longer. When will this interminable dance end?
His hand wandered briefly to her wrist, feeling her rapid pulse with his little finger. He sensed her breathing quicken, almost panting. It gladdened him to feel her arousal, to know that she was just as helpless before him as he was before her. The dance came to an abrupt end.
“Shall we leave then?” Georgia whispered, breathlessly.
CHAPTER 25
Georgia felt like dashing from the ball. There was an urgency deep inside her, aneedfor something to escape. She knew that her cheeks were flushed and hoped that the gathered guests would take it to be from the exertion of dancing. The war of words that she felt like she had gone through with Keaton had set a fire in her blood. His grace on the dancefloor despite his blindness had acted like a forge bellows on that fire.
She clutched his arm now, fingers tight, wanting to touch him through the fabric, to feel his skin. When he had pulled her closer than the form of their dance demanded, it had sent a delicious thrill through her. That thrill was still present, tingling in her fingers and toes, causing the hairs on the back of her neck to stand up.
It felt as though they were moving through treacle, as though the crowd around them was clinging to them, refusing to let them leave. Georgia smiled and nodded, made eye contact, and behaved entirely appropriately as they made their way to the door. Inside, she wanted Keaton to pull her along with his long-legged stride, break into a dash that would free them, leading them into the embrace of the night.
