“Rothwell and I grew up together,” he began. “But while I considered his family like a surrogate one to mine, his parents colluded with my aunt and uncle to usurp the ducal lands from under me and my father.
“Rothwell was his father’s shadow, so I have no illusions he did not know what strings his parents were pulling behind his back—” he took a hefty swallow, “—or right before his face.”
“Isee.” Ellie tucked a stray lock around her ear. “But I shall not be attending this ball without you.”
“Really?” Dorian canted his head, his loose hair flopping over an eye. “How do you figure that one?”
“Because I very much recall my part in rebuilding your reputation, or in this case,buildingit,” Ellie replied. “And if you stay away, it might make you look weak. No. Not might—itwillmake you look weak.”
Sagging back into his chair, he juggled the pros and cons, and when the truth of Ellie’s words hit him square in the chest, he gave in. “Fine, fine. I’ll attend.”
“So, is Rothwell our sixth ball?” she asked.
“No,” Dorian shook his head. “It is another exception. You may choose the next one at your leisure.”
“Oh, how giving you are,” she smiled. “My very generous husband.”
“And never forget it.” Dorian finished his glass and stood. “Now, shall I get the violinist in here for our lesson?”
Strains of a distant, beautiful melody played softly in her mind, rising in volume and vigor, and Ellie mentally counted off the beats,one, two, three… one, two, three…
Taking his hands, Ellie resisted when he drew her body close enough to his that her breasts were pushed firmly against his chest.
“Dorian,” she pulled away. “You know this is not proper.”
He gave a liberal eye-roll and then stepped away to allow them the proper space between them.
“The waltz is—”
“Clockwise around the room, I know,” he intoned. “And I start with stepping my right foot. And on the contrary, the closer you are to me, the less likely I will step on your feet when we first begin.”
Before she had time to respond, he stepped towards her and swept her into the stream, swirling clockwise about the empty ballroom. He was still rigid as a board while dancing, and Ellie needed him to stop dancing stiff-legged.
The waltz was a difficult enough dance with women who turned into pudding in a man’s arms, but Dorian’s rigid frame allowed him to maneuver her easily about the floor.
He spun her again but stumbled on his feet. Instinctively, he looked down.
“Keep your eyes on me and not your feet,” she instructed, wanting him to relax and relinquish control. “Trust me. Take the steel out of your spine and dance with the confidence I know you have. You know the steps, trust yourself.”
He rolled his neck, and she heard the soft pops of his bones. When he stepped forward again, something shifted—his limbs uncoiled, his frame loosened, and to both their astonishment, he moved with an effortless grace. Ellie’s lips curved into a secret smile, one she didn’t bother to hide.
They took another turn, this time with her eyes lodged entirely on his, while they danced the waltz gracefully. The music ended all too soon, and when he did not drop his arms, it was clear that he did not want to release her.
She slid her hand from his shoulder and placed her fingers on his arm, feeling the quiver of iron-hard muscles. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were trained from birth to dance.”
“My tutors always did say I was a quick study,” Dorian’s voice came husky in her ear.
With a quiver in her blood, she dared to glance at him—and in the next second, nearly regretted her decision. The heat in his eyes almost undid her. He drew her in, half-carried, half-hauled her to his chair, yanked her onto his lap, and crushed his mouth to hers.
Now intimately acquainted with his lips, she looped her arms around his nape, opening herself to his kiss. Tohim. She felt raw and honest passion in his seduction, the taste of his plundering hunger. No one had ever kissed her, let alone kissed her like this, with such raw vehemence.
Dorian traced the seam of her lips with his tongue—the smoky-spicy taste of whisky on him dizzied her senses. Her fingers threaded into the rich, unruly silk of his hair, tugging him closer until their bodies aligned in perfect, breathless collision.
A wicked chuckle curled from his throat, warming her mouth. “And who is seducing whom here?”
When her only response came in the form of a soft moan, he murmured, “I want you gasping, writhing, begging me not to stop.”
And if his words hadn’t convinced her, then his actions surely did. He pulled her back against his front, his lips finding her ear.
