She couldn’t really remember exactly who he was at the moment, but the point remained.
“Do you?” he asked.
“I might have if I’d gotten the chance to dance with him,” said Rinka. “Wasn’t that part of the point of our whole exercise? To give me the chance to meet someone?”
She regretted it as soon as she’d said it. Not just because they could have been overheard, but also because she had been happy to forget about that detail. In truth, she hadn’t found any of the gentlemen she’d met so far appealing, but she also had found herself unable to give them much of a fair chance.
He looked for a moment as if she’d slapped him. “Yes, I suppose that is true,” he said when he’d recovered.
“Idris—”
“No, no, you’re quite right. Have your tango with Mr. Herrington, then. See how much I care.”
It stung to hear him speak that way. “I didn’t mean it,” said Rinka. “It was just a jest gone too far.”
“Rinka, I’m not bothered. You are free to dance with whomever you wish.”
He could say it all he liked, but his voice betrayed him.
He was jealous.
“Very well, I will,” said Rinka. He was the one who had suggested the entire arrangement. She didn’t see how he had the right to then complain about it once he realized that it might go exactly as he’d said it would.
The orchestra began to play then, and those who had found a partner made their way to the center of the room while others moved to the sides to give way for the dance.
“Shall we?” said Idris tersely.
“Let’s,” responded Rinka through gritted teeth.
They walked quickly together and took their place in a great circle of couples who were facing each other. On cue, they bowed and curtsied to their partners. Idris’s bow was stiff and formal. Rinka curtsied mockingly low and deep.
If he was going to behave like a petulant child, she would do the same.
It was time then for him to take her in his arms. He took her hand and placed the other on her back and then pulled him to her, tight.
“A little close, don’t you think, your highness?” she muttered as she rested her free arm on his shoulder, leaning back so that her throat was exposed to him.
“I don’t care,” he said. “Let them look.”
There was no humor in him as they began to turn about the room. She could feel his barely restrained rage just beneath the surface as they moved, the tension in his arms, the stiffness of his legs.
It was ridiculous. She’d done absolutely nothing wrong. She was here at the ball to make friends, to identify the courtiers who might be sympathetic to their cause. He’d even said he was looking forward to seeing her do so. And when most of the night was spent dancing, how else was she meant to achieve that?
He released her then to perform the first underarm turn, and once she was back in his arms, he spoke to her in a voice so low it was almost a growl.
“I don’t want to share you,” he said.
On his breath, she thought she caught a whiff of smoke.
Rinka lost her step. She should be angry—she was angry. He had no right to say such a thing. No right at all.
And yet…she could not deny the fire it lit within her.
To feel wanted. To feel his desire for her laid bare.
No, she could not deny how it made her feel, but she would not give him the satisfaction of knowing how it had affected her. Not yet.
“I believe it’s customary for an unattached lady to dance with many suitors,” said Rinka. “There would hardly be a point to the dance card if that wasn’t the case.”
