“A few hours,” she breathed.
“Hours.”
“It’s going to kill us.”
“Or save us.”
“Is there even a difference anymore?”
“I cannot tell,” he said, his forehead brushing hers for the briefest, most improper second. “I only know that when this dance ends, I must release you—and the thought feels… intolerable.”
And the musicdidend eventually.
The final notes drifted through the air like a held breath finally exhaled. The Duke slowed their steps, guiding her into the final turn, his hand at her waist steady, possessive, reluctant.
He let her go—slowly, as though each finger had to be convinced.
Applause rose politely around them; a perfectly ordinary end to a perfectly executed waltz.
But as he bowed over her hand, his eyes held hers with a heat that belied every rule of propriety.
“Celine,” he murmured, too soft for anyone else to hear, “if we must endure these final hours… stay near me.”
She curtsied, her pulse unsteady. “I was not planning to stray.”
He offered his arm. She laid her hand upon it.
To the watching world, they were the flawless Duke and his elegant Duchess, completing a dance and moving calmly back into the crowd.
Only they knew the truth:
The dance had ended.
Their restraint had not.
And the hours ahead would be harder than any waltz ever could be.
Chapter Fifteen
Two more dances later, Celine felt her pulse pounding at her throat—and then
Elias leaned in, voice low and utterly frayed.
“Terrace,” he said as the music died. “Now.”
He guided her through the crowd with a hand at her back, ignoring greetings and inquiries and the rustle of curious whispers that followed their path. Celine heard their names, but nothing registered except the heat of his palm and the certainty that if he didn’t get her out of the ballroom, something—or everything—would break.
Outside, the December air hit like a blade, crisp and sharp. She barely felt it.
Elias drew her into a shadowed recess beside the balustrade, out of sight of the windows and the small clusters of guests braving the cold.
“This is a mistake,” she whispered as he bracketed her between his arms.
“Everything about us is a mistake,” he said, breath unsteady. “That does not mean it is wrong.”
He caged her in, not touching her—but close enough that she felt claimed.
“Do you know what you did to me in there?” he demanded softly. “Dancing as you danced, looking at me as you did—saying my name as though it meant something to you?”
