“Hmm, interesting,” she said.
Damien ignored the irrational surge of annoyance that accompanied even that small indication of approval.
"They are all respectable gentlemen," he said, guiding her through another figure of the dance.
“They are also all boring gentlemen,” she countered without hesitation.
“They are stable,” he said. “They are wealthy.”
Seraphine laughed, and the sound struck him with alarming force. “Aren't husbands meant to be interesting, not boring?” she asked as she looked up at him.
“No,” Damien replied firmly.
Her brows lifted. “Why?”
“Because interesting men create problems,” he said.
Amusement sparkled in her eyes as she tilted her head. “Like you?”
“Precisely,” he said dryly, earning another laugh from her.
Unfortunately, the dance ended before he could continue arguing his entirely reasonable position. The music faded, couples began separating, and to Damien's immense frustration, Lord Everend appeared almost immediately at Seraphine's side.
The man bowed with irritating confidence, his smile polished and pleasant in a way that immediately set Damien's teeth on edge.
“Lady Seraphine, may I claim the next dance?” Lord Everend asked, extending his hand toward her.
Damien considered several responses. Most involved violence. One involved throwing the man through a nearby window.Another involved informing him that the ballroom floor had suddenly become unsafe. Instead, through an extraordinary feat of self-control, he remained silent.
Seraphine looked up at Everend and smiled. It was a genuine smile and Damien disliked it immediately.
“Thank you,” she said as she placed her hand in the gentleman's. “I would be delighted.”
The words landed with unreasonable force.
Delighted? Excellent. Wonderful. Perfect.
Damien stepped aside because he was a rational man. A sensible man. A duke. Not a jealous lunatic prepared to challenge one of his own carefully selected candidates to a duel in the middle of a ballroom.
I have no interest in her. I will never marry.
He reminded himself of these facts, turned sharply, and made for the refreshment table. A servant appeared almost immediately with a tray, and Damien accepted a glass of brandy with more gratitude than the occasion warranted. Taking a long swallow, he retreated toward the shadows at the edge of the ballroom where he could observe the dancers without attracting attention.
Not because he cared. Because he was evaluating. Observing. Assessing.
Entirely different than caring.
The orchestra swelled into the next movement as Everend guided Seraphine through the figures of the dance. The man smiled at her. Seraphine laughed at something he said. Damien took another drink.
The dance continued, and with every turn of the floor he became increasingly aware of how often other men touched her. A hand at her waist. Fingers brushing her gloved hand. A gentleman guiding her through a turn.
Perfectly innocent. Entirely proper. But for some reason, Damien disliked every second of it. The realization arrived slowly and then all at once.
He was not angry because another man danced with her. He was angry because he wanted to be the one dancing with her. The distinction mattered rather a lot.
His father had been possessive. Controlling. Cruel. Damien had spent years ensuring he would never become that sort of man. Watching Seraphine now, he understood something important. He was becoming like his father more and more. As he knew he would, which was why he vowed to never marry. He would never put anyone through that.
A pair of young ladies approached him, interrupting his increasingly unpleasant reflections.
