He had already considered her his, so he had never felt the need to claim her in front of others.
Isadora was no more his than the transient stars in the sky, for all the terms of the law claimed her for his own.
As soon as the dance ended, he crossed the room to where yet another gentleman was propositioning his wife.
That ugly feeling erupted in his chest again—the desire to make her his.
“Isadora,” he muttered low, interrupting them and not caring in the slightest. “Dance with me.”
She arched a brow at him. “Are youaskingme, sir?”
“No. I’m telling you that I have claimed the next dance.” He reached for her hand, taking it firmly in his. “Excuse us,” he said to the gentleman, whom he now recognized as Lord Rupert, the man who had shared his first dance with Isadora.
Without meaning to, he had kept a running tally of names.
Lord Rupert just smiled, as though something were terribly funny, and inclined his head, “Yes, Your Grace.” He bowed to Isadora. “Your Grace.”
“My lord,” she replied with far more warmth in her voice than she had used tonight with Nicholas. He felt that restless, itchy feeling again. When she turned her gaze to him, it was cold.
“I thought you claimed you don’t dance,” she mumbled.
“I changed my mind.”
“First, you humiliate me by leaving me alone at my first ball as a married woman, and then you chase away those whodiddeign to pay me attention.” She removed her hand from his. “PerhapsIdon’t feel like dancing.”
This was nothing more than he deserved, and yet he felt it like a blow to the gut. His pride took a hit, but this went deeper than mere pride. “You would deny me?”
“You denied me.”
“I—” Frustrated, he raked a hand through his hair, then looked back at her. “I have done my best to be patient, Isadora, but I have reached the limit of my endurance.”
“Oh, so you have no desire to dance with me yourself, but you would rather no one else did?” That brow arched still further. “You wish to make me as miserable as you yourself seem?”
Oliver’s gleeful words came back to him then, ‘You don’t want anyone else to have her either… poor woman.’
Nicholas shook his head and gritted his teeth. “I wish to dance with my wife.” The words almost tore out of him. “And I—I regret the way I walked away from you before. So would you please do me the honor of dancing the next set with me?”
For a moment, he thought she might turn him down again purely out of petty vindictiveness, and he didn’t know what he would do if she so publicly gave him the cut. But, to his relief, sheslipped her delicate hand in his and allowed him to lead them both out to where a waltz was taking place.
“Was that an apology?” she murmured.
“Yes. Do you accept?”
Her chin rose a little. “Accepting does not make me less angry with you.”
“You hardly seemed to suffer in my absence,” he said wryly.
“What do you know of how I suffered?” She stepped closer into his body, and he placed a hand on her waist. This was not something he could have borne to watch from the sidelines. “You were not there in my head.”
“No, but I was watching you fairly closely.”
“I suppose I ought to be honored,Your Grace.”
He blew out a breath. “You know you are the most stunning woman in the room. Why push things?”
“Do I?” She raised her gaze to his face as they began to dance, the steps ancient but familiar. He ached to hold her closer still, to wrap his arms around her so she could not escape. Flighty thing—he had the notion she would flutter away before he could even make the attempt. “Do I know that, Nicholas?”
Finally, they were back on first-name terms. “Should you not? Look around yourself, Isadora.”
