Page 60 of A Deal for the Duke’s Virgin

“You ought to have asked Thalia to dance.”

“That is not… She does not care to dance, nor do I.”

Daphne huffed, taking a long sip of her drink. “It is not about dancing, you silly man.”

“Oh no? Then what is it about?”

“Well, if you can’t work it out, then I shan’t tell you. You are a clever man, Christian. Very clever.” She paused, glancing at his hand. “But you might want to release your grip on that glass. Any tighter, and I fear it might shatter into a thousand pieces.”

With an impish grin, she floated away into the candlelit gloom, leaving him to seethe alone.

CHAPTER 17

The dance was not going well. Mr. Pembroke was not a good dancer at the best of times, and Thalia found herself distracted, unable to focus on anything.

“Ouch!” she yelped, unable to stay quiet when he trod heavily on her toe. Her shoes, thin satin dancing slippers which Jonathan had insisted she wear, offered no protection at all.

“Have a care,” Mr. Pembroke snapped, as if it were her fault.

A cold fury, not unlike the one that had pushed her to threaten Emmeline Hartridge, flared within her.

“I am not the one stamping on your feet,” she hissed. “You are hurting me.”

Mr. Pembroke blinked, briefly taken aback. She wondered if she had ever spoken back to him before and decided that she had not. No wonder he was so shocked.

“You are dancing incorrectly,” he managed.

“I think not, sir. You are the one tramping around as if you are trying to crush me. You are off beat, and everybody is looking at us!”

Scowling, Mr. Pembroke cast a quick, panicked glance around him. She knew he would find that she was correct. One man in particular was looking at them, and she could think of nothing else.

Christian’s eyes bored into her, a long, thoughtful stare that seemed to catch every move she made. Heat bloomed in her gut, and she absentmindedly tightened her fingers on Mr. Pembroke’s hand.

“Ouch!” he complained. “Stop pinching me.”

“Then stop treading on my toes,” she snapped, mostly to hide her own embarrassment.

To her horror, she found herself thinking about the kiss she and Christian had shared. The wretched moment was never far from her mind, filling her with heat whenever she recalled it.

She was recalling it now, and the heat plunged between her thighs. Swallowing hard, she missed a step, stumbling. This time, several couples glanced their way, and she caught some disapproving looks.

“Wretched girl,” Mr. Pembroke hissed.

She narrowed her eyes. “I shall tell my brother what you said to me.”

“Tell him what you like,” he retorted. “He won’t believe you. He said that you have a habit of lying. He warned me about it. Said that a good, firm husband would cure you of it.”

Thalia’s skin prickled. Now, why would Jonathan tell people that she was a liar? It was almost as if he hoped to destroy her credibility so that if she made any accusations, he could easily discredit them.

A chilling thought.

The dance came to an end, and she almost cried with relief. She dropped Mr. Pembroke’s hand at once, stepping back. He eyed her uncertainly, as if he had not quite decided whether to pursue her, ask her to dance again, or move away. Perhaps her last sharp comment had killed his attraction to her.

I should be so lucky, she thought miserably.

At a dance like this, even without the fireworks show, the etiquette was clear. Jonathan or Augusta would soon be hurrying over to claim her once more, and then there’d be no escape.

At that moment, Mr Pembroke’s gaze slipped over her shoulder, and he paled ever so slightly, his spine stiffening.