He held out his hand this time. “Will you dance with me?”
She shook her head, and a silken strand of red-gold hair came loose from its pin to slink down near her bare shoulder. He suddenly longed to touch her there or, better yet, press his lips to the spot.
“Please, Miss Granger.”
“Everyone’s watching.”
“That can’t be helped at balls.”
“We’ll both regret this,” she told him.
His heartbeat raced the moment she lifted her hand and placed it in his. “I won’t,” he vowed. “No matter the consequences.”
For years, he’d imagined what it would be like to lead Evangeline out onto the dance floor, to hold her in his arms as they moved as one to the steps of a waltz. Now the moment was upon him, and his eagerness was almost more than he could bear.
“I’m trembling,” she whispered as they took their place.
“I think I might be too. My brain is still stuck on the fact that you actually accepted my offer to dance.”
She chuckled at that, and suddenly, nothing else mattered.
It didn’t matter that he could hear the gasps and feel the other ladies’ gaping, judgmental looks. Nor did it matter that Evangeline was as dreadful of a dancer as she’d always claimed.
All Gray knew, all he cared about, was that he had her in his arms, and it felt like the answer to a question he’d been asking all his life.
“I’m sorry,” she told him as he swept her left, and she stepped right.
“You should let me lead.”
“I’m trying.” One glance over his shoulder, and she nearly stumbled.
“Don’t look at them. Only at me.” He tugged her closer an inch with the hand held at her back.
And perhaps for the first time in all the years they’d known each other, she did exactly as he bid her without complaint or questions.
This near to her, his mouth watered at her sweet perfume and the unique scent that was only Evie. His shoulder grew warm where hand lay against him, and he couldn’t help thinking about how much he wished there weren’t so many layers of clothing between her skin and his.
Too soon, the music ended, and the other couples parted. Gray still held her, and for a moment, they were caught in the same spell. Together. Just the two of them.
But then Evie glanced away, taking in the guests nearby. The room had gone quiet, except for some whispers here and there. When Gray looked up, he noticed a few of the ladies convening, head bent, at the edge of the ballroom, whispering and shooting daggers Evangeline’s way.
Lady Maribel stood alone, dumbstruck, her hand clasped over her mouth. And the aunts looked like two righteous furies, ready to strike them both down for their audacity.
The only two people in the room who appeared happy were Jameson and Lady Grace. They had moved off the dance floor but still stood nearby, mostly wrapped up in chatting merrily with each other.
Lady Worthington moved first, stomping her way across the parquet floor, the thump of her cane emphasizing her exasperation.
“Aunt Lydia—”
“Later, Evangeline. For now, I’d like a word with Lord Rothwell.”
“Very well.” Gray released Evie reluctantly, wanting to hold onto the connection between them a bit longer. “Thank you for the dance, Miss Granger.”
Evie’s full lips didn’t curve, but a glint in her eyes made the tension he’d been holding in his chest unfurl.
“Where shall we speak, Lady Worthington?”
“The library, I think.” Her pointed glance at Evie, then Lady Maribel, told Gray that she’d somehow heard the story of that fiasco too.
