Page 51 of Duke of Pride

Dorothy was suddenly at his side, looking at Blackwell and Victoria like a proud mother. Stephen would have liked to unravel the full extent of his thoughts, but he showed superhuman restraint.

Across the room, Blackwell dipped Victoria into a scandalously deep turn, her skirts flaring out around them. She laughed, breathless, her cheeks flushed with amusement.

Stephen put his glass on the nearest surface with a sharp clink.

“It seems that your venture will bear fruit,” Dorothy noted. She leaned in and wrapped her arm around her son’s, smiling.

“Venture?”

“My, yes. You sought to help Victoria secure a husband.”

“You are not implying that Blackwell—” Stephen couldn’t finish the sentence in a civilized way.

“Why not? I can’t see a better choice for my lovely Victoria. Blackwell is an excellent choice. Wealthy, titled, and clearly smitten.”

He will soon be smitten, that is for sure.

And Stephen was determined to do exactly that if the rake’s hand moved too low on Victoria’s back one more time. He was not even trying to tame his jealousy at this point.

“I happen to disagree,” he said in a clipped tone.

“Well, I think they suit each other perfectly,” Dorothy insisted.

“Stop it,” he hissed.

Dorothy simply smiled and went to request another song from Lady Weatherby to keep the dance going. The final strains of the waltz drifted through the room. But before the applause could fully erupt, Stephen was moving, a dark streak across the polished floor.

Victoria was curtsying to Blackwell when Stephen stopped before her. He heard her exhale as she looked up to find his glacial gaze pinned on her.

“My dance.” His tone left no room for negotiation.

Victoria gave him her hand, and he stepped closer. His hand rested on her waist, and he was painfully aware that this was where it belonged. His other hand clasped hers, their fingers intertwining with deliberate precision. He pulled her closer, discarding all propriety, all the rules he had abided by all his life.

Her eyes flicked to his, holding that fire they always did. Her unyielding spark was always there on the surface. The one thing that made him lose his composure again and again. There was no way to be close to her and be himself. He was lost, and he was found, and all the things in between. It was vexing and intoxicating. He would have to either claim her or hide her away from him.

But for now, he was here, with her in his arms. His hand closed around hers, gloved fingers tightening possessively. He let his thumb stroke her wrist exactly where her pulse was fluttering. He spun her, his palm slid up her spine, and he saw the little hairs on her neck stand on end, felt the tremor wracking her body.

He was not suffering alone.

Their eyes met. Her big sapphire-blue eyes looked at him with defiance but also a plea. A plea for him to stop, for him to hold her tighter. For days they pretended nothing had happened. But everythinghadhappened.

He looked down at her with a look that said one thing. The one thing that he would never utter out loud.

Mine.

“Stephen, perhaps take a step back?” Victoria whispered, trembling.

The plea hung between them, fragile and raw. Stephen’s gaze darkened as he pulled her closer still. His knee brushed her skirts with every turn, a taunt and a promise. Need. Need that drove him mad, making his pulse drum in his ears, drowning out the whole world around them.

“Why would I do that, Victoria?”

“I… Just, please.”

“It’s the first time we dance,” he said, drinking her in.

The words were simple. The meaning was not.

First. Last. Only.

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