Page 45 of Bookshop Cinderella

“Look at me, not the floor,” he reminded before she had the chance to do exactly that. “And let your body move with mine.”

She did her best to follow those instructions, and though she still felt terribly awkward, she managed not to stumble through several full turns around the ballroom floor. By the fourth turn, she was even beginning to enjoy herself.

And then, on a crescendo of lilting violins and horns, the music came to an end. “You see?” he said as they swirled to a halt. “Not a single stumble.”

“You’re right,” she said, laughing in astonished pleasure. “I stopped worrying about making a mistake.”

He smiled. “It’s amazing how much better life is when that happens.”

Suddenly, something flickered in his eyes and his smile faded. His hand tightened at her waist, his fingertips pressing at her back, pulling her closer even than before. His lashes, thick and blunt and black as coffee, lowered as he looked down, and when she realized what had captured his attention, her breath caught in her throat.

Her lips, the focus of his stare, began to tingle, and she wondered wildly if he was going to kiss her. Her heartbeat, already rapid from the exertion of dancing, quickened even more, thudding in her chest so hard that she was sure he could hear it, even over the rasping, rhythmic hiss of the gramophone.

He stirred, leaning even closer, so close that the heady, delicious scent of him filled her nostrils, and his breathing, warm and quick, fanned her cheek.

Her first kiss, she thought with a dreamy sigh as she closed her eyes and tilted her head back.

“We should go.”

The words had barely penetrated her senses before he was stepping away, widening the distance between them and crushing any hope that a kiss was in the offing.

He turned to gather the empty glasses, half-empty plate, and nearly full bottle of champagne, while Evie could only stare at his broad back, her senses in tumult, her wits in shambles, her heart twisting with a crushing disappointment.

Still, what could she have expected? He was practically engaged to a girl already, a lady. And he was every inch a gentleman. She could hardly blame him for acting like it.

“I want you to do something for me,” he said over his shoulder, breaking the silence.

Evie took a deep, shaky breath and got hold of herself. “What’s that?”

“Remember this night, at least until we dance again.” He turned to look at her, smiling so casually it was as if the magical moment of his mouth so close to hers had never happened. “If only to spare my feet. Shall we?”

He nodded toward the door and began moving in that direction. Evie followed, her body still tingling everywhere he had touched her, her heart still thudding like a trip-hammer, and she knew she’d have no trouble doing what he asked. She’d remember this night, not only for their next dance, but for the rest of her life.

10

His intentions tonight had been laudable, his conduct gentlemanly, and his fortitude quite commendable, considering the circumstances.

His thoughts, on the other hand, had been decidedly reprobate. The moment she’d talked about being underdressed, he’d begun to think of red satin garters and long, slim legs. When they’d eaten bread and pâté, fantasies of feeding her food while both of them were naked had insisted on invading his mind. When they danced, he’d used some stupid excuse—what, he couldn’t even remember now—to pull her closer than was proper, close enough to make dancing with her a delicious, agonizing hell.

She smelled like powder and flowers and virginal innocence, which ought to have been a deterrent, but instead, it had been a siren, harkening to deep, dark desires inside him. He’d swirled her around the room while he’d imagined taking her down to the floor and kissing every freckle on her face and every inch of her talcum-scented body.

And then, when the music stopped, he’d almost given in to these carnal imaginings. She’d looked up at him with those eyes full of gold and amber lights, and then she’d laughed, showing him that adorable smile, and everything in his world had tilted, skidding sideways, sending him tumbling to the brink of oblivion, making him almost forget he’d been on this particular precipice before and the heavy price he’d paid for falling over the edge.

How he’d pulled himself away, he still didn’t know, but even now, two hours later, his body was in the painful agony of unrequited lust, cursing him for his caution, his common sense, and his gentlemanly notions of honor.

For God’s sake, he thought in aggravation, did he want history to repeat itself? Hadn’t Rebecca taught him to stay away from women like this, women who were not born in his world and not bred for his life, women who knew nothing of what it meant to be a duchess and had no experience with the duties inherent to such a role? And it wasn’t as if his own bitter experience was the only example he had to go by. The peerage at present was filled with unhappy marriages between British lords and dollar princesses from the States who had married into the aristocracy with no clue what they were taking on. The results had been universally disastrous, a misery for nearly all concerned.

On the heels of all these reminders came another, one that was far more unsavory.

You don’t have to marry her.

As if in reply, the soprano on the stage below hit the high C. Properly rebuked, he leaned forward in his seat, forcing himself to pay attention to the performance. It wasLa Traviata, an irony if ever there was one, but if he hoped this cautionary tale about an innocent woman seduced and ruined by a man would quell the lust raging in him, he was disappointed. His body remained fully aroused, impervious to the dictates of his conscience or the rules of society.

Evie’s life had given her very little in the way of romance, and he’d started this whole adventure partly to help her along in that regard. This, he reflected, shifting painfully in his seat, was not the sort of help he’d been envisioning. Worse, she was a thorough innocent, and if he were responsible for taking her down the road to ruin, he’d never forgive himself, nor should he.

The music ended, and in sheer self-preservation, Max pulled off his evening coat, throwing it onto his lap as the lights came up. All around him, people began rising from their seats, preparing to mingle, obtain refreshments, or stretch their legs. Max, however, did not dare move. His body was still in a most vulnerable state, and if he stood up, the entire world would know it.

Beside him, Helen’s voice came to him as if from a far distance. “Duke, shall we take a stroll?”

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