Page 31 of The Pureblood Princess
“Take care of them,” she says to Renzo, the eldest of the four, and the boy nods with a stern-faced expression, seeming to take his responsibility seriously.
The four of them trail after the maid and through a door along the west wall, and then they’re gone.
“A glass of wine, miss?”
Turning, Nadia finds a handsome footman carrying a gleaming tray, six shimmering glasses balanced upon it. She takes one and brings it to her lips, and the flavor explodes on her tongue, tart and sweet and rich.
What’s in this wine?she asks Theodore.
Beside her, he raises his glass to his lips.Blood, my sweet.
No wonder it’s so dark and potent. Tongue darting out to wet her lips, she lifts the glass again, and this time she can taste the blood, its flavor mixing subtly with the floral undertones in the wine.
“Oh, there’s Lady Delfino,” Lady Rosetti says, her bright eyes glimmering in the candlelight as she gazes across the ballroom. Her cheeks are slightly flushed, and her air is different from what Nadia has come to expect of her. Here, surrounded by her own kind, the countess seems insouciant, completely and entirely at ease. “Come, my love.” She raises her glass in farewell, then takes the earl by the arm and guides him away.
“Miss Magdalena,” he says over his shoulder, “I’ll return shortly, and we’ll introduce you to the brotherhood.” Then he’s gone, dragged into the fray by his beaming raven-haired wife.
“Well,” Contessa says, popping a hip and swirling the wine in her glass. “What do you think?” Her eyes cut to Nadia, her red lips curling into a smile.
The wine, strong as it is, has already begun to warm Nadia’s belly, and her resulting smile is languid. “It’s... thrilling.”
Her companions smile and share easy laughter just as the orchestra plays the final bars in their number. The women twirl once, twice, their skirts swishing and gleaming in the light, and then the men dip them low, and the ballroom fills with gentle applause.
Nadia joins in, clapping delicately, but the smile slips from her mouth when Theodore takes her by the hand and pulls her toward the floor. She flashes back to being in Lord Felton’s arms, then to awakening upon the ballroom floor, startled and concerned faces staring down at her. The humiliation still curls in her belly.
She pulls back hesitantly. “But—”
“But nothing,” he whispers, drawing her closer. “You’re not the same woman you were on the dance floor the night I first saw you. You’re Nadia Magdalena now.” He leans closer. “Mybride.”
His fingertips brush her cheek, and she’s startled by how openly he’s touching her. Though, compared to what the other couples in the ballroom are doing, his advances are innocent.
“Come, dance with me. Let me show you off.” Still holding her hand, he twirls her once, and her crimson skirt swishes around her ankles. “I’ll be the envy of every man in the room.”
His words send a torrent of heat through her body, bolstering her confidence.
He’s right. She’s not Adelina Gray any longer. She left that life behind when first she sank her fangs into his neck, and sheneverwants to go back.
Adelina Gray may have been a wallflower who fainted upon ballroom floors, but Nadia Magdalena is the pureblood daughter of Kirill and Vera, and she’s to be Theodore’s viscountess. No more hiding in shadows for her.
She drains what’s left of her wine, enjoying the tingling sensation it gives her, then sets the empty glass upon the tray of a passing footman. Theodore guides her onto the dance floor amidst whispers and curious stares. When she glances back over her shoulder, Charlie gives her an encouraging nod, and Contessa’s red lips turn up in one corner.
The dancers prepare for a waltz, which Nadia has always found to be the most intimidating and challenging of the dances. Quadrilles, in comparison, are much slower, offering time to catch one’s breath, but the waltz demands impeccable timing and fluidity of movement.
As she takes her place before Theodore, her gaze slips over his right shoulder, and her stomach clenches.
The Kazamirs lurk alongside the dance floor. Honora wears a bright red gown, her lips painted a matching shade, her long hairshimmering as if spun of the richest gold. Standing on either side of Honora, Marek and Konrád look like dutiful sentries. They wear dark tailored suits and crisp white cravats, and their eyes are matching shades of icy blue.
When Honora notices Nadia, her lips turn down, her hands clenching into fists at her sides.
The sight pleases Nadia to no end, and she gives Honora her best, most lustrous smile as she steps into Theodore’s embrace.
A lone cello begins the waltz, its mournful sound reverberating through the ballroom and hushing the onlookers.
The violins and violas join in, and Theodore straightens his shoulders and tightens his hold on Nadia’s hand before leading her into the dance. They drift across the polished floor, his eyes trained on her face, her lips so close to his she can almost taste his skin. The ruby resting at the base of Nadia’s throat catches the candlelight and reflects crimson into Theodore’s eyes, setting them alight.
All around them, the other couples move in perfect harmony with the haunting strains of the violins. The ballroom seems to grow smaller as Nadia and Theodore move across the floor, and it shrinks until Theodore is all that remains.
She surrenders to him, to this moment, and loses herself in the mesmerizing magic of the dance. She knows not—cares not—who might be watching, for here, with him, time slows, and she could twirl through this dark waltz for a lifetime.
