Page 65 of Duke of Wickedness
She worried that the shiver that coursed through her would be visible all the way across the room.
“Good evening, Lady Ariadne.”
Ariadneshouldhave been relieved that someone called her name, that someone drew her attention away from David when she failed to do so herself.
She was not. She was definitely not.
“Good evening, Lord Westcliff,” she said to the earl standing before her. She knew the earl by reputation alone, but he was supposed to be a good enough sort. Young, and had recently inherited his title. Wealthy and well-positioned, but not enough that he wouldn’t benefit from association with the Lightholders.
“If your card is not already full, I was hoping that I might ask you to do me the honor of a dance,” he said with a polite bow.
It was a nice show of manners, but there was the faintest glimmer of mischief and flirtation in his eye. In another circumstance, Ariadne might have been interested in that look, and Lord only knew that the man, with his dark hair and piercing green eyes, was more than attractive enough.
Now, though, he seemed to be nothing but a pale imitation of a man with twice the gleam and ten times the mischief.
Still, there was wearing a slightly bold gown, and there was outright refusing a dance for no reason at all—and they were two starkly different levels of rebellion when it came to Society’s rules.
Besides, Ariadne needed not to be standing here, staring.
“I’d be delighted,” she said. “I have the next dance free, if you are available.”
He did, indeed, have the next dance free, so Ariadne took his proffered hand and let him lead her into a country reel that left her breathless.
In the few snatches of conversation that she managed to share with Lord Westcliff, he was funny, charming, but not unkind.
She felt…nothing.
Well, no, that was a lie. She felt a piercing gaze upon her, but it didnotbelong to Lord Westcliff.
The only positive in the entire situation is that Lord Westcliff did not seem to experience any burning passion for her, either. He gave her another bow and a smile as they parted ways, but there was no reference to another meeting, no suggestion that he would stop by her house with flowers the next day.
There was no suggestion, in short, that this would be like the matter with Lord Hershire all over again.
“Enjoy the rest of your evening, my lady,” the earl said politely.
“And you, my lord,” she returned.
It was all so…bland. Excruciatingly so. How had she managed to get throughyearsof these boring conversations?
The next dance was no better. It was no worse, but no better. She danced a reel with Lord Bennet, then a waltz with Mr. Thompkins, then a country dance with Viscount Griswold, who was nearly seventy years old and already married, but he loved to dance, and his wife used a cane.
Well. She actually did enjoy that last one.
“You make me feel like a very young man, Lady Ariadne,” the viscount said, bending over to kiss her hand warmly. “My lady likes it when I look impressive and sprightly, so you’ve done an old pile like me a great service.”
He tilted his head over toward a seated elderly lady, who took one hand off her brass-handled cane to wave cheerfully in their direction.
She enjoyed those three minutes when she didn’t feel David’s eyes on her. She enjoyed them, and she hated them, too, because if she couldn’t dance with him, at least she could know he was there.
It hurt to look across the room and be able to find him again. It felt amazing.
Nobody came up to claim her next dance, which was also wonderful and terrible, because she couldn’t tear her eyes away from David. She was right back where she started, drawn into him for thethirdtime this evening, ridiculous as this clearly made her. Only now all the dancing had warmed her, and thatheat built and built as they looked at one another for so long—too long.
Eventually, she couldn’t take it any longer.
She held his eyes for one moment longer and lifted her chin.
A challenge. An invitation.
