Page 55 of The Spinster and Her Rakish Duke
“How dare you?—?”
“Shh, my tigress,” He leaned closer, his breath stirring the curls at her temple. “You felt it too, didn’t you? That night in my chambers. The way everything changed between us.”
He heard her breath hitch, could feel the way her body stiffened in his arms, but when she spoke, it was with a venomous stubbornness.
“Nothing changed,” she said, and it only made him smile.
Yes, he was probably losing his mind by this point, but he found that he wanted to push her even more.
“Everything changed,” he contradicted, his hand tightening possessively on her waist. “And you’ve been hiding from it ever since.”
The waltz drew to a close but neither of them seemed inclined to step apart. They stood there, caught in each other’s orbit, the air between them crackling with unspoken tension.
“You should check on your nephew, my lord,” Samantha said finally.
Disappointment bloomed in his chest. He pushed it away.
“Yes,” he agreed breathlessly. “I should.”
Still, it took several more heartbeats before he stepped back, bowing formally as the music ended. “Thank you for the dance, my tigress.”
She curtsied in return, her cheeks still flushed, her breathing unsteady. “Your Grace.”
He left her standing there, knowing that if he stayed a moment longer, he would do something that would scandalize the entire ballroom. As he made his way through the crowd toward Percy, he could feel her gaze following him, could sense the confusion and desire warring within her as clearly as if she’d spoken it aloud.
Percy was standing near the refreshment table, looking somewhat dazed but triumphant. “Uncle! I did it! I asked Miss Waverly to dance, and she accepted!”
“Well done,” Ewan said, attempting to focus on his nephew despite the lingering effects of his encounter with Samantha. “How did it go?”
“Wonderfully! She complimented my waistcoat, and I managed not to quote a single line of poetry. Though I did nearly trip during the allemande.” Percy’s face glowed with happiness. “She’s agreed to let me call on her tomorrow.”
“Excellent. Just remember?—”
“No poetry, I know.” Percy grinned. “Thank you, Uncle. For the advice, I mean. Even if it was rather brutally delivered.”
Ewan was about to respond when movement across the ballroom caught his eye. His jaw clenched as he saw Lord Comerford approaching Samantha. His wife.
Yes. She washis.
“Your Grace,” Adam said, executing a perfectly proper bow as he reached her side. “You look radiant this evening.”
Samantha forced a polite smile, though every instinct screamed at her to flee. “Lord Comerford. How unexpected to see you here.”
“The Ashworths are old family friends. I couldn’t possibly miss their annual ball.” His smile was charming, practiced, and it made her skin crawl. “Might I have the honor of the next dance?”
She wanted to refuse. Every fiber of her being recoiled from the idea of being in his arms, of enduring his conversation and his lingering looks. But they were in public, surrounded by the cream of society, and a direct refusal would cause exactly the sort of gossip she’d been trying to avoid.
“I… very well,” she said reluctantly.
As the music began—a country dance, thankfully, which would limit their physical contact—Adam led her onto the floor with practiced ease.
“You seem rather subdued tonight,” he observed as they moved through the opening figures. “Not quite the spirited woman I remember.”
“People change, my lord,” she replied coolly, focusing on the steps rather than his penetrating gaze.
“Hm. I wonder.” His voice dropped lower as they drew together for a brief moment. “You always were quite passionate,Samantha. Surely marriage hasn’t extinguished that fire entirely?”
The familiar use of her first name made her stiffen. “I would prefer if you addressed me properly, Lord Comerford.”
