Page 44 of Unraveled By the Duke
His eyes screamed to look upon her. His lips beat at his will to be allowed to touch the back of her gloved hand. He wanted to holdher close and breathe her in. If it were his last breath on earth, he would consider it the finest he had ever drawn and a worthy end.
Stop it! She is a woman, not an angel. And she will draw you down into a weakness that will consume you. You do not need it.
And what plans had Celia and her father made concerning the dukedom Alexander had made his life’s work to restore?
Be strong.
He stepped through the entrance hall and then into the grand hall that was the heart of Almack’s without looking at her. They were announced by the master of ceremonies, whose booming voice carried over the assembled guests.
Eyes turned in their direction. Conversations stopped or quietened. Alexander smiled grandly, gritting his teeth behind his clamped lips. He felt every eye like a knife. Heard the whispers and wanted to demand what was being said. What gossip they shared, what rumors they spread.
But a rake would not care. A rogue would bask in the attention, revel in it. So, Alexander played the rogue.
“We are five days out of seven,” Celia whispered after the seventh introduction and interminable and inane conversation.
“What?” Alexander said, forgetting himself enough to look down at her. He saw her bright smile and the effort it cost her to maintain it.
She dislikes it as much as I do. But she admitted to craving Society and company. So, if these people are not the company she craves, then who? Unless that was a lie. Unless this act is a lie.
“Your promise to… in seven days. Seven nights,” Celia explained, blushing and fanning herself so that it looked like the result of the warm air in the crowded room.
“To what?” Alexander pressed, playing with her demureness, wanting to hear her say it.
“You know full well,” Celia gritted out, a note of annoyance creeping into her voice.
“I cannot imagine,” Alexander said smugly, and he heard her click her tongue in irritation.
Another point to me, I think.
“Ah, I hear music. Almost as if they waited for us to arrive. Shall we take our place?” Alexander asked courteously.
Celia nodded, and he instantly regretted his decision.
She turned to face him, and he took her hand in his and wrapped his arm around her waist to create the frame for the dance. They stood there, silently watching each other as the other guests took their places.
In that moment, Alexander knew he was lost. The effort was too much. She had breached his walls, stormed them. For the moment, at least.
Perhaps they could be fixed. Theymustbe fixed.
The music began, and Alexander led.
Celia was graceful and light in his arms. She was a joy to hold and move with. His world became the feel of their arms around each other, the gleam of the chandeliers in her eyes. Her cheeks were flushed with the exertion of the dance, her lips parted, her bosom heaving.
Never had Alexander wanted a woman more than he wanted her at that moment.
The dance came to an end and was followed by a pause for partners to change. Alexander did not allow any other man to come close.
“My compliments to your dance teacher,” he murmured.
“I did not think it a strength. Not this kind of dancing,” Celia replied breathlessly.
Alexander frowned. “What kind of dancing did you have in mind?”
In truth, he could think of no other kind. It was a tiresome ritual. Formal and hedged with rules and conventions, spoken and unspoken.
“Perhaps I will show you,” Celia said.
The next dance began, and they flew and spun across the dance floor. They seemed in unconscious concert with each other, in perfect sync as though they had practiced for weeks beforehand. As they danced, they drew closer, the frame of their arms violated by an unconscious desire to be closer than the dance allowed.
