Page 49 of His Auctioned Duchess
“Enjoying yourself?” he asked, voice low and deceptively calm.
“Immensely,” she said, lifting her glass of punch. “Lord Hensley is a charming dancer.”
“Charming,” he repeated, his tone making the word sound obscene.
“He did not step on my toes once,” she added sweetly. “A rare feat this evening.”
His jaw tightened. “And was it worth the risk of spectacle?”
“Spectacle?”
“You knew what you were doing.”
“I rarely act without purpose.”
The faintest flicker of something—amusement, admiration, frustration—crossed his face before he leaned closer. “You mean to punish me, then?”
Her chin lifted. “If I did, it would not be for your benefit.”
The air between them thickened. Every word, every glance carried the weight of the unspoken.
Richard’s voice dropped, meant only for her. “You think to play games with me in public, Caroline?”
Her pulse jumped. “What do you call it when you announce a wedding without my consent?”
“Protection,” he said simply.
“Control,” she corrected.
“Both.”
“Then you may keep your protection, Your Grace,” she whispered. “I neither need nor want it.”
He stared down at her, expression unreadable, before extending a gloved hand. “Dance with me.”
“I believe I’ve had my fill of dancing.”
“It wasn’t a request.”
Her eyes flashed. “You presume too much.”
He smiled—slow, dangerous. “Always.”
And before she could refuse again, he took her hand.
The orchestra struck the opening notes of a new waltz. The crowd parted instinctively as the Duke of Belford led his betrothed onto the floor. The sight alone drew a fresh wave of whispers.The Devil dances at last.
Richard’s hand settled firmly at her waist, the other clasping her gloved fingers. The first steps were perfectly measured—no words, no falter in rhythm. But beneath the formality lay something taut, alive.
“You’ve made quite the impression tonight,” he murmured.
“Is that jealousy I hear?”
“Observation.”
She met his gaze, a half-smile playing at her lips. “You observe far too closely.”
“It’s a soldier’s habit.”
