Page 49 of A Virgin to Tame the Duke
ChapterEighteen
Charlotte smoothed a hand down her stomach. Tonight was the night Aaron and her mother, Anastasia, were throwing the joint ball in Constance and Edward’s honor, and she was, of course, invited.
Not only invited but no doubt expected to take her place by Aaron’s side and to see what other young men she could entice by merely being favored by a Duke.
Surely, dressed as she was in pale rose that brought out the color in her cheeks, she would have little trouble finding a gentleman who would be attracted to her. After all, she had attracted a Duke—and even if he was not intending to marry her, another man whose standards for marriage were somewhat lower and less contingent on an unblemished family name, might also feel something for her.
It would not be love, but she could live without love.
Hexham Manor rose above them, magnificent in its grandness, and Charlotte felt the stirrings of nervousness as she walked into the ballroom on her mother’s arm.
“Lady Lowood,” Lady Brighton said as they entered. “Lady Charlotte. A pleasure to see you again.” Charlotte’s mother immediately detached herself to speak with her friend, and Charlotte cast her gaze around for someone she knew well enough to speak to.
“Charlotte.” The voice was familiar, so low she felt rather than heard it echo through her, and she knew exactly who she would see when she turned around. Aaron, standing taller and broader and more handsome than every other man in the room though she should not be thinking such things. But she could not help herself—she could not think of anything but the precise shade of his eyes, the slightly sardonic curve of his lips when he regarded her, the brown hair tossed back from his forehead.
Her gaze still trapped in his, she dipped into a curtsy and accepted the hand he offered her. “Your Grace,” she said, her voice altogether too breathless. This wasn’t right. She wasn’t supposed to be falling for the man she was pretending to be engaged to, but somehow, she couldn’t quite help herself.
“Must we fall back to such tedious formalities?” he asked, his fingers wrapping around hers. He squeezed, and somehow that one gesture sent the blood pounding into her cheeks. “You know I would much prefer it if you used my name.”
“Soon we will not be at liberty to use each other’s Christian names in that way,” she said though she hated the words even as she said them. She would rather they always stayed like this, looking at each other as though they were the only two members in the ballroom though she distantly knew music was playing, and there were enough bodies packed into this space that she could hardly move without brushing shoulders with someone.
His eyes darkened. “Soon,” he said, “but not yet. Will you dance with me?” To dance with him would be to send a very clear signal about the state of their engagement; to shun him now would send tongues waggling.
“Very well,” she said.
“Excellent.” His hand was altogether too warm on hers as he led her out to the forming couples. Off to one side, Sebastian watched with his brows lowered, and Marcella scowled at them. There were other faces turned their way, curious eyes marking every moment, but she felt as though she was floating, reality just far enough away that she could ignore it.
Perhaps she would regret this moment later, but how could she regret it now when he was looking at her in that way and when his hand was so firmly around her own? And how could she regret giving into this moment when her heart craved him so?
“You are remarkably quiet today,” he said as they danced. “Tell me, is this because your cousin is not with us?”
Charlotte glanced at Aaron in confusion. “Sebastian?”
“No, not Sebastian.” The dance parted them, and he waited for them to be together to say, “Marcella.”
“I don’t know—”
“I think you know exactly what I mean.”
The magic of the moment dissolved, and she gasped at the sensation. Reality was not so far away after all; he had a remarkable talent for making her forget about the world. “Did you ask to dance with me so you could lay accusations at my feet?”
Anger glinted in his eyes, but his hand was gentle around hers. “Unfortunately, not. I asked to dance with you because in the moment, I wished for nothing more than to have you in my arms.”
Her face heated. “You cannot say those things—”
“We are promised to each other. The world knows us to be engaged.” He leaned forward, so his mouth was dangerously close to her ears. “I can say whatever I like to you, and no one will question it.”
“Aaron—”
“Tell me something. Did you agree to dance with me because you felt you should, or because you wanted to?”
“I hardly see why that matters—”
“Because I wish to know.”
She didn’t know precisely why she responded as she did, but she looked up into his face as he held her in his arms and said, “Because I wished to dance with you.”
“Then we are, in this, the same.”
