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Rafe froze suddenly. His preternatural senses vibrated at the presence of others of his kind. Muscles tensed and poised to fight, he scanned the drawing room and relaxed as he caught sight of the Lord of Blackpool entering the ballroom. That was right, Blackpool was a viscount and the Wentworths had mentioned inviting him. The others he sensed must be his retinue.

He nodded and bowed before Cassandra. “Shall we dance, my lady?”

More shocked glances and speculative whispers echoed in his ears at that. He hadn’t danced since his injury. But Cassandra’s astonished gaze made him determined to show everyone—especially her—that he was no lout.

* * *

Cassandra fought the urge to flee as Rafe led her into the grandly lit, mirrored ballroom. He was supposed to have killed her tonight, but this was nearly as frightening. She’d always despised being among large groups, but after her years of isolation and mourning, her discomfort with these situations seemed to have intensified.

A few of her former acquaintances gave her the cut direct, and all she could feel was relief. However, many also eyed her curiously and appeared to be on the verge of approaching her for the typical delicate dance of questions. Dread rose at the sight of them. As if sensing her disquiet, Rafe squeezed her hand.

Just as Lady Pemberly smiled and lifted her skirts to approach, he gently pulled Cassandra toward the dance floor. The musicians struck up a waltz, and Rafe took her in his arms. She couldn’t keep from raising a brow.

Did he even know how to dance? The only time she’d seen him at a ball was at Burnrath House, and throughout the dancing, he’d leaned against a pillar and cast a pall on the festivities by scowling at everyone.

Rafe gave her a roguish smile and led her in the steps with such practiced grace that it was as if he danced every night.

“You seem astonished by something, Querida.” His voice was low and teasing. “Did you assume that I could not dance?”

She nodded sheepishly. “I had never seen you do so before…and with your arm…”

“What about it?” He deftly whirled her and she nearly missed the right step.

Her face flamed in embarrassment. “It seems I am the one who is unaccomplished.” She looked down at her feet, encased in fragile satin slippers, and laughed awkwardly. “Truly, I never was good at this sort of thing.”

“Neither was I.” His hand gripped her a little more firmly and moved closer, reaching the verge of impropriety. “But if you try to relax and simply concentrate on the music, perhaps this ordeal will be less distasteful.”

Her heart gave a little twinge. He thinks I do not want to dance with him. Lifting her gaze to meet his, she gave him a shy smile. “It is the fact that I am dancing with you that makes this enjoyable.”

He blinked in surprise, and the sudden tenderness in his amber eyes made her belly flutter. For a moment he seemed about to say something, but then his hand squeezed hers and he merely smiled.

So Cassandra did exactly as he advised, concentrating solely on the music and the fluid beauty of the dance. Everything else vanished from her consciousness, and for a while, she and Rafe were the only two beings in the universe. Never had she felt such sublime tranquility. Now the breathless manner in which other ladies spoke of the waltz made sense. Though it went beyond impropriety, she rested her head on his shoulder. People stared. She paid no mind.

“Rafe?” she murmured.

His deep voice rumbled against her ear. “Yes?”

“Do you ever wish that it could just be this?”

“What do you mean?”

“That we were here not to save our reputations or in a likely fruitless attempt to ensure our survival.” To her dismay, a lump formed in her throat, threatening to rob her of speech. “That we were here to dance and laugh like everyone else, instead of facing a war.”…And that our engagement was real, she added silently.

Rafe’s knuckles brushed her cheek in a soft whisper. “I wish it above all things.”

As if to mock such an impossible dream, the music stopped and the waltz ended. She could have cried in frustration.

A fresh wave of trepidation swept through her insides as she took her place beside the other ladies for the contra dance. Cassandra focused on Rafe, drawing strength from his presence.

It’s only a silly dance, she scolded herself as the musicians struck up a merry tune. I’ve done this at least a hundred times.

Yet dizzying dread threatened to topple her where she stood. Closing her eyes, she breathed deeply, willing herself to feel composed. If she fainted, fresh scandal would abound. The last thing she and Rafe needed was for people to assume she was pregnant. Lydia had vehemently advised her and the dressmaker to fashion this ball gown to emphasize the flatness of her belly. She couldn’t render those efforts useless.

Just in time, she joined hands with Rafe and made the proper steps. His smile and steadying grip secured her world once more. Unfortunately, their time together for this dance was all too brief and she was spun to her next partner.

Sir Patrick grinned at her as they whirled in time to the music. “Lady Rosslyn, it is such a pleasure to see you again!”

She returned the smile, cheered at the presence of an old friend. Perhaps this night wouldn’t be so unbearable after all. “And you as well, Sir Patrick.”