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Hountshire laughed. “They’re children, Your Grace. I don’t think there is anything to worry about. It’s a bout of puppy love if anything, I’m sure it’s nothing to concern yourself with.”

Graynor narrowed his eyes. “I can take care of my own, Hountshire. Remember that.”

Eleanor stepped in between the two men. “Simon. I’m feeling rather parched. Would you be a dear and get me a glass of punch?”

Hountshire looked at the Duke before nodding. He turned to Charlotte. “Your Grace, would you like some punch as well?”

Charlotte’s eyes took in the scene before her, Eleanor’s eyes pleaded with Charlotte’s. “I would love some, and actually, I think I’ll go with you if that’s all right with you.”

The Viscount tipped up the corner of his lips as he offered his arm. “It would be an honor.”

Eleanor could have sworn she heard the Duke snarl as they walked away from them.

“You’re doing it again.”

Graynor looked down at her, his eyes wide in innocence. “Doing what?”

Eleanor sighed. “We talked about this. You have to play the game when you’re in public.”

Graynor stood taller. “He insinuated I don’t have my house in order… again.”

Eleanor let out a breezy chuckle. “He did not.” She brushed a hand against his arm. The movement felt so natural to her. Whenever she did it with Simon, she had to tell her hand to move.

He looked down to where her hand grazed him. When he looked back up, his eyes were ablaze with heat.

“Careful, Eleanor.” His voice held warning, but his eyes took on a mischievous glow.

Eleanor clicked her tongue. “I am always careful, Your Grace.”

Music swelled around them.

“You know, I haven’t danced yet tonight.” He extended his hand. “Care to help me remedy that?”

Eleanor smiled and slipped her hand into his. Her mind tried to tamper down the fire that was growing low in her belly, but her body ignored its warning signs. With each step they took to the center of the ballroom, the fire grew until she felt as if her whole body was engulfed in flames.

She looked up into his blue eyes, and once again, her world quieted and stilled.

“How do you do that?” Her voice was nothing but a whisper.

Graynor looked down at her, confusion washing over his face. “What did you say?”

Eleanor shook her head. “It was nothing.”

Graynor led them around the floor expertly. This was her third time dancing with him since they’d met, and each time, her body picked up new sensations she was not accustomed to feeling. She certainly didn’t feel this way when she danced with Simon.

With Simon it was mechanical, technical. They both knew the steps by heart and had no problem executing the movements, but there was no emotion tied to them. But with the Duke, her body felt alive. It was as if they were creating new steps that only the two of them knew.

Each turn, he pulled her closer to him, and with each step, he kept his focus on her and only her. When she danced with Simon, she rarely looked at him, so she couldn’t tell if Simon was only ever looking at her. But with the Duke, her eyes never left the depth of his.

The music ended, and the two stood still in each other’s arms.

Eleanor heard clapping coming from behind her. Her eyes broke from the Duke’s, and she saw her mother walking up to them. “Your Grace, I had no idea you knew how to dance that well.”

Eleanor looked past her mother to see Simon standing, holding punch in each of his hands. Her heart sank and the weight of what she just did hit her. What an awful woman she was.

Here she had asked him to get her a drink, and her thanks was to dance with another man. She rushed over to him. “I am so sorry, Simon. Thank you for the punch. It was very kind of you to get it for me.”

Hountshire’s eyes remained on the dance floor. She took a breath and touched his arm, hoping to get his attention.