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Chapter 7

Jean-Paul du Laq may have crossed the ballroom like a mountain on a mission, but he definitely didn't dance like one.

No, being on the dance floor with him, strong, warm fingers wrapped around her hand and touching her waist, was perhaps more like being swept around the room in the eye of a storm. She had the oddest sensation of something swirling around her, huge and important and wild, but also of perfect stillness as she stared up into smiling gray eyes and let him lead. Just her luck that the orchestra had decided this was to be a set of waltzes rather than some of the statelier Illvyan dances, where she would have had time to step away from him now and then to catch her breath and to let her brain regain control.

Instead, she whirled around with him, barely aware of the music, somewhat breathless from more than the fit of her dress and completely unable to stop herself from smiling with delight.

Perhaps he was an illusioner, this son of a duq? He'd claimed to have little magic, but that could be a lie. A way to disarm an unsuspecting female so he could work some sort of dazzlement. But she saw no spark of magic around him, none of the glimmering haze of power that marked a mage at work to her eyes. So there was nothing to blame for this giddiness but the man himself.

The music started to slow as the musicians began the transition to the next dance, and Jean-Paul eased their pace. Unfortunately, he also pulled her closer. Not more than was acceptable in public, but close enough that she could feel him radiating heat and smell warm linen and warm man.

A scent she wanted more of. But no. She bit down on her instinct to close the gap between them farther still and forced herself to speak. "So, my lord, you said you were in the regulars? What exactly do you do?"

"I'm in the centiene."

Hardly the regulars. The centiene were the emperor's elite cavalry. Which made sense for a man of his rank. She tried to picture a warhorse large enough to carry him comfortably and felt her mouth quirk again. Not a beast she would like to tangle with.

"Captain?" she ventured. Her brain was failing to provide his age or his exact title. Older than her, she thought, but less than thirty. There were no gray threads in his hair, and while the lines by his eyes crinkled attractively when he smiled, she judged them to be from time outdoors, not age.

"Major," he corrected.

"Impressive," she said. Either he was very, very good at command or he was older than she would have guessed.

"Did you think I was a dilettante who had purchased a commission on the merits of my family's name rather than earning my command?"

"My lord, I have not known you long enough to judge, but no, you do not strike me as anything but competent." He was hardly the languid, foppish sort of aristo who largely seemed to spend money rather than do anything to earn it that she had sometimes encountered. He was the scion of an ancient family. Destined to lead and protect. She doubted he had been raised to be anything but determined and accomplished.

"Are you judging that by my dancing?" His hand tightened, and he twirled them faster, completing two full rotations where the dance only called for one.

"That, my lord, sounds like you are fishing for compliments. Does your ego require reinforcing?"

The laugh that was his answer boomed across the ballroom.

Impressively, roaring with laughter didn't make the man skip a beat of the dance.

"Not usually, Lieutenant, but perhaps after a few hours in your company, I may need time to recover from being so neatly skewered." He grinned at her.

She doubted much could skewer this man. "A few hours, my lord? I don't think the set will last so long."

"There will be another set after this one. If you are inclined only to dancing."

Definitely not skewered. No dint to his confidence for him to be hinting at perhaps the chance for more. Some women would have thought him presumptuous. Or outright overstepping the bounds of good manners. Whereas she was just...well, judging by the heartbeat ringing in her ears at the thought of his hands touching other parts of her body, inclined to something more than dancing. But that didn't mean she would give in so easily.

"And if I were inclined only to dancing, my lord, would you still want to spend a few hours in my company?"

His expression turned thoughtful for a moment, and she wondered if he was going to say no. But then his hand tightened on her waist, just a fraction. Enough to draw her an inch closer, as though he rejected the notion of letting her go. "As it turns out, Lieutenant," he said, his eyes intent on hers, "I think I would."

She lost her breath. And perhaps her mind. The room continued to spin around them as they danced on, and she kept her eyes locked to Jean-Paul's. He seemed like the one true thing in the world. A sensation both reassuring and alarmingly seductive. A sensation she didn't want to come to an end. Not just yet. She needed to stay here where she could just dance and not think too hard. Not until she was sure she was ready to let him lead her on to the next step of this dance of theirs. She wanted what came after. Her body told her that. She ached to move closer to him. To touch more. To taste.

But a corner of her mind was also whispering that perhaps this was more than she'd gone looking for.

She didn't want to let that thought in. So instead she gazed into gray eyes that caught her like a storm and just danced.

And when they stood breathing hard after the set concluded, she decided that she would indeed chance the storm to see what happened. But, as Jean-Paul escorted her off the dance floor, there was a gold-and-silver-liveried servant waiting for him.

"Major," the man said. "I was sent to find you."

Imogene's heart dropped. Jean-Paul’s hand, where it rested on hers tucked through his arm, flexed.

"My father?" Jean-Paul asked, sounding impatient.

"No, your emperor," the servant said.

Jean-Paul blew out a frustrated breath. She had some sympathy for that emotion. But he couldn't ignore the emperor's request.

She slid her arm free and stepped away. "You must go, my lord. Thank you for the dance."

He bowed fast and then straightened. "Don't go anywhere until I return, Lieutenant," he said fiercely, then caught her hand to his lips to kiss the back of her glove.