Page 15 of Enchanting the Duke

He considered dragging her from the room, but decorum was a relentless mistress.Instead, he offered his arm and led her to the perimeter, where the air was at least a degree or two cooler.

They walked in silence for a moment.Nomansland was acutely aware of every brush of her sleeve against his, every time her shoulder grazed his bicep.She didn’t pull away, though he could see the flush still high on her cheekbones.

“You look very fine tonight,” he said.

She glanced up at him, eyes clear and searching.“You look… very yourself.”

He laughed, genuinely.“Is that good?”

“It’s dangerous,” she replied, and the honesty in her voice undid him a little.

They reached the end of the room, where a collection of statuary provided a modicum of privacy.Nomansland turned to face her, intent on saying something profound or at least memorable, but she beat him to it.

“Why did you run away last time?”she asked.The question was quiet, but the words were a dagger.

He hesitated.“Because I was afraid.”

She blinked, uncomprehending.

“I have never wanted anything I could not simply take,” he said, the confession leaving a bitter taste.“You… are different.I was not prepared.”

Her lips parted, as if she might ask what he wanted, but she already knew.He could see it in the way she looked at him, open and unguarded, as if they were the only two people left in the world.

“Will you dance with me, then?”she asked.

“Every dance,” he replied.

He took her hand and led her back to the floor, where the waltz was already in motion.As they spun together, Nomansland felt the eyes of half the room upon them, watching, speculating, calculating the odds.

Let them watch.Let them place their bets.

For the first time in his life, Nomansland wanted something more than to win.He wanted to keep her.

And he would fight the entire ton, bare-knuckled and bleeding, for the chance.

Nomansland played the game well.At the close of the waltz, as the applause rippled and dancers scattered to partners and punch bowls, he released Chrissy’s hand but didn’t stray far.He moved with deliberate slowness, cutting a path through the crowd that left no room for interlopers.He saw, with wry amusement, the way lesser men clustered at the periphery, awaiting their chance to pounce, but none dared approach so long as he stood at her side, an immovable wall of muscle and tailored cloth.

“Will you abandon me now?”Chrissy asked, a hint of laughter in her voice as she glanced up at him.“Or are you sworn to chaperone me through the entire evening?”

He offered his arm.“I’m told it’s a sacred duty, Or so your brother-in-law assures me.”

“Dinah said Abingdon is still convinced you are the devil incarnate.”

“Then we are well-matched,” he murmured, steering her through a sea of brocades and gleaming jewels.“For you, Miss Westfall, appear to have a talent for driving men to ruin.”

She colored, but only slightly.“I can’t imagine who would say such a thing.”

“I can, and they are all gathered under one roof tonight, armed with malice and lemon tarts.”

They made their way to the edge of the room, the hum of conversation swirling around them.Nomansland was acutely aware of every eye that tracked their progress, every sly murmur as they passed.He relished it, the way a boxer relished the sting of a good hit, a sign of respect, if not affection.

He claimed two glasses of sparkling wine from a passing footman and handed one to Chrissy.Her hand trembled as she took it, a detail that delighted him more than he cared to admit.

They stood close, so close that the faint scent of her, something floral and warm, cut through the haze of beeswax and expensive perfume.He let the silence stretch, content to simply be, until at last she spoke.

“You seem at home here,” she said, tilting her head as if appraising him anew.

“It’s all sleight of hand.A talent for faking comfort where none exists.”