Page 10

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.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

He turned to her, serious now. “Do you? I’ve spent years perfecting the art of making people see only what I want them to see.”

“And what do you want me to see?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

He considered, weighing honesty against discretion. “Everything. I want you to see all of it. The polish and the cracks underneath. I want you to see the man who can’t stop thinking about you, even when it’s wildly inappropriate.”

She blinked, surprised, but didn’t pull away.

He set his glass aside and offered his hand once more. “One more dance?”

She took it, her fingers clutching his with a certainty that almost unseated him.

Together, they rejoined the swirl of dancers, this time for a quadrille, which required a dizzying succession of steps, turns, and hand-changes.

Nomansland made sure every motion brought them into contact, whether it was the brief clasp of hands or the brush of her skirts against his leg.

“You’re showing off,” she said, eyes bright.

“It’s not my fault you make me reckless,” he countered.

At the next change, he spun her out and reeled her back in, closer than was strictly necessary. “You’re lighter on your feet than I expected,” he said, voice pitched for her alone.

“I had excellent training,” she replied, her breath fanning his cheek. “Dinah made me practice every morning for a month. She said I’d die of shame otherwise.”

“Dinah is a tyrant, but a prescient one. The ton has never seen anything like you.”

She flushed at the compliment, but there was pride in it, too. “You keep saying things like that. It’s unfair.”

“What is?”

“That you make it impossible to believe you’re ever insincere.”

He smiled, slow and deliberate. “Good. Because I never am. Not with you.”

The quadrille ended, but Nomansland didn’t release her hand. He pulled her gently aside as the next set began to form, then bent to speak into her ear. “You need a respite.”

“From dancing?”

“From being the center of the universe,” he said. “It’s a heavy mantle. Even Atlas took breaks.”

She laughed, startled and a little breathless. “And where do you propose I rest?”

He straightened, eyes holding hers. “Anywhere you like.”

There was a pause, long enough for a dozen meanings to accumulate between them, then she nodded, surrendering the tiniest bit of her weight to his arm.

“Lead on, Your Grace,” she said, her voice low and thrilling.

Nomansland did, guiding her out of the melee and into a side corridor lined with shadowy statuary. The music faded, replaced by the hush of their own footsteps and the echo of their hearts.

They reached a nook where a window overlooked the Munsterley gardens, the glass fogged with condensation and the cold night beyond. Here, they were alone.

Nomansland turned to face her, drinking in the way the moonlight played across her features. She looked up at him, equal parts nervous and expectant.

“Do you regret leaving the others?” he asked quietly.

She shook her head. “No. Not even a little.”

He reached out, trailing one finger along the line of her jaw. She shivered, but didn’t step back.

“I want to kiss you,” he said. “Right here, where anyone might see.”

She hesitated, only for an instant. “Do it.”

He did, and the rest of the world fell away.