Page 21 of His Stolen Duchess (Stolen by the Duke #7)

Chapter Seventeen

“ Y ou dance wonderfully,” Lysander noted as he guided her through a smooth turn with barely a flick of his fingers.

“I haven’t danced in a long time,” Georgina replied breathlessly. “I must say, you dance rather well yourself.”

“You sound surprised,” he murmured, just loud enough for her to hear over the strings and the rhythmic tapping of polished shoes. “I will have you know that I am an adept dancer.”

The chandeliers above sparkled like constellations in motion, casting fractured light across the polished marble floor.

Dozens of candles ringed the grand hall, but there were so many—so perfectly placed—that the glow did not flicker.

It pulsed, warm and steady, as if holding its breath to watch the couples dance.

The golden light bathed the guests in a dreamlike hue, and Georgina’s gown shimmered like emerald gemstones in the glow.

But she wasn’t thinking about her gown. Or the music. Or the dozens of eyes that were surely following them.

Her focus narrowed to the Duke’s hands—one holding hers, the other at her waist—and the way their bodies moved together like a single current, smooth and fluid.

Every step was instinctive, every turn so precisely led that it barely required thought. For the first few seconds, it felt as though they were alone in the ballroom, spinning in some secret, invisible space.

Georgina’s fingers curled a little too tightly against his shoulder. She couldn’t help it. She didn’t want to fall out of rhythm or out of his arms.

“I can see that,” she murmured back.

For the first time since the music had begun, Georgina noticed the other dancers orbiting around them. Elegant couples moved in polished circles, but she and the Duke remained near the center of the dance floor, as steady as the eye of a storm.

The sense of being alone together, of existing in some suspended moment, was beginning to dissipate.

Georgina could sense the guests watching them and knew the reason for it: The two of them moved in flawless synchrony, as though they’d practiced for weeks. But they hadn’t. It was effortless. Natural.

And that was far more dangerous.

“This was a good idea,” the Duke said, his voice low, his breath brushing her cheek. “I’m glad you suggested it.”

“And I’m glad you think quickly on your feet.”

The pressure of his hand became slightly firmer against her waist, just long enough for her to feel the shift and wonder if it was deliberate. “It seems I’m not the only one who does.”

“I knew you didn’t want to have that conversation with my uncle.”

“No,” he admitted. “Your uncle cares for you deeply, doesn’t he?”

Georgina’s smile softened, shaded by memory. “Yes. I was young when my father passed, and Uncle Francis helped raise us. He supported my mother and sisters, and after she died, he did his best to ensure we’d have secure futures. I think he still believes he’s fulfilling his promise to her.”

Lysander studied her face for a moment. “I imagine there aren’t many people who can dictate your choices. That’s quite clear.”

“Only one man has ever influenced my life in any meaningful way,” she said lightly. “And I seem to be in his arms tonight.”

His brows rose subtly, but not without interest. “I take that as a great compliment.”

“You should. I don’t offer them often.”

He tilted his head slightly, as if trying to see her from a new angle. “Whatever guidance your uncle gave you, it’s not what led you to marry, is it?”

“He certainly encouraged it in the beginning,” she said, the corner of her mouth quirking. “But I removed myself from that particular arrangement rather swiftly, as you know. And the next… well, I fell into that one, so to speak.”

He smiled briefly and unexpectedly at her quip. “That is certainly one way of putting it. You did make quite a splash.”

Georgina gave a little laugh. “Was that a joke, Your Grace? I wasn’t aware you were capable of humor. It suits you.”

“Don’t get used to it,” he said somewhat gruffly. “If it was a joke, it was probably a mistake.”

She inhaled deeply. Even amidst the aroma of beeswax candles and perfume, she could still catch his warm and inviting scent. It made her dizzier than the dancing.

“Admit it,” she said, her lips curving. “You’re enjoying yourself.”

“The night is… not unenjoyable,” he replied, carefully. “And we’re doing a fine job of appearing convincingly married.”

She turned her head slightly, her gaze sweeping the room before returning to his. “We’re doing more than that. No one can take their eyes off us. And while I know it’s mostly you they’re watching, I don’t mind. It’s enjoyable being seen like this. Admired.”

“Even if I’m not having a good time?”

“I’m having enough for both of us.”

“Good.”

He lifted her hand in a graceful arc and spun her once—twice—her skirts flaring around her like petals in bloom. When she returned to his hold, it was firmer than before. She caught her breath.

“I didn’t come here for enjoyment,” he said. “It’s difficult, after seeing?—”

He stopped. His expression shuttered.

“You really are a splendid dancer.”

She inclined her head, swallowing the questions that leaped to her lips. “Thank you, Your Grace.”

There were things she wanted to ask. About the war. About what still haunted him. She had seen that same distance in his eyes earlier when he’d spoken with her uncle. But now was not the time.

Some men welcomed being pressed. The Duke was not one of them.

The music slowed. The final notes hung in the air like mist before dissolving into polite applause.

Georgina blinked, disappointed that the moment was already gone.

“Thank you for the dance, Your Grace,” she curtsied.

He had released her waist, but her body still remembered his touch—its weight, its steadiness, and the impossible heat it carried.

“It was my pleasure,” he said. “We’ve shown them enough for now. Come, let’s find some refreshments and hope no one tries to speak to us. It’s the small talk and the gossip that truly test my endurance.”

She tried not to let his tone pull her mood down. It had been a wonderful dance—brief, but vivid—and she wasn’t quite ready to let it go.

Georgina slipped her hand into the crook of Lysander’s arm without waiting for him to offer it.

He didn’t pull away.

Together they left the dance floor, weaving through the crowd of admirers and idle observers. The Duke walked briskly enough to discourage conversation, and though several heads turned their way, no one dared stop them. He had that effect on people—part noble, part storm cloud.

Georgina didn’t mind. She had already conversed with her sisters earlier that evening, and now there was only one person in the room with whom she wanted to keep speaking.

A maid passed them with a silver tray, and Lysander deftly plucked two flutes of champagne, handing one to her without comment. He then steered them toward the edge of the ballroom, away from the music, the candlelight, and the sea of watching eyes.

They stopped in the shadows beneath a tall marble column, near one of the long, arched windows. The glass was cool, touched by night, and the chatter of the room seemed to fall away slightly.

She sipped her champagne. It was dry and cold and tasted faintly of something floral. But it was not as intoxicating as the man beside her.

No sooner had they turned toward the ballroom than two excited voices broke through the hum of conversation.

“Georgina! You look amazing! ” cried Isabella, practically bouncing.

“Purely divine,” Beatrice added with a grin, her dark eyes sparkling.

Georgina’s smile bloomed. “I didn’t know you were both here. Your Grace, may I introduce two dear friends of mine? Lady Isabella and Lady Beatrice. We’ve known each other for a decade now.”

“A pleasure, ladies,” Lysander said, bowing politely. “I’ve also just spotted a friend. Do excuse me.” His eyes lingered on Georgina for the briefest moment. “Will you be all right?”

“Of course,” she said lightly. “I shall find you if I need rescuing, Your Grace.”

He gave a nod and disappeared into the crowd. She was, admittedly, a touch disappointed that he hadn’t stayed to chat with her friends, but the sight of the twins made up for it.

“Oh, you must let me embrace you both,” Georgina said, opening her arms.

Isabella all but launched into her arms, giggling as she squeezed. Beatrice’s hug was more restrained, though no less affectionate.

“How are you both?” Georgina asked, stepping back to take them in properly. “Let me have a look at you. Have any dashing young gentlemen stolen your hearts yet?”

Isabella clasped her hands together dramatically. “Perhaps. Lord Browham’s already asked me to dance. He’s very handsome, and surprisingly charming.”

“I told her not to leap at the first man who flatters her,” Beatrice said primly.

“You’re only saying that because you have yet to be asked,” Isabella teased.

“Untrue. Lord Bingley has already asked.”

“Yes, but he dances with everyone, ” Isabella scoffed.

“That only proves he has excellent manners. I want a gentleman with more than just one redeeming quality. Someone complex. Someone interesting.” Beatrice crossed her arms as if to seal her point.

Georgina smiled and stepped between them, slipping an arm through each of theirs. “I have no doubt you’ll both marry brilliant men. But don’t rush it. You must know a man before you vow to spend your life with him. Don’t let charm be your only guide.”

“I don’t recall hearing about your courtship with His Grace,” Beatrice said slyly.

Georgina’s smile tightened, but she kept it in place.

“Nor shall you. Just know that I speak from experience. Marriage can be a wonder, but only when entered wisely. With so many options, it’s tempting to leap at the first flutter of excitement, but take your time.

The right man will reveal himself, usually when you least expect it. ”

“We want to marry at the same time,” Isabella said, half serious, half dreamy. “Perhaps we’ll each find men who are twins. Can you imagine?”