Page 51 of Soulbound

A heretofore-unknown flirtatious side emerged from her. "Only if you promise to lure me somewhere dark and mysterious."

Sebastian stroked the back of her hand. "I could potentially do that." There were dozens of places around Rathbourne Manor that were secluded.

But once there, would he be able to contain himself to mere kisses? I want to do many, many things to you beyond kissing. Heat stirred through his skin. What would it be like to hold a woman in his arms who meant something to him?

What would it be like to kiss her naked skin? To take his time exploring all the secret dips and valleys that made up Cleo's body?

It would be perfect.

"I will hold you to that promise," she said, with the smile that left him breathless.

The smile that captured his heart and squeezed it.

Sebastian took a minute step toward her, half tempted to steal her away now, lust coursing through his veins. He couldn't always promise that it would feel as pure as it did now, and he wanted to capture the moment. To bottle it. He almost suspected he could do this in truth—be her husband—if he could only continue to feel this way, pure and clean.

"Don't look at me like that," she said breathlessly. "Don't you dare. I want my dance first."

His gloved hand brushed against her skirts, and he captured a fold of it between thumb and forefinger, the movement so subtle only she would know. His voice lowered, "We don't have to dance in the ballroom."

Cleo rapped him on the arm with her fan, glancing over his shoulder as if to see if anyone watched. This was allowed. She was his wife, and he could damned well touch her when he wanted in the eyes of the world, but he felt the illicit thrill sweep through him too.

"The waltz?" she whispered. "Just once. In the ballroom."

Over the top of her head, he caught a glimpse of a woman in a feathered black swan mask eyeing him with appreciation.

The sight froze him.

Utterly.

Full red lips curved as the swan realized he'd seen her, and then the woman in black turned and sauntered into the hallway, casting one more glance behind her as if in invitation.

"Are you all right?" Cleo asked, resting her hand on his arm. "You've gone awfully pale. Don't tell me I've frightened you away from dancing forever? I promise I won't step on your toes."

He reined his emotions in sharply, and gave her a thin smile. "Sorry. I thought I saw someone I knew. Would you care for some champagne?"

He didn't fool her. Cleo's lips pressed together. But then she nodded. "That would be wonderful. Are you sure you're—"

"I'll fetch it for you," he said curtly, striding away, an icy sweat springing up along his spine.

It had to be a mistake. The lighting in here was dim, after all, and it had been over ten years since he'd seen her last. Champagne. He turned, trying to think where he'd seen the servants last. Sweeps of color swam around him as he found himself in the middle of a waltz; every woman in here looked like some floral bloom, and the press of swagged skirts brushed against his trousers, making him shake. They couldn't know, but right now he didn't think he could stand to be touched, even if it were the innocuous brush of a skirt. The crush of perfume became almost overpowering, and he wiped his numb mouth.

Too many people. Too much scent. Sebastian shoved his way between a woman in red and her dancing partner, escaping through one of the doors—

The swan waited for him at the end of the hallway, lowering the mask she held to her face.

There was no mistake.

It was Julia Camden.

Sebastian shoved blindly through a doorway in the wall, heading for the terrace. He had to get out of there, before he drenched the entire ballroom in ice.

* * *

Sebastian burst out into the gardens, sucking in a lungful of cold air. He was shaking, practically vibrating with energy and fury. He held his hands out and stared at them, trying all of Bishop's methods to control himself; his breathing, clearing his mind, trying to focus on something, anything else...

Skirts swished.

Sebastian gathered himself, turning to face his worst nightmare. The black swan eased the glass doors shut behind her, leaning back against them for a moment, as if to capture the look of his face.