Page 20 of The Vampire Curse

“To prepare you for the masquerade.”

I look at Clara, with her head held high, her sights trained straight ahead. She presses her mouth into a thin line.

I fight the smile threatening to form. That expression hasn’t left Clara's face since I found her in the dining room. Did Lawrence’s words affect her that much?

My smile slips and my amusement fades. The masquerade is only two months away. It's longer than Clara has been here, but it is not as long as we need.

I don’t know if I can keep her safe. There is only so much that even I can do.

Clara stops walking at the threshold of the room. She takes it in, her brows pinching.

I make my way to the phonograph and turn it on. Soft music flows and crackles through the funnel.

“I don’t understand,” she says.

I only hold out my hand, beckoning her. She doesn’t hesitate—which is unusual. She is always absorbing information and questioning everything before acting.

“How can we dance here? Won’t the furniture get in the way?”

I hold back a laugh. “Normally, yes, but I assume you have no prior experience with dancing at formal parties?”

She glares, folding her arms over her chest.

“That is not an insult, my dear Clara.”

“You saw how I lived… we both know there are no parties for people like me.”

“We will start from the beginning, but you need to practice moving about while paying attention to your surroundings. We have much to cover and too little time.”

She slips her hand into my outstretched one. Uncertainty is written across her face.

I place her other hand on my shoulder and mine on her waist, pulling her close.

Catching the rhythm of the music, I take one step, then on the second step, Clara runs into my chest.

“Let me guide you,” I say.

She huffs and drops her chin to watch our feet. A few more steps into the dance, and she is trying to lead me. I barely suppress another laugh.

“It’s no use, I was not made for this sort of thing.”

Removing my hand from her waist, I take her chin between my thumb and forefinger and lift her head. Her eyes go no further than my throat, her frustration with herself is apparent.

“You are doing fine, Clara. We have only been at this for a few minutes.” I release her and reposition our hands. “Follow me—don’t try to lead and keep your chin up.”

Clara blows out a breath and finally meets my gaze.

For a third time, we begin. She steps on my feet several times before catching the rhythm.

The song ends, but our dance continues.

It feels strange, the two of us touching in such a mundane way… and hernotattempting to stab me for once.She moves against me, and I am tempted to ask her again to accept my mark. Desire stirs, and if I mark her, my hunger for her will grow with each bite.

When she clears her throat, I release her and walk over to the phonograph to restart the music.

“Again,” I say.

Wordlessly, and dutifully, Clara repositions herself.Her gaze flicks to the back of the room and I wonder if she’s remembering the last time we were in here together a few nights ago. Her fingers flex against my hand, and her cheeks flush as she straightens her head, her eyes remain locked on my cravat. I can’t help the smile that tugs on my mouth.