JACE
The woman removed the white furred cape and handed it to the servant collecting cloaks.
The crowd at the door gasped.
"Gorgeous," murmured Fabian.
Her purple dress was simple. No full skirt or breast-busting corset. The sides of the gown were slit up to the knee, allowing greedy eyes to see her pale calves.
A band of silver clung to her delicate throat and a cobweb of delicate chains attached to a bigger silver chain that draped her collarbones.
She didn’t wear a wig, either. Her brunette hair had been brushed until it shone. The thick strands reaching her narrow hips. One small bun graced the back of her head, and the only hair jewelry was a silver hair pin and two flower combs.
She hadn’t worn the elaborate make-up favored by nobility. Her clear, youthful skin held the faintest pink color on her cheeks and lips. Two small purple gems dotted the outside corners of her eyes.
She was beautiful. Ethereal. Really, truly, fairy-like.
I was so drawn to her tender skin, her flowing hair, her tiny waist, I lost track of my own thoughts.
Fabian studied her like there would be a test later. I jabbed him with my elbow. "Wipe the drool off your mouth."
He turned to glare at . "You lucky asshole. And you haven’t bedded her? You’re out of your damned mind. If you don’t want her, then divorce her. I’ll marry her. Hell, I’ll give up all my mistresses for a life with that beauty."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
He stared at , then he laughed. "You idiot. You don’t recognize your own wife?"
Stunned at his statent, I returned my gaze to the woman who looked like a heaven-sent goddess.
My wife?
Then the butler standing at the doorway, himself sowhat dazzled, called out, "Miss Sophia Pagemoore!"
Fabian burst into guffaws. "Oh, you are screwed. She didn’t use her married moniker. Instead, she reverted to her maiden na." He clapped on the shoulder. "You don’t need to make a choice, Jace. I think Sophia has made it for you."
***|***|***
SOPHIA
I was so nervous, my knees were shaking. My palms were sweaty, too. You got a second chance, Soph. Don’t blow it.
I lifted my chin and clasped my hands navel-level, the picture of an elegant lady. At least I hoped so. I walked forward, well aware that all those in the ballroom were whispering to each other. I assud they were talking about since most of their glances shot my way, too.
I don’t care, I thought. I will live for what makes happy. If society doesn’t like it, they can bite .
As I entered the main floor of the ballroom, I found myself surrounded by gentlen. Dressed in formal suits with ruffled shirts and tight pants and shiny jackets. Collars and cuffs clasped with silver and gold and diamonds. Slick hair and slicker smiles.
"Good evening, miss," said the one in front of . He gave a slight bow.
The others followed suit.
"Good evening," I said.
He smiled, and preened, looking at the others smugly. "Would you like sothing to drink, my lady? Perhaps strawberry juice and champagne?"
"It sounds lovely," I said. "But I---"
"I shall retrieve it forthwith."
"Oh, you needn’t---"
"Do you enjoy petit fours, ma’am?" asked a dark-haired gentleman. I think I had seen him before, but I wasn’t sure about his na. "I’ll get you a selection." He turned and hurried toward a dessert table.
"Will you save a dance for ?" asked a man to my right.
"And as well!" said another.
Others echoed the sentint.
"Oh, I don’t dance well, I’m afraid."
"I don’t mind how many tis you step on my toes," said the first man who’d asked for a dance. "I would consider it an honor."
"An honor?" I laughed. Then smiling, I t his smitten gaze. "Truly?"
"She has dimples," said a red-headed gentleman to my left. "Oh, my heart!" He dramatically clutched at his chest, making the others chuckle.
"Do you waltz, miss?"
"Yes." I knew all the dances. I had been trained to be the Willowmarch matriarch, and my education had been all-encompassing. However, I wasn’t lying about my dance ability. Graceful, I was not.
Three n put out their hands, offering to take to the dance floor.
I blinked.
Whatever I believed would happen at the Hunter’s Ball, this scenario had never occurred to . Weren’t these the sa people who talked about behind my back? Made fun of for trying too hard to win their favor?
"I’m sorry, gentlen. Miss Pagemoore has already granted her first dance to ."
I looked at the speaker and nearly swallowed my tongue. The man was gorgeous. Tall, broad shoulders, chiseled features, like a statue co to life.
Duke Stonehart.
He was known for his cold deanor. Even now, his icy expression seed to freeze all the n around . They wisely stepped back, giving Duke Stonehart space to stand in front of .
"Your Grace?" My voice trembled. This man wanted to dance with ? So much so that he lied in order to do so. Why?
The Duke took my hand and led out of the group.
"You’re such a tiny thing, I hardly think you can keep up with my steps," he murmured close to my ear. "Put your feet on mine."
"I cannot." He wanted such intimate contact, and he was not my husband. I blushed furiously.
"Miss Pagemoore, shall I help you?" He lifted by the waist, and he lowered until my feet landed on his. He wrapped one muscled arm around my waist, crooked his arm and held my hand, assuming the position for the waltz.
He whirled on to the dance floor.
"This isn’t appropriate," I said. "I’m married, Your Grace."
"Do you want to be?"
I t his gaze. His eyes held a question I wasn’t prepared to answer. I saw sothing else in his eyes, too.
Tenderness.
For ? It made no sense for him to look at as though I was so sort of treasure he’d just discovered.
"Have we t before?" I asked.
"We have."
I frowned. "Really? I think I would rember you."
"From thirteen years ago?"
"What? When did we---"
He shook his head, expertly guiding us around the floor, flowing in perfect ti with the other dancers. "It doesn’t matter if you rember or not. I’ve been away from ho for far too long. I’ve only just returned. But this ti, I’m not too late."
"Too late? For what?" I asked.
He smiled. "For you."
User Comments
0 comments from readers