So, she lifted her chin, placed her hand in his, and replied, “With you, Your Grace? How could a lady say no?”
The moment their hands touched, electricity danced up her arm. She’d heard of electrical currents and their use in therapies before, but she’d never experienced it.
Now, she was a believer in its power.
And from the slight widening of his eyes, he had felt it, too.
His brothers stared at them, their mouths agape as the duke led her onto the floor.
A waltz began to play.
A waltz! Why did it have to be a waltz?
Why could it not be a hopping reel where she barely need touch him at all?
Oh no.
The lilting tune began, and he stared down at her, daring her to retreat.
Clearly, he did not know the stuff she was made of.
She swept up her skirts in her free hand and waited for him to place his other hand just below her shoulder blade.
And when he did so…the feel of that hand…
She suppressed a gasp.
The hum and heat of his hand against her was impossible.
A muscle tightened ever so slightly in his jaw. She was not alone in her shock.
He rocked ever so slightly, his legs caressing her skirts.
She blinked, remembering to listen to the count of the music, and then they were off, sweeping across the floor.
What the blazes was happening to her? She was no silly schoolgirl to be overborne by a rake!
She gathered herself and said drily, “Afraid to face me in front of your brothers?”
“Face you?” he drawled.
His voice filled the air with a delicious, tempting timbre.
It all but caressed her skin. She was shocked at its headiness.
He cocked his head to the side, making good view of her. That gaze traveled over her with a languid heat that seemed to astonish them both. And as he lifted his eyes back to her face, he mocked ever so slightly, “I merely wished to avoid a battle, Lady Beatrice.”
His lips tilted into an unwilling, slow smile. “And I thought perhaps you would not wish to bellow in public.”
“Bellow, sir?” She jerked her chin back, quite surprised by his assessment of her future tone. “I do not bellow.”
How did he know her so well already?
His eyes widened, those depths sparking with something she couldn’t fathom before he declared, “I have heard tales of your rhetorical style, and I have heard that your volume is quite remarkable.”
She nodded, annoyed that when she looked straight ahead, she saw only his snowy and perfectly pressed cravat. A ruby pin winked at her. “My reputation precedes me. Good.”
“Indeed, it does,” he assured, with a surprising note of approval as he took them about the ballroom so smoothly she felt as if they were flying.