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The duchess didn’t understand, and when she’d mentioned dancing to Bellona, Bellona expected no more attention to the matter than she’d given with her sister.
When the man touched her, she could not think of feet or music or dance. All she could remember was the feel of hands clasping her neck on the ship—all the more terrifying as it had happened after they had escaped Stephanos and his men, and the captain had promised her her safety. Or the night she and Thessa had escaped Greece—when Stephanos and his men had stolen her from her home.
She had made a promise to Melina not to speak of it. She said the things people whispered about, they overlooked. But if their suspicions were publicly confirmed and indiscretions admitted openly, then the ton could no longer ignore them. Nobody wanted to be seen as approving an open scandal as everyone wanted to uphold their place in society.
Bellona thought of a gasping fish lying in the sand, eyes wide, breathing air, but not truly breathing. That was how the dance instructor’s hands made her feel. That was how she always felt when a man stood close enough that his hands could seize her neck.
Three quick raps on the door sounded.
Bellona forced herself to her feet, knowing the duchess would be on the other side.
The duchess stood there. ‘I do not blame you for this, Bellona. I have explained to Rhys that he must mind his ways. The dancing master—I do not think he has even read Thomas Wilson’s book or looked at the drawings. He does not know the correct method of dancing. He’s left now and I’m sure—’
‘He’s left?’ Bellona interrupted.
The older woman nodded. ‘No loss. His posture was not good. Return and I will see that you learn properly.’
Bellona did not ever wish to attend another soirée—she hated them. Even the country dances caused her insides to ache when many people were together. Everyone moved this way and that and anyone could grasp her from behind. Breathing became impossible.
Almost before her thought was completed, the duchess fastened her hand on Bellona’s arm and marched her out through the door. ‘You must do this. Mothers need children. You must marry in order to have babies. You must attend soirées and dinner parties to meet the men. Even a vicar will expect a dance with his wife on occasion.’
Bellona walked back into the ballroom. Movement caught her eye. The duke stood at the side, talking quietly with the musician.
His gaze locked on her. He studied her—just a blink, but all the same, he’d already had too many thoughts she couldn’t decipher. Too much intensity in his gaze.
The touch of the duchess’s hand on Bellona’s arm freed her to move again. ‘Now, dear, don’t be awed that you’ll be dancing with a duke.’
Bellona paused, unable to take another step forward. He did not make her fear him as the other men did, but when his eyes raked over her, her strength waned.
Bellona spoke to the duchess. ‘You must show me.’
She could feel the duke thinking about her, watching her.
‘Nonsense,’ the duchess said, waving Bellona’s words away. ‘Rolleston is a wonderful dancer. He knows what he’s doing. With his height you might think his legs would get in the way or his feet would crush you, but he’s quite graceful.’
Bellona moved her head sideways in refusal, as he stepped forward, movements slow.
‘Miss Cherroll.’ His words, rumbling just louder than a murmur, barely reached her ears above the sound of her heart beating. He stopped two arm lengths in front of her. His hands were at his side. ‘I would be pleased if you would give me the honour of a dance.’
She could not speak.
‘Child.’ The duchess, all smiles, reached out to nudge Bellona forward. ‘Do not be afraid you will step on his feet. He’s quite able to withstand it, I assure you.’
‘Mother.’ Rhys raised his arm the slightest bit. His voice was quiet. ‘I can help her. Why don’t you ring for tea? Or some wine, perhaps? I’m parched.’
‘That would be lovely.’ She turned, signalling the musician to begin, before she moved to summon the tea.
‘Listen to the music,’ the duke said to Bellona. ‘Just listen for a bit. Let it get into your thoughts.’
She nodded, unable to move her eyes from his and trying to slow the roar in her ears. His mother stood near. The duchess. All was safe. Bellona knew it. But her body did not feel safe.
He raised one hand into the dance pose, but the other remained at his side. ‘Step forward and put your hand in mine.’
She drew another breath into her lungs and looked into his eyes. They were not harsh or threatening or angry. They had softened at the edges, guiding her, and his head leaned forward the merest amount. Now she couldn’t escape. She was trapped. But the snare was the velvety hue of his eyes and the rumble of his voice curling into her with the richness of a covering being wrapped around her on a cold day after the cloth had been warmed by the fire.
