Because I couldn’t admit that my hesitation came from fear of my own body’s response to his, rather than of anything he might do to me, I laid my fingers across his.
He closed his hand over mine, his thumb brushing softly over my knuckles.
I tore my eyes away from my slim hand resting in his—looking at it made it feel like an intimate gesture, not simply the type of contact anyone might have in a ballroom.
But when I lifted my gaze, I found that he’d been watching my face. Our eyes met, his dark and glittering. My breath came so quickly that my ribs strained against the corset’s grip, even though it hadn’t been laced too tightly.
Oh, gods, I had to break whatever strange spell had me in its grasp. I didn’t want to identify this feeling, something I’d never experienced before—before meeting Lord Stefan. Itcouldn’t possibly be desire. Wanting this man would be too shameful for words. My unwanted, unasked-for husband, who despised me, even though he couldn’t tear his eyes away from me as he touched me…
“We’ll be late,” I whispered, what little voice I could find stretched thinner by the shallowness of my breath.
“If this were a real marriage, we’d be even later,” he said, and his hand tightened on mine. “You could arrive to the ball with—” He cut off abruptly. “You’ll arrive to the ball with one of the most fashionable men in Calatria,” he went on after a pause, “and you’re fresh meat for the society sharks. We’ll draw a great deal of attention, and your clothing won’t help. Be ready for it, if you please.”
He turned at last, leading me toward the door, and Jan the footman bowed us through. He had a completely blank expression tonight, but as I passed him, I imagined that he gave me the faintest encouraging nod.
The cool evening air caressed my burning face, which felt incredible, and brushed over my exposed chest, which felt bizarre.
Lord Stefan didn’t even falter when I leaned on his hand, his forearm able to take most of my weight. And I had to distract myself from the strange little flutter that gave my constricted chest.
So as Lord Stefan handed me up into the carriage, I asked, “I thought you said I looked ridiculous. Is that why I’ll draw attention?”
I took my seat—slowly, because I hadn’t tried sitting down in these breeches yet. They rose to the challenge with surprising grace, but I still kept my legs at a forgiving angle.
Lord Stefan climbed in beside me, dropped down far more casually than I’d been able to, and rapped on the roof as Jan shut the carriage door.
We rolled smoothly away, and Lord Stefan still hadn’t answered me.
At last, he said, “You look ridiculous to me. But I’m not a universal arbiter of taste. Try not to embroil me in any duels tonight. And hold your tongue, if you would. I have more important matters on my mind.”
Perhaps he ought to spend some of his oh-so-important quiet time thinking about how not to be so incredibly rude.
I opened my mouth to tell him so, or to demand to know how he thought I could possibly involve him, or myself, in any kind of duel, but the heavy, brooding quality of his silence smothered the impulse.
A duel, though? Really? Did he think I’d say something thoughtlessly offensive enough to demand that kind of satisfaction? Or…did he think I’d flirt? I didn’t even know how.
Although it might be fun to find out, particularly if it annoyed Lord Stefan.
No one could possibly want to duel overme. I might, possibly, have had one or two fleeting adolescent fantasies to that effect, but I’d put those out of my mind long, long ago. I shifted on the carriage seat, biting my lip, as a particularly vivid scene from one of those reveries intruded; the man who’d won the duel bore more than a passing resemblance to Lord Stefan, although of course he hadn’t been a sneering, discourteous ass who cared more for his wardrobe than for common decency.
Maybe he’d sneered a little bit, but in a far more seductive way. Not like Lord Stefan, with his gleaming eyes and his quizzing glass and his stupid handsome face.
I closed my eyes, leaned back as far as my corset would allow, and forced my breath to slow. I’d need every particle of whatever poise and equanimity I could muster to survive being thrown, in a silk corset, to Lord Stefan’s society sharks.
Chapter Nine
“Lord Stefan Ettori and Lord Remigius Ettori!” the steward shouted, still barely audible, despite his booming, in the overwhelming din of Lady Vienni’s crowded ballroom.
I hardly had time to wince at the sound of my horrid first name, or at the almost equally horrid sound of my new last name, before we were proceeding down the broad expanse of carpeted stairs and the steward had moved on to announcing the next guests. My heeled shoes sank silently into the plush velvet underfoot. I wished I could sink all the way through it and disappear, suddenly transfixed with terror like a rabbit coming face to face with a pack of…well, sharks.
So many eyes. All of them belonged to people far more predatory than I could ever be, ready to devour me amidst the seething expanse of gold and silver and bright satins, of feathered headdresses tipped back with their wearers’ laughter, of whirling dancers and their flurry of spinning silk and brocade…
Lord Stefan kept moving, and I stumbled with him, only my death grip on his elbow keeping me upright.
How had I thought I might enjoy this if I gave it a chance? Sweet Ennolu, I’d drown in my own nervous sweat before I even found the wine, let alone had the chance to spill any.
A few people had turned their heads to gawk at us as we were announced, but there were more as we moved down into the throng, far too many more, clustering about us andgreeting Lord Stefan with pleasure at his return from abroad, or with barely veiled suggestions that he’d returned from abroad in disgrace, or with congratulations on our marriage that were accompanied by more or less tactfully expressed malicious curiosity about its suddenness.
“My consort, Lord Remigius,” Lord Stefan said, again and again, and I shook hands with yet another gentleman, and then immediately bowed over the elegant bejeweled wrist of a lady whose name I hadn’t even heard, let alone remembered.
