A warm hand settled at Celine’s back.
“Vicious,” Elias murmured in her ear.
“She started it.”
“You finished it. Quite decisively.”
“Someone must. I am not overly given to reserve like you.”
“I nearly threw Lady Vanceley off the terrace.”
“In your mind. I actually drew blood—metaphorically.”
“Bloodthirsty little creature.”
“Only when someone attacks what is mine.”
His hand tightened infinitesimally. “What is yours?”
“You. Apparently. According to everyone here, I have tamed the Beast of Berkeley Square.”
“Have you?”
“I hope not. I like you wild.”
“Careful. Statements like that make me forget we’re in public.”
“Maybe I want you to forget.”
“Do not tempt me.”
“I believe I already have.”
“Dance with me again.”
“We’ve already danced three times.”
“Then let’s make it four and really give them something to discuss.”
“That would be—”
“Scandalous? Perfect? Inevitable?”
“All three.”
He was already drawing her onto the floor as the next waltz began. This time, other couples discreetly widened the circle, leaving the centre of the ballroom to the two of them.
“Everyone is staring,” she whispered.
“Good.”
“This will be in every gossip sheet tomorrow.”
“Let them earn their ink for once.”
“You despise gossip.”
“I despise gossip that wounds. This is spectacle. Theatre. And we shall give the performance of a lifetime.”
