The moment she went up onto the tip of her toes, readying herself for the quick step movements, he was off. They moved in their small circle on the dance floor, only just avoiding the other revelers.
He spun her, but the act was clumsy, and Marissa’s feet got tangled together.
She barked out a laugh, not at all bothered by the misstep. But as she swung back in his direction, she found a sour expression on his handsome face.
“Do ye nae like to dance?” Marissa asked.
Arthur’s grey eyes darkened, and he glowered at her. “I dinnae.”
Her mouth fell open in surprise as she jumped in time to the music. Her foot made contact with the back of her calf, exactly as it was intended to do. Arthur, however, fumbled through the movement, stepping clumsily through it.
“If ye dinnae like to dance, why did ye insist on sweepin’ me away?” Despite her badgering, she kept her tone light, careful to let him know that she meant it all in jest.
Still, his expression darkened further. He bent closer, the heat of him washing over her anew.
He was close enough that she could scent him now. The smell of the soap he’d used to wash his hair and beard, a honey mixture that Freya often found pleasure in making herself. It mingled sweetly with his intoxicating musk.
Despite all the people surrounding them, despite all the eyes that she knew were on them at that very moment, Marissa found herself leaning even closer to him.
“I appreciate Cody stickin’ up for ye earlier,” he explained.
His voice was deep, and as close as she was, she could nearly feel it reverberating through his chest.
“I like that he wanted to protect ye,” he continued. “But that doesnae mean I want to see another man dancin’ with me betrothed. Even if he’s her nephew.”
Marissa leaned back, blinking up at him in surprise. “Ye’re jealous.”
The words washed over her with a stark realization, and with them came a small thrill that danced along her skin.
“What do ye have to be jealous of?” she asked.
The music rose and fell, and on cue, he spun her again. It went a little more smoothly than it had a few moments before, and Marissa was back in his arms before he got the chance to answer.
She prepared herself for the next part of the dance—a complicated series of leaps where both feet moved quickly together. She wasn’t confident that Arthur would be able to complete them.
He didn’t answer her question at first, and she got the impression that he was concentrating hard on where he was placing his feet. Unsurprisingly, he messed up more than a few steps, all the while cursing under his breath.
“Ye dinnae need to be jealous,” she added, when she saw he wasn’t going to answer her question at all.
His response was to spin her one more time. Then, as she twirled back into his arms, her skirts flaring dramatically around her feet, he dipped her.
His large, strong arm supported her back, his other slipping beneath her thighs to sweep them up as he dipped her toward the ground. A surprised yelp escaped her lips.
The entire time, Arthur had been bumbling his way through the dance. But this dip? It had been smooth. Almost practiced.
“Mayhap ye arenae so bad at dancin’, after all,” she mused, smiling up at him.
A cocky grin tugged up his mouth, the first one since he’d stepped onto the dance floor with her.
“I’m shite at dancin’,” Arthur purred. “But dinnae worry, lass—me talents lie elsewhere.”
He winked at her, giving her no time to process his words as he pulled her back up. It crashed over her like a wave, the realization of what he likely meant.
Heat flooded her body at his words, an unfamiliar feeling washing over her. Her stomach twisted itself into knots, and she was hit with the sudden urge to clench her thighs.
It all brought her up short. The dance, which she knew almost by heart, left her brain entirely.
As Arthur attempted to sweep her back into his arms, her feet stopped moving entirely. The opposite forces, him moving and her stopping, combined, sent her stumbling across the little bit of space between them.
