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Chapter Twenty-Six
Adam
“Gentlemen,Idoapologizefor interrupting what must be quite a riveting conversation about business and finance, topics that a lady, such as myself, has no reason getting involved in. But I do believe that as the host of tonight’s affair, I’ve been granted quite the rare honour to interrupt a conversation between men.” My aunt smiles sweetly, hooking her arm through my elbow.
“Of course, Mrs. Molotov,” Mr. Danville, a short fellow with reddish-blond hair, says with a bow. “To what do we owe the pleasure of your company?”
“Oh.” She grins. “It’s just that I require a moment of my nephew’s time,” she says, tugging on my elbow. “Do you mind accompanying me on a turn about the room?” Her forced smile strains against her teeth.
I sigh, resisting the urge to roll my eyes. She’s been one of the people I’ve been avoiding all evening.
“Why are you not on the dance floor?” she asks me as she walks past guests, smiling and nodding at them.
I scoff. “Is that a genuine question? You know I’m not a fan of this foolery.”
“Since when? You used to be fond of these things when you were a boy.” She looks up at me.
“Yes. Well, that was before I learned that all of this is nothing but a farce. I only came here today to see about business with those who have too much money and are looking for a reason to throw it all away,” I say.
She squeezes my arm, grunting. “I suggest you fix that tone and that attitude because the reason I invited you has just shown up, and I’m quite certain she’d love to join the dance party,” my aunt says before slowing down next to a redhead in a pink floral dress, jewels hanging from her ears and neck, and feathers in her hair.
“Ms. Beaumont!” my aunt gushes. “What a delight it is to see you! This is my nephew, Sir Adam Molotov, and he’d love nothing more than to escort you to the dance floor for the next number. Isn’t that right, dear?” She squeezes my arm.
No, what I’d like nothing more to do is break your arm and your fingers if you keep nudging me with them. The redhead smiles up at me, her dress glittering as the light in the room bounces off it. She’s pretty enough, but if I’m being completely honest with myself, I’ve not been able to think of anything other than Olivia in that white and gold dress. It’s why I step away from her so quickly.
She tempts me and threatens my ability to maintain control, over myself and her. Since the first time we slept together, I haven’t been brave enough to allow myself to become lost in her again. It’s terrifying. Knowing the power she holds between her legs, if I touch her and kiss her, I’ll become putty in her hands. It’s been agony sleeping next to her the past couple of nights, naked no less, torturing myself. I’d go to bed with hopes of dominating her, but as soon as my body hits the sheet, and the desperation consumes me, I know there can be no contact between us. I’ll end up breaking my own rule to only fuck her if I’m in control.
Riding in the carriage with her, watching as the gentle light of the moon moves across her soft cleavage, I sweat. Catching my breath is a chore and with each step toward the party, I wish to take several more backwards, so we can skip the farce and satisfy what has been burning between us, building to the point of combustion, over the past few days. If I have any chance of functioning at all at this party, I must break away from her.
It’s why I suggested that my aunt pair her with Lord Lexington, an older gentleman who might keep her entertained. And most importantly, a man who knows very well the extent of my wrath, as someone who has an outstanding debt for me. I trust that he won’t try to rescue her should she attempt to confess her imprisonment to him. That had sounded like a brilliant plan since I believed I wouldn’t be caught dead dancing and therefore, had no intentions of going to the ballroom.
“Remember, dear, her family is watching,” my aunt whispers through clenched teeth.
She’s convinced that marriage to the Beaumonts’ eligible daughter will solve the rivalry between our families, since I brought crime to the family doorsteps from my debt-collecting activities. She seems to have also managed to convince the Beaumonts of this solution, and their eyes are currently on us.
“I’m sure Ms. Beaumont would rather…” I start.
“I’d love to dance, Mr. Molotov.” She beams up at me.
Drat. Clenching my cheeks, I force a smile. “Very well.”
Insulting the Beaumonts’ daughter would be an insult to her entire family and while I don’t care about upsetting them, I think I’d prefer to avoid bloodshed in this grand house and amongst guests who could survive and expose me to the authorities. My men are only here tonight to protect me, and I don’t need to set off a fire in this place over something so trivial. No matter how much I might despise it.
The worst part about it is that I’m a good dancer. I know all the steps and all the ridiculous symphonies like the back of my hand; they’ve been embedded in us as children of high society. So, it’s not that I can’t dance; it’s that I loathe dancing. Even more, the person I’ve been avoiding all night will be all I can concentrate on if I enter that ballroom.
No, I have self-control. As long as I keep looking at Ms. Beaumont, I’ll be fine. She takes my elbow, and I lead her to the floor. My eyes drift up toward the sparkling chandelier. Anything to avoid looking straight ahead. I’ve seen this ceiling a million times before, but anyone would think I had a passionate interest in architecture. The arrangement of violin, harp, and cello rings off the walls in a ballad. She curtseys before me, and I fix a smile before taking her hand. In and out, we dip, and it’s easy enough to remain focused on her.
“I’m quite a fan of painting and skilled in pianoforte,” she begins.
Fascinating. I nod. “Is that so?” I ask, trying.
“Yes.” She blushes and lowers her head. “What about you? What are your proudest accomplishments?”
Hm. I’ve never thought of that. What have I been most proud of? Before I can answer, however, we’re dipping out and exchanging partners, which brings a short-lived relief as I find myself struggling with who to look at. My heart flips several times, and my palms grow damp as I hurriedly try to focus on my new dance partners.
This is ridiculous. Olivia doesn’t scare me. So, what if I happen to glance at her? Except, as I whip my head up for a fraction of a second, I find that she’s not on the dance floor. Well, that’s a relief I suppose. Except, it might not be. Where could she be?
Ms. Beaumont and I are brought together again by the dance. In and out, we dip once more, our bodies come close to each other before separating. “Do you not have any accomplishments you’re most proud of?” she asks.
