Page 33 of Never Dance with a Duke

As the others partnered off, Nicolette excused herself as was her wont, though she wasn’t the type to disappear into a library or study for the duration. Honestly, she enjoyed the gatherings and assemblies if there wasn’t always the pressure to find a husband.

And for those who chose not to, or who were wallflowers or spinsters on the shelf, there was always the public disappointment of having failed the two things expected of every woman: to marry and have children.

She wandered the ballroom’s periphery, noting with interest that one of the Scottish dukes partnered Sophronie. She didn’t look the least pleased about the conversation they were having. Looking smart in his red and white uniform, a lieutenant whirled a rather dazed Rayne around the dance floor.

Nicolette had just reached the open French windows and was considering whether she should risk stepping outside for a breath of fresh air without an escort when a familiar voice rumbled behind her.

“Waltz with me, Nicolette. Please.”

She closed her eyes against the tingles rippling up her back and across her shoulder. If Mathias’s voice caused this reaction, what would being in his arms again do to her?

“I…”

Taking her elbow, he turned her toward him. “It’s just a dance.”

Is that really all it is?

She looked into his eyes, and what she saw there both thrilled and scared her.

He desired her.

And God help her, she wanted him, too.

Swallowing, she took in the colorful tapestry of swirling dancers. The mirrored walls reflected the bright gowns and jewels as a thousand candles lent a warm, almost ethereal glow.

“If your ankle is completely healed, that is.” Hope and anticipation made his voice slightly rough around the edges.

“All right,” she conceded.

She wanted this. Yearned to dance with Mathias and feel his arms around her, much, much more than she ought to. Placing her hand in his, the now-familiar tremor of awareness curled through her in warm, sensual waves.

It had never been like this with Kilbourne. Never.

Nicolette very much feared she might regret this later, but she also feared she’d regret even more not dancing with Mathias. Against her will and common sense, she’d somehow become smitten with him.

More than smitten. Wholly and utterly besotted, in truth. Perhaps…more.

And every minute she spent with him reinforced the emotion. A feeling she’d thought she’d locked away for good. But, in truth, she’d never experienced it in its marvelous complexity and all-encompassing exhilaration until him.

If she thought Kilbourne’s rejection had wounded, the loss of Mathias would eviscerate her. There would be no façade of bravado and thumbing her nose at society for whispering behind her back. No more ignoring the Spiteful Spinster taunts.

For what she’d felt for Alfonse, Duke of Kilbourne didn’t begin to compare to this mesmerizing sentiment that had ensnared her. It was as disparate as a typhoon to a summer breeze or the ocean to a puddle.

Nicolette reveled at the sensation of her palm cradled in Mathias’s, and the warmth permeating his eyes stirred an answering reaction in her. When he placed his hand at her waist, she had to resist the overwhelming urge to step closer. And closer still, until nothing but fabric separated them.

And even that was too much.

Way too much.

How could this be?

How could the heat of his hand cradling her ribs, cause such a rush of scorching heat? She fully expected to see a handprint on her skin when she disrobed tonight.

She’d been acquainted with Mathias for years, so why of a sudden did he matter more than anything or anyone else?

Because she’d always kept him at a distance, treated him with formality and coolness until that fateful day in the park. And once she’d permitted him inside, relinquished her guard, he’d subtly invaded every nuance of her life. And she didn’t mind—wasn’t afraid anymore.

He held his gaze upon her face, unwaveringly. She knew, for her focus remained fixated on him as well.