Page 45 of A Duke to Reclaim Her
She made a sound, halfway between a snort and a sigh. “Is there anything you are not good at?”
“Staying out of trouble,” he said, and dipped her just enough to make the world tilt.
They spun, and for a minute, Rose forgot about the eyes on them, the rumors, the desperate need to prove herself. The warmth of Felix’s hand at her waist was an anchor, and she clung to it even as she resented the dependence.
After a turn, he whispered, “You’re shaking.”
“Am I?” Her voice was steadier than she felt.
He pulled her closer, so their faces nearly touched. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of. Everyone’s afraid of something. Even me.”
She wanted to believe him, but she saw the lie in his eyes, the steel behind the gentleness.
“You fear nothing.”
“I fear everything. I simply refuse to show it.”
With every pass, she became more aware of the press of his palm, the subtle tightening of his grip, the possibility of closeness that hovered just beyond propriety.
The waltz ended, and applause followed, a bright clatter that made Rose feel suddenly naked. Felix bowed to her, the motion both mocking and sincere.
“Was that so awful?” he asked, leading her off the floor.
She had no answer, but it had been the exact opposite of awful, and she felt a strange sense of loss when it was over.
They lingered by the punch bowl, neither of them reaching for a glass. Rose was aware, in a new and terrible way, of how easy it would be to touch him. To ask again for more than what he could give.
She stared at the pale blue vein running along the back of his hand. “Are you happy?” she asked before she could stop herself.
He looked at her, surprise flickering across his features. “Do you want me to be?”
“I want you to be honest.”
He considered this, weighing it as if it were a bet at the track. “Honesty is a dangerous game, Rose.”
“So is marriage.”
“Then perhaps we’ll make decent partners after all.”
Across the ballroom, Rutledge’s voice carried, “Such a shame the duke married so young, don’t you think? There were wagers about how long he would last before scandal caught him.”
The ladies surrounding Rutledge all turned to look at Rose, their eyes full of hungry delight. But Rose did not flinch. She straightened her back and fixed her gaze on the woman who had made an art of breaking hearts.
Felix caught her expression and squeezed her hand, just once, so fast no one else could see. “You’re winning, you know,” he whispered. “They can’t decide whether to love you or fear you.”
“I would prefer the latter,” she said.
He laughed. “That can be arranged.”
As the night wore on, they danced twice more, each time smoother and bolder, the distance between them closing by imperceptible degrees. But something stubborn remained, an invisible wall neither dared scale.
The final waltz began, and Felix bowed again, eyes softer than she had ever seen them. “May I?”
She hesitated, then took his hand. They danced, and this time, it was not about the crowd, or the rules, or the war of reputations. It was simply about the two of them.
When the music faded, Felix did not let go. They stood there, the world spinning around them, and Rose realized she was no longer afraid of falling. Only of never letting herself want this.
“Rose,” he said, voice so low only she could hear it. “If you ever need to run, I’ll be right behind you.”
