Page 38 of Two Blessings For His Duchess
“No,” she whispered.
“Are you nervous because there are so many eyes on you?”
“No.”
Nathaniel guided her through a slow turn, his eyes darkening completely as he looked down at her. “Then why are you trembling, Euphemia?”
“I do not know,” she admitted, her mind spinning wildly.
She looked deep into his eyes, and a wave of heat overwhelmed her. He looked absolutely hungry. For some strange, inexplicable reason, that was the only word her mind could conjure to describe the expression on his face. He looked like a man who was utterly starving. The thought crossed her mind that he looked hungry enough to completely devour her, but she quickly brushed it away, telling herself it was a completely scandalous and crazy thing to think. She couldn’t make any sense of it.
Yet, instead of pulling away from the sheer intensity of the moment, Euphemia felt a profound sense of peace wash over her. She felt safe inside his arms. It was the first time in her entire life she had ever felt a security quite like this.
Deciding to cast her fears aside, she chose to simply embrace the moment and let herself feel everything. She focused on the stroke of his thumb against her back, the feeling of his direct attention, and the heavy tension rippling through her body. This was the most attention he had ever granted her, and she wanted to feel every single bit of it, even the sensations in places she didn’t fully understand.
Summoning a burst of boldness, Euphemia took a step forward, closing the remaining distance between their bodies. She tilted her chin up, effectively erasing the small gap between his face and her own, until her breath brushed against his jaw.
They kept moving to the rhythm of the music, swaying together as one, and Euphemia secretly wished the dance would never have to end. For the first time since arriving in London, shewasn’t worrying about the gossiping crowds, her sisters, or her future. She was only thinking about the burning look in his eyes, and it felt wonderfully nice to finally stop worrying.
Nathaniel adjusted his grip, holding her securely against him as the orchestra played the final, lingering notes of the piece, anchoring her to him in the middle of the crowded room as if they were the only two people left in the world.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Stop reading meaning into it, Effie. Stop.
Euphemia shut her eyes tightly and shook her head, hoping that she could shake off the widely intrusive thoughts that were circulating her mind like a flock of bothersome crows.
The silence inside the carriage was dragging, and it had settled between them the precise moment the ballroom doors closed behind them and the wheels began their roll against the cobblestones as they bid the Pembourne Ball goodbye.
For every single mile of the journey back to the estate she had been thoroughly, helplessly lost inside her own head. She was spinning notions... elaborate, mildly absurd notions, and she could not seem to stop, no matter how firmly she reminded herself that she was a rational woman who did not build entire narratives out of a single evening.
A single dance.
A single hand warm and steady at her waist. A single look across a ballroom floor that had lasted perhaps two seconds longer than was strictly necessary and which she was almost certainly misremembering anyway, because ballroom lighting was notoriously unreliable and she had drunk two glasses of punch and she was not, she was absolutely not, reading meaning into any of it.
She was not that woman.
Should she be dwelling on the precise moment his breathing had hitched when they danced?
Or when he would not stop staring at her lips?
Was she a complete fool for reading a grand, soul-altering message into the deliberate, slow stroke of his thumb against her spine?
It was ridiculous, yet she couldn’t stop her mind from wandering down that perilous path, wondering if she should simply dare to ask him what that look in his eyes had meant. She had spent the entire ride debating it, her heart hammering against her ribs, completely consumed by the lingering warmth of his touch.
“We have arrived, Euphemia.”
Euphemia gasped, her eyes snapping open as she practically jumped in her seat, utterly convinced for a terrifying second that he had somehow managed to read every single scandalous lineof her thoughts right off her forehead. Heat crawled up her neck immediately, which was ridiculous, because she had only been sitting there, perfectly still, thinking perfectly private thoughts that were her own business and that no one could possibly have access to unless they had somehow developed the ability to read minds, which she sincerely hoped he had not.
He was watching her from across the carriage with an expression that was, she felt, too composed for this hour of the night.
“Are you all right?”
“Yes.” The word came out slightly faster than she intended. “Perfectly.”
He did not look convinced. “You have had a worried look on your face for the entirety of the ride home.”
“I have not.”
