She laughed as his arm came around her.
The music started and he cursed his luck as there was no waltz to hold her tight. Rather a minuet.
The courtly dance had them circling each other, holding hands and releasing, entwining between other couples, coming forward and moving back. Not the satisfaction of the waltz but the tension between them grew. It pulsed through him, he was thickening and proud to sport his ardor to the crowd.
And Seraphina…oh, that woman knew more about driving a man crazy than she realized. Bold glances, suggestive alluring looks while he couldn’t do anything. Broad smiles and soft laughter when the dance took her to another partner making his blood boil.
She was marvelous.
His gaze never left her.
He radiated a propriety that others would notice. If their greeting was sizzling, the dance was scorching. The pressing tension between courting her and his family’s need for him to be the rake and libertine now wrapped up into one. Just her. His focus, his regard, and his attentions.
The dance set came to an end.
Ilya bowed longer than proper over her hand, kissed her palm and held his lips against it just a little too long, ensuring they were the last to leave the floor and that all who watched knew she had his unequivocal interest. Ilya escorted her off the floor to the refreshment table as other couples did the same around them. While the orchestra flipped through charts the hum of a hall full of conversations fill the gap in the music.
He navigated them between a dowager in a candy-striped gown and grey wig decorated with Christmas Crackers, taking what looked like a third serving spoonful of trifle.
“A horrible dessert,” he murmured into Seraphina’s ear. “I plan to eat a much sweeter and succulent dessert…later.”
Seraphina hit his arm playfully with her closed fan. “Impossible. It was a childhood staple.”
Ilya picked up a couple of plates.
“Let me guess what you like.” He scanned the offerings, “Angels on Horseback. Custard tarts. Cured Christmas ham?” She gave him a nod.
“And.”
“And?” He laughed. “Is there room in that bodice for more?” But his gaze had suddenly frozen on her breasts. He could almost feel them against his cheeks, so soft and warm.
Her closed fan trailed down her décolleté to the swells of her breasts taunting him. “I am building my strength.” Her eyes creased, and a mischievous look of anticipation wrapped her face. His little bird was looking forward to her devouring.
“Perhaps I should load up my plate, ensure I can keep up.” The smile he gave probably showed too much, to her, to those around them. She had captured him, the bird mastering the wolf.
“I wouldn’t want you to lose your appetite.” She flirted back; face so beautiful he found it hard to look away.
There was so much shining in her eyes, hope, fear, courage. There was also intelligence, and a worldly innocence. He’d asked Marsden about her late husband and the man’s face had drawn tight, not a happy one and clearly not one Marsden had approved of. Seraphina had wed, had shared the marriage bed, and yet knew little of what was on offer. He would rectify that.
“Lose my appetite?” Ilya leaned in so the soft heat from her breath brushed his cheek, “No chance of that. I have always been capable of consuming dessert, again, and again, and again.”
And for the first time her gaze fell, and her eyes looked with coy pleasure through her lashes as her skin flushed. He wanted to grab her hand and run her into the back of the house, find a room and devour her whole. Instead he let the moment ripple through him, soaked in the pleasure of her and continued to build the anticipation.
Ilya selected a small crepe with charred asparagus, and a hollowed cucumber filled with a mousse-like filling of cheese. He scanned the table. Looked again.
“No caviar. They have invited two Russian princes and there is no caviar,” he grumbled.
“This is just the first offering.” The sound of her delectable giggle placated him immediately. “The tables will be reloaded with new dishes later.” She gave him a quizzical look, “besides, I thought you were the prince and your younger brother a general?”
An opportunity.
Ilya gazed at her, paused so she took further note. She was clever. He’d already given her one bread crumb—the periodical. She had just picked up another—two princes, not one. Then continued.
“Have I missed a favorite?” he asked as he showed her the plate.
She shook her head no, her eyes showed her clever mind ticking away. He filled his own plate, enjoying a building satisfaction at his clever little bird. There was a deeper hope that she was clever enough to have worked things out by the time the betrothal was brought into public view. So far, they had been lucky, Demetri’s betrothal had been arranged when they were children, most people had forgotten.
But those old dowagers remembered. As they filled the gossip columns and people asked who they were, memories would recall, and Miss Georgina Franklin’s long-ago betrothal would surface. Seraphina was not a woman to undertake intimacies with a promised man. If she hadn’t worked out that he was the younger prince and brother, he would not be able to tell her until the family matter was completed.
“This is all rather more public than I had imagined.” Seraphina said as faces turned their way from time to time.
“A man hasn’t served you refreshments after a dance before?”
“Well you are who you are…” she said. “And you may as well have announced to the room your intention. Aren’t we supposed to be a bit more discrete? Wiggle your eyebrows at me from across the room?”
Ilya barked a laugh, handed her a glass of champagne, then motioned her ahead of him. They navigated out of the thick of the crowd and into a quieter corridor. Small tables lined the wall, with chairs on either side.
“Normally yes. Although I haven’t wiggled my eyebrows at a woman in my life. Other parts of my body, most certainly.”
She laughed and it filled him like bird song. “Normally?” She motioned to one of the tables and wiggled her eyebrows at him making him laugh yet again.
“Yes, here is fine. And in answer to your question all I can say, Seraphina, is it’s complicated.”
“I see,” she said then bit into one of the small canapes, took the time to finish before continuing. “So normally you would have been more circumspect on my arrival.”
“I would have...somewhat.” He grinned. Though not with her, he’d want the whole world to know his intent once he saw her standing in a sea of people who meant nothing.
“One of us should dance with someone else after all that showcasing,” she said earnestly.
“Not you,” he growled. The idea of watching someone else dancing with her was wildly unappealing.
“It is a ball.” She laughed, clearly pleased with his possessiveness. Good. It was not going to go away.
“I will dance. You will watch,” he informed her. Watching to see how much she liked the idea.
She rolled her eyes. “As if I want to see you dance with the obligatory thigh warmers and fawners.” Her jaw had tightened, and her lips thinned. She was a little proprietary herself. He liked that.
“I have the solution to that problem.” If she was willing to trust him.