I make my way to the phonograph and turn it on. Soft music flows and crackles through the funnel.
“I don’t understand,” she says.
I only hold out my hand, beckoning her. She doesn’t hesitate—which is unusual. She is always absorbing information and questioning everything before acting.
“How can we dance here? Won’t the furniture get in the way?”
I hold back a laugh. “Normally, yes, but I assume you have no prior experience with dancing at formal parties?”
She glares, folding her arms over her chest.
“That is not an insult, my dear Clara.”
“You saw how I lived… we both know there are no parties for people like me.”
“We will start from the beginning, but you need to practice moving about while paying attention to your surroundings. We have much to cover and too little time.”
She slips her hand into my outstretched one. Uncertainty is written across her face.
I place her other hand on my shoulder and mine on her waist, pulling her close.
Catching the rhythm of the music, I take one step, then on the second step, Clara runs into my chest.
“Let me guide you,” I say.
She huffs and drops her chin to watch our feet. A few more steps into the dance, and she is trying to lead me. I barely suppress another laugh.
“It’s no use, I was not made for this sort of thing.”
Removing my hand from her waist, I take her chin between my thumb and forefinger and lift her head. Her eyes go no further than my throat, her frustration with herself is apparent.
“You are doing fine, Clara. We have only been at this for a few minutes.” I release her and reposition our hands. “Follow me—don’t try to lead and keep your chin up.”
Clara blows out a breath and finally meets my gaze.
For a third time, we begin. She steps on my feet several times before catching the rhythm.
The song ends, but our dance continues.
It feels strange, the two of us touching in such a mundane way… and her not attempting to stab me for once. She moves against me, and I am tempted to ask her again to accept my mark. Desire stirs, and if I mark her, my hunger for her will grow with each bite.
When she clears her throat, I release her and walk over to the phonograph to restart the music.
“Again,” I say.
Wordlessly, and dutifully, Clara repositions herself. Her gaze flicks to the back of the room and I wonder if she’s remembering the last time we were in here together a few nights ago. Her fingers flex against my hand, and her cheeks flush as she straightens her head, her eyes remain locked on my cravat. I can’t help the smile that tugs on my mouth.
The feel of her skin beneath my palms, the taste of her lips. That is a moment I wouldn’t mind revisiting.
She had wanted more that night. We both had. There is an attraction we share for each other. The mark would only heighten whatever she feels toward me—whether it is desire or hate. But if it is desire… I’m not sure I could resist.
“You are doing better,” I say. Though the tilt of her brows says, she doesn’t believe me.
We manage to make it through an entire song, and not once does she turn away or avert her eyes. The moment is more intimate than any kiss we have shared or any touch.
We slow to a stop along with the music, but neither of us pulls away.
Uncertainty fills her features, replacing the determination and focus she had as we moved together.
Can this really be the woman I hunted down? The murderer I claimed, intending to make her pay for taking Rosalie’s life. Because Clara is a killer… the reason my heart has been rent in two.
And here I am, dancing with her, trying to protect her.
I grieve for Rosalie, and yet part of me wants the woman before me. I am doing everything I can to honor the fact that Clara would rather die than bear my mark. And I am risking everything for her.
My heart is a twisted thing. This is a sick joke played on me by the powers of the Otherworld. I should want to kill her. Instead, everything about her calls to me, and I am powerless to fight it.
She killed my only reason for living… but she has also told me why. A vampire had already claimed and murdered her mother. She only wanted to protect her sister from the threat she had been raised to see us as.
I would be lying if I said I wouldn’t have done the same for Rosalie.
Clara’s mouth opens then closes. Her tongue darts out between her lips, then she swallows. The movement of her delicate throat catches my eye.
“I…,” she starts.
As if choreographed, I cup her face with both hands, sliding my fingers into her hair as she pushes up onto her toes. I lean down, guiding her closer. We have kissed countless times before, but this is something different.
Clara’s eyes slide shut, and she sighs, her warm breath brushes my lips.
“Pardon me, Master, but a letter has just arrived for the Miss,” Mrs. Westfield says.
Clara pulls back as if she were caught doing something she ought not to do and expects to be punished.
I release her and retrieve the letter from the head housekeeper. She bows her head then takes her leave. I return to Clara and hand her the envelope.
She stares at it for a long moment, then her eyes brighten. Clara sits on the nearest sofa and crosses her legs then rips open the letter. Her eyes scan the words on the pages, then again, a second time, slower.
Clara places the letter in her lap and looks up, eyes glazed.
“What is it?” I ask. Tendrils of dread work their way through my bones.
“Kitty… she,” Clara pauses, looking at her letter again. “She’s getting married in a month.”
“There you are,” Lawrence says, striding into the room.
If only I could send the lot of them away. They offer nothing but inconvenience and bad timing.
“Clara,” I say, keeping my eyes locked on Lawrence. “Why don’t you finish reading your letter in your rooms? I will come to see you later.”
She uncurls from the couch and stands, too wrapped up in the news she received to pay any attention to how the mood has shifted.
Clara trails a hand down my arm as she passes but doesn’t look up. To my amusement, she doesn’t even acknowledge Lawrence’s presence.
He watches Clara until she is gone. Then he is at my side, his expression of intrigue and humor replaced with stony seriousness.
“What are you doing with her?” he hisses.
I raise a single brow. “Teaching her to dance.”
Lawrence throws his hands up and paces. “Demon shit, you know what I mean.”
I walk around him and turn off the phonograph.
“She is still unmarked,” he says quietly. “You haven’t even started the process. She barely has your scent on her and only because you touch her. Any vampire that comes within a foot of her will know.”
I keep my back to him. This again. He’s done nothing but hound me since the moment he arrived.
I look down at my hands and flex my fingers. The feel of her touch still lingers.
“You must mark her before the ball. I don’t care if she agrees or not—unless you’d rather see her ripped to shreds and feasted on.”
“No,” I snarl, rounding on him. My voice echoes off the walls, filling the room.
“Then mark her, even if you have to compel her into agreeing. Fuck, I will compel her myself if I must so you can keep your hands clean.”