Her breath caught in her throat.
He was just as Viola had described. Brooding and predatory, with piercing gray eyes that caught and held her gaze. His hair was overlong, wavy and brown, streaked with gold where candlelight fell.
He was tall, broad-shouldered, and so handsome that she glanced behind her to see if perhaps he meant to bestow all of that smoldering appeal on some other lady.
The way he prowled wasn’t suited to a society ballroom. There was something almost brutish about him, nearly uncivilized. It was the way he held his ungloved hands, half-curled into fists.
Something about the slight crookedness of his nose, the blunt edges of his stubborn jaw.
Capturing her hand, he bowed his head and brushed his lips against her knuckles as if they were intimately acquainted.
There was a faint shadowing of whiskers along his angular jaw. His evening attire was ill-fitting, the coat straining at the seams, as though the man beneath was too much to be restrained by a tailor’s art.
He wore a scarlet embroidered waistcoat, a gaudy gold watch on a fob, and his black dress shoes were scuffed.
Straight from Savile Row, he was not.
“Lady Henrietta.” His lips quirked into an audacious half smile that said he had a secret he would reveal to her alone. “May I say that you are the loveliest sight I’ve ever beheld?”
“I’d prefer that you didn’t.”
“Too late. I’m going to extol your beauty and there’s nothing you can do about it. You are a goddess, Lady Henrietta, created from starlight and roses, sent to this earth to—”
“That’s quite enough, Mr. . . . er.” Hetty stopped, realizing she had no idea with whom she was speaking. “You have me at a disadvantage, sir. I don’t recall your name.”
An unruly lock of hair flopped over one of his eyes. “Ellis. Ash Ellis.”
She mentally searched through the guest list, attempting to match him with one of the ladies she’d invited, but no connection came to mind.
He slid the tip of his finger over her palm. Good gracious. He was still holding her hand.
She snatched her hand away, her cheeks flaming as though she’d swallowed an entire glass of wine in two gulps.
Somewhere far away the orchestra began to play, a violin bow dragging across the taut string of her nerves.
“Waltz with me, Lady Henrietta.” It was more an order than a request.
She hadn’t planned to dance this evening, but before she could object, he grasped her hand and led her onto the floor. She glanced back at Viola, who gave a little shrug of her shoulders with an amused expression dancing in her green eyes.
Hetty could refuse to dance with him, but her father was being surprisingly well-behaved at the moment, dancing and talking with the ladies, and she didn’t want to be the one to cause a scene.
As her hand came into contact with Mr. Ellis’s solid shoulder, and he placed a hand against the small of her back, a quiver traced the curve of her spine. She hadn’t danced with a man since her first—and only—ball, in this very room seven years past.
He smelled of vanilla-laced cigar smoke and a heavy-handed eau de cologne. Her friend, Miss Ardella Finchley, a chemist and perfumer, would have been able to pinpoint the scent immediately.
All Hetty knew was that he wore far too much of it, and it had too much musk and cedar to it.
When they were halfway across the room, and her feet had remembered the familiar pattern, Hetty finally collected her thoughts enough to fix him with that forbidding stare she’d been meaning to employ. “I didn’t wish to dance with you, Mr. Ellis. I was having a conversation with my friend.”
He smiled lazily. “Ah but waltzing with me is so much better than decorating the wall.”
Hetty bristled. The man was insufferable. And he hadn’t seemed the least bit discouraged by her quelling stare. “Not all wallflowers are longing to be plucked from the wall, Mr. Ellis.”
“Dancing with a skillful partner is one of life’s great pleasures.”
It was, rather, though Hetty wouldn’t admit it to the domineering man who’d given her no choice but to stand up with him.
She’d forgotten how much she liked dancing. She was tall for a woman, but he was taller, and that was a pleasure, too. She remembered towering over one disastrously diminutive duke at her debut.
“I’m not supposed to be dancing,” she said sternly. “Tonight isn’t about me, it’s about my father.”
“That doesn’t mean you can’t have a little fun.” The wicked gleam in his eyes made her neck and bosom feel heated, as though it were a hot day, and she was working in the vineyards.
She couldn’t even blame it on the wine. She’d only had half a glass. “When the clock strikes midnight, my father will choose a bride and my life can resume its customary schedule.”
“Rather a role reversal, isn’t it? A daughter compelling her father to choose a bride.”
“It’s his duty to our family. If I were forced to marry to save our family fortune, I would make the sacrifice.”
“Do you know what I think, Lady Henrietta?”
“No, and I’d rather not become acquainted with the workings of your mind, Mr. Ellis. I’d rather we finished this waltz in silence.”
The sound of his low laughter did something suspiciously fluttery to the pit of her stomach.
Control yourself, Hetty. You don’t do fluttery.
“I think that you like to manage everything, Lady Henrietta. For example, you’ve been attempting to take the lead and guide my steps since we began waltzing.” The pressure of his hand on her back increased and he tugged her closer. “Try to relax,” he murmured. “Allow me to do all of the work.”
The way he said those words so seductively, in that deep, rumbling voice, made her heart hammer in her chest.
“There. That’s better, isn’t it? I know what I’m doing.” He stroked the small of her back. “Sometimes it’s best to let the expert lead.”
Did he know what he was doing to her?
Gazing into his eyes, she had the fanciful thought that they were the only couple on the dance floor, and everyone else had faded away into colorful blurs, like swirling autumn leaves.
Time tilted backward, until she was seventeen again, with butterflies waltzing giddily in her belly, and a song bubbling in her heart.
She closed her eyes and allowed herself to melt into the lilting sway of the music. Just for a moment.
Just for a few more steps.
After all, they might take one more step and float effortlessly into the air, dancing between the chandeliers, leaving the real world far below them.
“Very good,” he whispered into her ear, his breath fanning her cheek.
Her eyes flew open. She’d allowed herself to melt a little too much. They were dancing far too close.
A proper distance must be maintained.
She didn’t do giddy, either.
She straightened her spine and angled as far from him as possible. “I wasn’t trying to please you with my compliance to your whispered instructions, Mr. Ellis.”
Another lazy smile lifted his sensually curved lips. “Of course you weren’t.”
“I was lost in a memory from my first ball.”
It had been the memory, not the man. The man was much too cocksure and controlling.