A Rake, A Spinster, And An Arrangement

Chapter 10 : Ice Cream Insanity (Ep 3)

The Duke, Draco, was just beside her, but they were not touching as he escorted her to the dance floor. Hermione was unable to tear her gaze away from his, and his attention was fully locked onto her. They walked together, down a path that seemingly had no end, until they were alone, completely alone, within a great hall.

The hall had banners waving in silver and green and gold and red, and as she approached the duke, the banners began to intermingle. The ceiling, it was painted as though it was the night sky, and there were candles seemingly floating in the air. Hermione could not help but to look up in absolute wonder at the majesty of it all -

And then, the Duke took her hand, and her attention was entirely back on him.

Eyes on me his gaze seemed to whisper, but he did not speak, nor did Hermione answer, save to lock her eyes onto him.

How could she even manage to attempt to look away when he looked at her as though she was everything and more, the only candle lit within the room, the brightest star in the sky, the center of everything? She was drawn to him, unable to pull away, as though he was the ground, and she... she was simply aching to settle herself upon it.

They were not even dancing, as the music around them continued to hum, and she expected him to offer her his other hand, so they might be able to move together, as one, but then he... then, he was pulling her long silk opera glove down her arm, and why would she be wearing such a glove at a ball, except...

The fabric seemed to tickle at her skin as it drew down and off, and he let the glove fall behind him, forgotten. She watched as he moved closer, his hand hovering just a breath away from her skin, and his stroke, she could just barely feel it, ran down her arm, until eventually, he reached her shoulder, her back, and then her neck.

His hand... it slid underneath the weight of her hair, the curls, the rings all down and around her shoulders. It was so improper, for it to not even be slightly pinned up in any manner, and yet, it was wild and free upon her shoulders, a mass of mess in her eyes, and yet, she could feel the Duke's fingers playing with some of the rings, just before his hand pressed against the skin of her upper back.

Once more, she could feel him touching her, his bare skin and hers, and it took her breath away.

They finally began to move, but it was no dance that Hermione knew. No, no part of this had been anything she was ever trained for, nothing about it was taught. It simply came to her, naturally. They moved as one, a step back, a step forward, and then he was dipping her low, all of her weight in his arms, trusting, her eyes still locked with his.

Both hands were on her back, now, although the one maintained above the top of her dress, touching her bare skin, while the other seemed to enjoy playing with her hair, tugging at a few curls. She could not help but to laugh as she looked up at him, delighted that he was so amused by her hair, and he smiled back, wild and carefree. He looked to be full of joy, relaxed, delighted in her.

He looked at her, and all Hermione could think was that she could spend a lifetime enjoying that smile.

The music slowed, and softened, and she expected him to pull back, as would be assumed at the end of a dance, and yet, he pulled her closer. Hermione did not withdraw, too caught in his magic, in his aura, until eventually, she could smell his cologne, could feel his soft breath on her lips, could even see the various colors in his eyes. They were silver, she was sure of it, not gray. She could even see in his hair the white strands that were certainly not grey, as some suspected.

He was beautiful, and he was here, and he was hers.

His lips brushed over the top of hers, and she sucked in a breath, her chest near to heaving as their lips brushed again, and Hermione thought her legs might give out, or her stomach might flip so hard that it made her ill, and his lips brushed against hers again, then-