The Heiress' Dilemma

3 | Dishonor of dancing

Before another word could escape my mouth, a hand grasped my gloved one. Although I had little experience with balls, I could tell that this was DEFINITELY not the way to ask someone for a dance.

"I grant the honor of the first dance to you," the hazel-eyed scoundrel blurted, his voice husky and low, before dragging me to the dance floor. Huh?

We swiftly distanced ourselves from the company of others, still very much in their view, as they all watched us with widened eyes. My efforts to free my hand ceased when the music commenced, the lively notes swirling around us like invisible ribbons.

"You are the man from the forest!" I accused, my voice steady but laced with indignation.

"What forest are you referring to? I cannot comprehend the meaning of your words," he dismissed coolly, though the slight tension in his countenance gave a silent confirmation to my suspicion.

Oh, once I laid my hands on him, I would make sure to serve him milk tea laced with poison and then toss him into a pit of faeces.

"Oh, you bloody well do," I retorted, just as he twirled me. My peach-colored ball gown flowed elegantly behind me like a wave, the delicate fabric catching the light with every movement.

"I have ample confirmation that you are the culprit, as evidenced by the bruise on your head and the fact that I still possess your sword."

A muscle in his jaw twitched, and he placed his hand on the small of my back, drawing us closer, though our bodies barely brushed. A tingle ran down my spine as he tightened his grip ever so slightly upon our reunion after parting with the music's demand.

"And what if I am? What do you intend to do with this knowledge, Miss?" he inquired, his tone laced with danger, his eyes dimming to an unsettling shade.

"I intend to seek revenge and reclaim my possessions," I replied stubbornly, trying to meet his gaze with defiance as he twirled me again, our movements flowing seamlessly with the rhythm of the orchestra.

His eyes scanned the spectators, who were busy collecting their jaws from the floor or eyeing us with envy.

What could be the cause of their resentment?

Then it struck me.

I turned to look at my dance partner as we swayed in response to the music, crafting a performance for my adoring onlookers. He exuded an air of brooding nobility. Clad in a tailored black tuxedo that accentuated his chiseled jawline and broad shoulders, he radiated an undeniable royal heritage. Yet, there was an icy aura enveloping him.

Despite my declaration of vengeance, he wore a smug expression, a hint of a smirk threatening to break through his composed demeanor. His ethereal eyes bored into mine, exuding a haughtiness that made my blood boil.

When he noticed the realization dawn on my face, his left eyebrow arched slightly, challenging me.

By jove! He was the one I was here for.

"Pray tell, how do you plan to avenge yourself? I doubt anyone in this room will believe your tale," he said, looking even more arrogant, if that was possible without moving a muscle. "Furthermore, I do not possess your belongings."