THE Marquis's Mistress: Historical Fiction

CHAPTER 10

‘No --- I cannot dance,’ Natasha lied, as Benedict’s eyes locked with hers.

‘There is nothing to it,’ the duke waved his hand.  ‘If all else fails, just continuously move your feet in a clockwise sequence.  Now go.’ He instructed as Natasha and Benedict gazed into each other’s eyes.

‘I donnot think I want to dance,’ Natasha protested.

‘Neither do I like dancing Miss Natasha, but let us not risk father’s wrath, shall we?’ He unceremoniously lifted her off her seat, and escorted her to the dance area.

Natasha could not believe she was in Benedict’s arms waltzing around the dance floor.  It felt exhilarating being in his arms.  Even though he said he did not like dancing he led her around the room most skilfully.  She did not look up, too afraid, in case he questioned her about the dress.  The French windows were open, but she still felt stiflingly hot in the huge ballroom. 

‘For somebody who cannot dance, you certainly know your way around a waltz, Natasha,’ he murmured in her ear. 

Was that a compliment?  Should she thank him? 

‘Look at me,’ he demanded. 

Very reluctantly, with her heart hammering, she lifted her head, but before her jade eyes reached his, she met Crystal’s eyes glaring at her with a murderous look.  Crystal must be confused, for she was expecting Benedict to be falling over himself for her attention, yet he had not even offered her a courtesy greeting or acknowledgement.

‘You owe me an explanation,’ Benedict demanded.

‘What about?’ Natasha’s voice squeaked, as she played for time.

‘The dress your sister claims she made, when I saw with my own two eyes, that you were the seamstress,’ he raised his voice.

‘Be quiet Benedict.’

‘So now you give me instructions?’ he pulled her closer, reducing the already tiny gap between them.  Natasha wished he had let her go.  She was finding it difficult keeping her hands off him.  She wanted to touch his face, press her lips to his.  She wanted to trail her fingers through his hair.

 ‘I think you should be dancing with the Lady Louisa,’ Natasha tried unsuccessfully to increase the distance between them, but he held her like a vice grip.

‘More instructions?’

‘I just thought---,’ she whispered.

‘I am curious as to why your sister lied,’ he cut her off.  ‘She claims to be a designer, yet she announces your handiwork as hers!  I cannot imagine any self-respecting individual who would gloat in the presence of the one he steals from.’

‘My lord --- please forget about the dress.  She did not have anything to wear.’

‘I would not have minded her stealing your thunder, if she was honest and gave you credit for making the dress.’

‘It does not matter, just let it be,’ Natasha pleaded.

‘Yes, let us focus on you and I,’ he murmured, tightening his arms around her waist.  ‘You feel wonderful in my arms Natasha,’ he whispered against her throat.

It feels wonderful being in your arms too, but you belong to the Lady Louisa.

‘Could we stop dancing now?’ Natasha pleaded.  His nearness was taking its toll on her and surely Benedict’s impropriety would be observed.

‘The waltz is not over,’ he informed her.

‘I just feel uncomfortable dancing with you,’ she murmured.