He swallowed hard.
“And you being different from them?” she continued. “It’s not a flaw. It’s the very reason I… I mean, it’s what makes youyou.”
His hand tightened slightly on her waist.
“Aye,” he said hoarsely. “But I’ll wager none of yer suitors know how to make a womanmoan.”
Her eyes widened. Her breath caught.
“Scoundrel,” she hissed. Her voice trembled—but not from outrage. She didn’t push him away.
“Ye said yes to this dance.”
“Youdemandedit.”
“Semantics,” he murmured, lowering his head until his lips nearly brushed her ear. “Though if ye want congratulations, lass, ye’ve got half the men in this room starin’ at ye like wolves. Avery’s still watchin’. Pomfrey, too. They’re all smitten.”
She stole a glance over her shoulder and saw he wasn’t lying.
“Ye’re doing much better,” Alasdair murmured, drawing her in just a little tighter—subtle enough not to raise eyebrows, bold enough to make her gasp. “Ye’re not stiff like before. Ye feel everything now.”
“I’m just… more focused on the movements of my body,” she said quickly, though her voice wavered.
“Pity. I was hopin’ ye’d say you tried what I told you. Under the covers. Alone.”
She turned her face away, pink flooding her cheeks. “You’re impossible.”
“I’m truthful.”
The music swelled, then faded into its final notes.
She moved away from him quickly. Too quickly.
Once she was off the dance floor, Lady Grisham was upon her like a vulture, her voice a sharp hiss only just masked by a strained smile. But Alasdair was close enough to hear the marchioness.
“Are you mad? Never dance with the Scottish duke again,” the woman snapped.
“I did it out of politeness,” Elizabeth said calmly, her tone clipped. “Do you think it would serve me well topubliclyreject him?”
Alasdair’s chest went still. The words hit him like a blow.
Politeness.
Just politeness.
She wasn’t thinking of their kiss, of the heat that burned between them. She was managing him like another detail in her strategy to secure a match.
“Find an excuse next time, Elizabeth. Or I will,” Lady Grisham said coldly. “The Duke of Redmoor will ruin you. And the rest of us.”
Alasdair felt his blood rise. He took a step forward.
But before he could give the woman a proper verbal flaying, a footman appeared at his elbow.
“Your Grace,” the man said quickly, “Lord Farnleigh sends word that Lord Kittridge wishes to speak with you.”
Kittridge. One of the most influential members of the political faction Farnleigh had been pushing him toward. Farnleigh had been quietly connecting him with powerful lords over thepast fortnight. Alasdair had agreed to it—barely—but he hadn’t expected to meetKittridgeso soon.
He cast one last glance at Elizabeth. She was composed again, chin lifted. She didn’t look his way.