Free Web NovelChapter 5: Heart’s Desire
JACE ƒгeeweɓn૦vel.com
The woman removed the white furred cape and handed it to the servant collecting cloaks.
The crowd at the door gasped.
"Gorgeous," murmured Fabian.
Her purple dress was simple. No full skirt or breast-busting corset. The sides of the gown were slit up to the knee, allowing greedy eyes to see her pale calves.
A band of silver clung to her delicate throat and a cobweb of delicate chains attached to a bigger silver chain that draped her collarbones.
She didn’t wear a wig, either. Her brunette hair had been brushed until it shone. The thick strands reaching her narrow hips. One small bun graced the back of her head, and the only hair jewelry was a silver hair pin and two flower combs.
She hadn’t worn the elaborate make-up favored by nobility. Her clear, youthful skin held the faintest pink color on her cheeks and lips. Two small purple gems dotted the outside corners of her eyes.
She was beautiful. Ethereal. Really, truly, fairy-like.
I was so drawn to her tender skin, her flowing hair, her tiny waist, I lost track of my own thoughts.
Fabian studied her like there would be a test later. I jabbed him with my elbow. "Wipe the drool off your mouth."
He turned to glare at me. "You lucky asshole. And you haven’t bedded her? You’re out of your damned mind. If you don’t want her, then divorce her. I’ll marry her. Hell, I’ll give up all my mistresses for a life with that beauty."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
He stared at me, then he laughed. "You idiot. You don’t recognize your own wife?"
Stunned at his statement, I returned my gaze to the woman who looked like a heaven-sent goddess.
My wife?
Then the butler standing at the doorway, himself somewhat dazzled, called out, "Miss Sophia Pagemoore!"
Fabian burst into guffaws. "Oh, you are screwed. She didn’t use her married moniker. Instead, she reverted to her maiden name." He clapped me on the shoulder. "You don’t need to make a choice, Jace. I think Sophia has made it for you."
***|***|***
SOPHIA
I was so nervous, my knees were shaking. My palms were sweaty, too. You got a second chance, Soph. Don’t blow it.
I lifted my chin and clasped my hands navel-level, the picture of an elegant lady. At least I hoped so. I walked forward, well aware that all those in the ballroom were whispering to each other. I assumed they were talking about me since most of their glances shot my way, too.
I don’t care, I thought. I will live for what makes me happy. If society doesn’t like it, they can bite me.
As I entered the main floor of the ballroom, I found myself surrounded by gentlemen. Dressed in formal suits with ruffled shirts and tight pants and shiny jackets. Collars and cuffs clasped with silver and gold and diamonds. Slick hair and slicker smiles. freewёbn૦νeɭ.com
"Good evening, miss," said the one in front of me. He gave a slight bow.
The others followed suit.
"Good evening," I said.
He smiled, and preened, looking at the others smugly. "Would you like something to drink, my lady? Perhaps strawberry juice and champagne?"
"It sounds lovely," I said. "But I---"
"I shall retrieve it forthwith."
"Oh, you needn’t---"
"Do you enjoy petit fours, ma’am?" asked a dark-haired gentleman. I think I had seen him before, but I wasn’t sure about his name. "I’ll get you a selection." He turned and hurried toward a dessert table.
"Will you save a dance for me?" asked a man to my right.
"And me as well!" said another.
Others echoed the sentiment.
"Oh, I don’t dance well, I’m afraid."
"I don’t mind how many times you step on my toes," said the first man who’d asked for a dance. "I would consider it an honor."
"An honor?" I laughed. Then smiling, I met his smitten gaze. "Truly?"
"She has dimples," said a red-headed gentleman to my left. "Oh, my heart!" He dramatically clutched at his chest, making the others chuckle.
"Do you waltz, miss?"
"Yes." I knew all the dances. I had been trained to be the Willowmarch matriarch, and my education had been all-encompassing. However, I wasn’t lying about my dance ability. Graceful, I was not.
Three men put out their hands, offering to take me to the dance floor.
I blinked.
Whatever I believed would happen at the Hunter’s Ball, this scenario had never occurred to me. Weren’t these the same people who talked about me behind my back? Made fun of me for trying too hard to win their favor?
"I’m sorry, gentlemen. Miss Pagemoore has already granted her first dance to me."
I looked at the speaker and nearly swallowed my tongue. The man was gorgeous. Tall, broad shoulders, chiseled features, like a statue come to life.
Duke Stonehart.
He was known for his cold demeanor. Even now, his icy expression seemed to freeze all the men around me. They wisely stepped back, giving Duke Stonehart space to stand in front of me.
"Your Grace?" My voice trembled. This man wanted to dance with me? So much so that he lied in order to do so. Why?
The Duke took my hand and led me out of the group.
"You’re such a tiny thing, I hardly think you can keep up with my steps," he murmured close to my ear. "Put your feet on mine."
"I cannot." He wanted such intimate contact, and he was not my husband. I blushed furiously.
"Miss Pagemoore, shall I help you?" He lifted me by the waist, and he lowered me me until my feet landed on his. He wrapped one muscled arm around my waist, crooked his arm and held my hand, assuming the position for the waltz.
He whirled me on to the dance floor.
"This isn’t appropriate," I said. "I’m married, Your Grace."
"Do you want to be?"
I met his gaze. His eyes held a question I wasn’t prepared to answer. I saw something else in his eyes, too.
Tenderness.
For me? It made no sense for him to look at me as though I was some sort of treasure he’d just discovered.
"Have we met before?" I asked.
"We have."
I frowned. "Really? I think I would remember you."
"From thirteen years ago?"
"What? When did we---"
He shook his head, expertly guiding us around the floor, flowing in perfect time with the other dancers. "It doesn’t matter if you remember or not. I’ve been away from home for far too long. I’ve only just returned. But this time, I’m not too late."
"Too late? For what?" I asked.
He smiled. "For you."
