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It feels so good to be here, but I don’t understand him. I don’t understand what he wants from me. When we’re together, it feels real—but the minute we’re apart, it’s like it never happened.
Heath’s face tenses. He inhales, shaking his head, then rests his forehead against mine. “I wanted to leave the ball in your court. I didn’t know if you’d want to see me again.”
“You were scared.” I grin, nudging him.
Heath huffs out a laugh, shrugging. “Can you blame me? Look at you.” His hands sweep down my back, cupping my ass and pulling me into him.
I’m not sure it’s true. There’s something in his face that tells me he’s holding back. Not telling me the whole truth. Is it just because I’m part of society and he isn’t? He doesn’t want to enter my world now that he’s left it behind?
“I’d sit and listen to you play forever,” he says, his lips brushing against mine.
I smile. “I have a concert in two and a half weeks.”
“I’ll be there.”
I tilt my head to find his lips again. My fingers cling onto his shirt. I melt into him as my body heats up, every bit of me remembering what it felt like to be tangled in his arms. To feel his skin against mine. His tongue between my legs.
But before anything can happen, there’s a knock on the doorframe. Someone clears their throat, clearly uncomfortable. The Duke and I separate, turning to the noise.
One of the members of staff is standing at the door, eyes averted. “Your Grace,” he says quietly, raising his eyes. Unspoken conversation happens, and Heath strides toward him. He leans his head near the other man’s, listening to a few whispers.
I hear fragments. His Majesty the King. Evidence. Investigation.
What’s that about?
Heath nods, then turns to me. His face is shuttered, once again wearing a mask of stone. “I’m sorry, Lady Belcourt. I have to attend to some urgent matters.” He extends his hand toward me, and when I reach him he presses his lips to my fingers. “Mr. Seville will drive you home. I apologize.”
With that, he gives me a quick bow and hurries down the hallway.
I stare after him, frowning, until the man clears his throat again and gestures for us to leave.
I don’t see any sign of the Duke as I’m led back through the house and into the garages, and finally driven home.
Alone, empty, and vaguely embarrassed.
14
Ada
I don’t hear from Heath after I leave his estate. Not. One. Word. A day passes, then two, then three. Pretty soon it’s been ten days since I saw him, and I still haven’t heard anything.
If he’s waiting for me to text him again, he’ll wait a long time. I’m not going to be the one to keep chasing him when he ignores me. If the ball is in my court, as he said, well I’m choosing not to play it. I have to have some kind of pride. I can’t just go to his house, get kicked out, then come back begging for more.
I fill my days practicing for my last concert of the year, then spend time with my sisters.
On Saturday morning before Count Gregory’s Christmas dinner party, I laze in Maggie’s bedroom as she sorts through her walk-in closet. As I lie back on the sofa near the window, I try to wade through the mess in my mind. Between the Duke and our—ahem—encounter at the ball, the invitation to his place, and his sudden disappearance from my life, and not to mention the mess with Maggie’s engagement to an old creep, I’m not feeling the holiday spirit.
“I wish I didn’t have to wear this stupid moon boot,” she sighs, her voice muffled by the clothes in her closet. “It doesn’t exactly go with any of these dresses.”
“You’ll look perfect,” I reply. I watch as my sister comes back out holding two options. I nod to the black dress in her left hand. “Try that one.”
When she disappears in the closet again to slip it on, I gather my courage. I need to talk to her about this betrothal, because I’m not sure it’s the right decision. Sure, she needs to marry well. Count Gregory knows the deans at all the nearby colleges—and has contacts all throughout North America—but there must be some other way. Scholarships, maybe? Loans?
When Maggie reappears, looking gorgeous and respectable and every bit a royal, I smile. “Beautiful.”
Her face falls. “You don’t like it.”
“It’s not that.”
