Page 109 of The Earl’s Forbidden Temptation

In that instant, the glittering room receded. Memory swept through her: his hands upon her, the broken roughness of his declaration, the tenderness with which he had touched her afterward, and the fear that society’s condemnation might prove stronger than his love.

Relief struck first, followed so swiftly by love that Darcy’s lips trembled beneath the force of both.

There was no indifference in Sebastian’s eyes.

There was no distance, no cautious civility, no apology for seeing her. There was only a depth of feeling so unmistakably tender, fierce, and unguarded that the last of her breath left her.

He bowed. “Miss Whitley,” he said, his voice steady, though a warmth threaded through it that belonged to her alone. “Will you do me the honor of dancing the next set with me? With Her Grace’s permission, I believe it shall be a waltz.”

Elizabeth’s expression transformed. With admirable composure, she signaled to the orchestra leader, who bowed and began issuing quiet instructions for the next set.

Emotion rose so sharply within Darcy that for one perilous moment she feared it would overcome her. Yet she summoned every lesson in grace she had ever been taught and sank into an elegant curtsy, her body composed even as her heart broke open with joy.

“Yes, my lord,” she said softly, and placed her hand in his.

His fingers closed around hers. He did not release them. As he led her toward the floor, the room shifted around them. Heads turned openly now. Fans stilled, then fluttered with frantic purpose. Whispers caught and spread from one jeweled cluster to the next, but Sebastian walked as though no voice in the room possessed the power to alter his course.

Across the ballroom, Darcy glimpsed the Countess of Raine.

Shock had stripped the practiced ease from her face.

Darcy’s heart stumbled with painful understanding. Sebastian had not warned his mother. This was not a gesture arranged in private or softened by explanation. This was his choice, made publicly, irrevocably, before everyone whose approval governed the ton.

“Did you know I would be here?” Darcy asked when they took their places.

His hand settled at her waist, warm and sure, while hers rested upon his shoulder.

“I hoped you would be.” Sensuous warmth softened his voice, and a faint smile touched his mouth. “Had you not come, I intended to remain long enough to fulfill my duty as my mother’s escort. Then I meant to leave, go directly to your house.”

A tremulous smile found Darcy’s lips, the first that had not required courage since she had read the sheet.

“Did you see what was printed this morning?”

A cold shadow crossed his expression, though his gaze never left hers. “I did. Mr. Davenport has already received a visit from me. He understands that another printed word concerning you, your mother, or mine, and our sisters will make him my enemy.”

Her breath caught at the quiet finality of his tone.

“He also understands,” Sebastian continued, “that I am remarkably ruthless and unforgiving toward those who injure the woman I intend to marry.” His thumb moved once against the fabric at her waist.

The first notes of the waltz rose, rich and sweeping beneath the chandeliers. Sebastian drew her into the dance, and Darcy followed instinctively. Her body remembered the rhythm even while emotion stormed through her. The gilded walls, the mirrors, and the watching faces blurred beyond his shoulder until only the strength of his hand and the unwavering tenderness in his eyes remained clear.

“I doubted you,” she confessed.

His brows lifted slightly in surprise.

“I believed the scandal would make you withdraw your offer of courtship. I have never loved before, Sebastian. Not like this. I did not understand how love could make trust feel both essential and terrifying, or how loyalty and tenderness must be chosen again whenever fear gives us reason to retreat.”

Her throat tightened, but she held his gaze. “I will not promise never to be afraid. But when fear comes, I shall remember this night. I shall remember that you crossed a ballroom filled with judgment and reached for me. I will never again doubt your sincerity or the promises you make to me.”

Something warm and gentle softened his expression. With a subtle pressure at her waist, he drew her nearer than strict propriety allowed, until the warmth of him steadied the trembling within her.

“There is nothing to forgive, my love,” he murmured, his hand tightening reassuringly at her waist. “I wounded you. Never again will I hurt you. Even when we disagree, even when one of us has erred, you will never have cause to question whether I shall choose you or whether I love you.” His gaze held hers. “It will always be you, Darcy. I shall prove that to you every day I am granted.”

Her breath trembled.

“I love you,” he said.

The words entered every broken place within her, mending the last fragile remnants of hurt and doubt that lingered in her heart.