Page 55 of The Earl’s Forbidden Temptation

She hesitated, then asked quietly, “Is the night over?”

“Only if you wish it to be.”

Something shifted in her expression. Sebastian watched the faint wistfulness steal across her face before she seemed to gather it away, but not quickly enough. He had seen the longing beneath it, that quiet hunger for a little more of an evening she had so plainly enjoyed.

“How great a scandal would I cause if I remained and danced the night away?”

“You enjoyed your dances?”

“Very much.” A softness entered her expression. “There is a sense of freedom in moving to music, a delight unlike anything else. Have you never felt it?”

Sebastian had, of course. Yet he had never considered dancing a pleasure worth remarking upon. Balls, music, fine food, evenings devoted entirely to amusement had been woven into the fabric of his existence since birth. He had never needed to wish for such things, much less wonder whether he might ever experience them again.

Looking at her now, he was struck by how very little she asked of life.

A dance. A beautiful gown. An evening in which she might forget responsibility and simply enjoy herself.

Bloody hell.

Something tightened unexpectedly within him. He thought of the modest life she had described, of every small pleasure measured against necessity, and found he could scarcely imagine such an existence. Yet she had endured it without bitterness. She had worked, sacrificed, protected her sisters, and somehow retained the courage to laugh as she had tonight.

An impossible urge rose within him then, swift and fierce. He wanted to give her more. Not merely another dance or another evening such as this, but every simple pleasure she had learned not to expect. For one reckless moment, Sebastian wanted to lay the damned world at her feet simply to see what she might look like when happiness was no longer something she had to ration.

The thought was absurd.

It remained no less powerful for being so.

His gaze lingered upon her face. “Then I believe it would be a terrible shame to send you home before you have danced quite enough.”

“What does that mean?”

Sebastian regarded her for a moment, warmth settling in his chest. “I shall dance with you as many times as you wish, even until your feet ache. I might then be persuaded to rub them for you.”

A soft, luminous pleasure brightened her eyes. “Would that not be scandalous?”

“Which part?”

“The dances,” she said, her pretty brown eyes dancing with good humor. “You are not getting anywhere near my feet.”

“It would signify very little,” he replied, smiling at her retort. “You will not remain in London long enough for the scandal to matter. Whatever interest we stir will fade soon enough.”

The moment the words left him, he sensed the shift. Her lashes lowered, concealing her expression, yet something in her stillness told him that his words had wounded her. Before he could question it, she rose abruptly, her movement swift, almost too bright as she extended her hands toward him.

“Come,” she said, her tone light, though it rang with something forced. “I wish to dance until my feet ache.”

Sebastian stood at once. He did not refuse her.

Returning to the ballroom together, however, would invite precisely the sort of speculation Miss Whitley could ill afford. He escorted her only as far as the corridor leading back to the gathering, then stopped.

“You should go ahead.”

Understanding immediately softened her expression. “And you?”

“I shall follow presently.”

She smiled at him then, and the sheer pleasure in her eyes caught him unexpectedly. There was something almost luminous in it, an excitement she made little attempt to conceal, as though the prospect of returning to the music and dancing delighted her beyond reason.

“Do not keep me waiting too long, my lord.”