want to look at the damn moon. He wanted to look at her. But he did, following her gaze to the brilliant crescent low over the rooftops.
“It’s setting,” she said, simply.
“Yes.” Her eyes flew to his, her pretty mouth falling open in surprise at his speaking. To his absolute shock, his cheeks grew warm. Whit had never been more grateful for darkness, and he’d hidden in it from soldiers of the Crown on more than one occasion.
“I stepped on his foot,” she said, softly. “He wasn’t a good dancer, and I stepped on his foot, and he called me—” She stopped. Shook her head and looked back to the moon before speaking again, so quiet she could barely be heard. “Well. It wasn’t kind.”
Whit heard her. Heard her embarrassment. Her pain. Felt it like it was his own. He was going to find this baron and fucking garrote him. He’d bring her the man’s undeserving head.
The riotous pounding of Whit’s heart began to calm.
“So . . . thank you for the dance tonight. You made me feel . . .” She trailed off, and Whit realized that he would happily turn over the contents of the Bastards’ Rookery warehouse to thieves for the chance to hear the end of that sentence.
But she didn’t finish. Instead, she waved her hand, the dance card attached to it fluttering in the breeze. He reached for it, pulling her closer to him with a barely-there tug on the fragile parchment, already crumpled from her mistreatment.
He turned it over, looked at it.
She tried to tug it back, but he wouldn’t let her. “It’s empty. I told you,” she said defensively. “No one ever claims my dances.”
Whit ignored her, lifting the pencil that dangled from the card. “I claimed one.”
He could hear the smirk in her retort when she said, “As a matter of fact, I claimed yours.” He put the pencil to his tongue, licking the nib before setting it to the little oval paper. “It’s a bit late for claiming your waltz, don’t you—”
But he wasn’t claiming the waltz. He wrote his name across the whole card, claiming all of it. Claiming all of her, this woman who had rescued him, in one bold, dark scrawl. Beast.
Hattie looked down at the moniker, her pretty lips falling into a perfect little “Oh.” He didn’t respond, and she finally looked up at him and added, “That’s that then.”
He offered a little grunt, too afraid of what he might say if he spoke.
She filled the silence. “You’re very graceful. Like a falcon.”
“Like a bird?” Whit repeated, unable to stop himself. If Devil got wind of the descriptor, he would never hear the end of it.
She laughed, the low, rolling sound like a punch to the gut. “No. Like a predator. Beautiful and graceful, yes, but strong and powerful. And dancing with you, it wasn’t like anything I’ve ever done before. You made me feel graceful.” She gave a little laugh, and he could not miss the self-deprecation there. “By association, of course. As though my movements were an extension of yours. As though I, too, was a falcon, dancing on the wind.” She looked to him, the lights of the distant ballroom a barely-there reflection in her eyes. “I’ve never felt that way. I’ve never had that. And you gave it to me, tonight. So th—”
He moved, finally, coming for her with the speed of the damn bird she’d compared him to. Diving for her, collecting her up in his grasp. He couldn’t bear her thanking him again. Not for what had happened inside. Not for the dance he hadn’t finished. He hadn’t given her the dance she deserved.
Her gratitude dissolved into a pretty gasp. Good.
He didn’t deserve her thanks. He wasn’t worthy of it. Not with the plans he had for her family. For her father’s business.
Not with the plans he had for her.
So he caught her words with a kiss, thieving them with his hands at those pretty, rounded cheeks, his thumbs rubbing over her cheekbones as he tilted her face up to his and kept taking, her gratitude, then her surprise, then her pleasure, licking at her full, lush bottom lip until she opened for him, welcoming him inside as though she’d done it a thousand times before. And for a moment, as he tasted her sigh, it seemed as though she had.
Whit would have sworn they’d barely begun when Hattie pulled away, but their breath, coming heavy and desperate, suggested it had been