The Duke's Wife (The Three Mrs #3) - Jess Michaels Page 0,26
Every piece of him was exactly where it should be, and it made her want to…muss him a little. God, she was hopeless.
“Mrs. Gregory,” Gilmore said, clasping Celeste’s hand. “You do look radiant tonight. I know Owen will be late—I’ll keep watch for him.”
“Thank you, Gilmore,” Celeste said. “And for the invitation.”
She moved along, though Abigail could feel her stare as she stepped up to Gilmore, herself. She couldn’t make herself meet his eyes as she said, “Good evening.”
“Abigail,” he said softly, just so she could hear. A shiver worked up her spine. “I’m so glad you came this evening.”
There was a little bit of challenge to his tone and she clung to that to find some purchase. “Why wouldn’t I?” she said, a little sharper than necessary. “I said I would.”
He chuckled lightly. “Yes, you did. And I’m beginning to realize that you never lie. Enjoy your evening.”
She stepped away, nearly tripping over her own feet as she did so, and she hustled into the ballroom behind Celeste. Already the party was a crush, with people gathered talking and laughing as the orchestra played.
She saw Celeste talking to Pippa and Rhys a short distance away. She should go to them, of course, be with her friends. But she couldn’t bear to, especially when she didn’t know if Celeste was whispering her secret to them. She never should have said anything out loud.
Because now the fact that she wanted a lover and that she’d kissed Gilmore seemed all too real. And too tangled for her own good.
Nathan smiled at his guests, saying a few good evenings as he passed through the crowd. But he was not interested in stopping for deeper conversation. No, he was on a mission to find Abigail. He hadn’t spoken to her since her arrival nearly an hour before, though he had caught glimpses of her. Always ducking away from him.
But now he caught sight of her, standing off along the wall, watching the dancers merrily bob by on the dancefloor. Her expression was faraway, almost sad. She didn’t notice as he approached, and she jumped when he reached her and said her name.
“Your—your Grace,” she stammered. “I didn’t see you there.”
“No, I assume not or you would have run, as you have been doing all night.”
Her eyes went wide, and then the steel she so often exhibited toward him entered her face and made her back straighten. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”
He tilted his head. “Of course you don’t.” The song the orchestra was playing was coming to an end, and he drew a long breath. “Is your card filled for the next, Abigail?”
She shifted. “I have not danced tonight, Your Grace, save with Owen or Rhys. So I think you know the answer.”
“Then perhaps you will do me the honor?”
Her gaze flitted to his face, and he saw her trying to find a way to refuse him that would not be too rude. But then her eyes settled on his mouth, held there too long. There was the push and pull. The longing he felt mirrored back in her, forever battling with whatever her reasons were for disliking him so much.
She bent her head. “I would very much like to dance, Your Grace,” she said softly.
“Excellent.” The music ended, and there was a moment of bustling as the dancers from the previous song left the floor and ones for the next rushed forward to take their places.
Nathan offered his hand, and she hesitated before she took it. He led her to the floor and they waited for whatever song would be played. The first strains of the music lifted, and she briefly shut her eyes. He could have sworn she cursed beneath her breath.
“Don’t know how to waltz?” he asked as he took her hand and placed his other on her hip.
She glared up at him. “Of course I know how to waltz.”
“Excellent, because I am very good at it,” he teased.
She continued to glare as they swept into the first steps, but her lips were twitching almost as if she wanted to laugh. “You are the most arrogant arse,” she said softly.
He turned her, easily dodging a slightly drunk partygoer. “I am that. I am.”
“Why did you ask me to dance?” she asked.
He lifted both brows. “Do I need a reason?”
“With you and me? I think there’s always a reason, isn’t there? Some underlying angle or game.” She sighed. “Or is it some wager again?”