by East, Evie
Alden and I take our place amongst them. I hardly breathe as he leads me through my first ever waltz — well, with anyone besides Lady Morrell, which I’m relatively certain doesn’t count. He’s a much more exciting partner, leading my turns with ease, steering my every move as though there are marionette strings attached to my toes. I find after a while, I’m actually enjoying myself as we glide to the tempo.
“I can’t believe you lied to me,” he whispers in my ear as the waltz comes to an end.
“What?”
His smile is ultra white. “You’re a lovely dancer. You’ve not tread on my feet even once.”
“Give it time.”
“Does that mean I can persuade you to dance with me again?”
I open my mouth to agree, but the words are cut off by a lightly accented voice from the left.
“Unfortunately, the princess cannot dance with you,” a young man I don’t recognize says, bowing slightly as he beholds me, his brown eyes sparkling. “As she will be dancing with me.”
“Oh?” I arch a brow. “And you are…?”
“Westley Egerton, Baron of Frenberg. It’s an honor to make your acquaintance, Your Royal Highness.”
“Just Emilia, please.”
His brows shoot up in shock at such familiarity. Lady Morrell would be positively scandalized by my impropriety, but I don’t care. I’m so tired of being called Your Highness I could spit. And the night has only just begun.
“Princess Emilia it is, then,” Egerton says tactfully, smiling as he extends a hand. “Shall we?”
With an apologetic glance at Alden, I take his outstretched hand and allow myself to be pulled into another spirited dance. Feeling the weight of many male stares, I have a creeping suspicion his won’t be my only offer the evening…
* * *
My hunch, as it turns out, is correct.
Two hours later, my feet are aching as yet another suitor from some place I can’t remember the name of steers me around the dance floor. Unfortunately for me, unlike Alden, this particular earl does not possess even an ounce of lightness of foot — as evidenced by the fact that he’s already trampled on mine at least three times.
“Apologies again, Your Highness.”
I hide my wince with a fake smile. “Not a problem.”
Chloe grimaces at me over the shoulder of the handsome lord she’s dancing with. I try to smile back, but it turns to another scowl of pain as his considerable weight comes down on my toes.
“Deepest apologies, yet again—”
I set my teeth in a grimace and pray it’s almost over. I’m exhausted from smiling benignly and making small talk with strangers; from being mauled by middle-aged lords with sagging bellies and sour breath; from fending off scathing comments from their wives during the brief interludes I’ve managed to escape the dance floor for a fortifying sip of champagne.
“Please forgive me, Princess,” the earl is saying, but my attention is suddenly elsewhere — snagging on something in the crowd that makes my heart race at twice its normal rate. Something I haven’t locked eyes on all night, despite my constant search.
There’s a man standing at the edge of the dance floor. He’s got a glass of bourbon in his grip, but his eyes are on me. Even from this distance, I know he can see the way I wince when the Earl of Toe-Crushing lives up to his nickname once more.
“So sorry, so sorry…”
I open my mouth on auto-pilot, prepared to accept his most recent apology, but the words evaporate from my tongue. I can’t speak, can’t even breathe. Every fiber in my being is fully occupied, watching as Carter slowly drains the bourbon from his glass and steps out onto the floor. There’s a darkly determined look on his face as he crosses toward us, cutting a path through the sea of swirling couples without ever removing his eyes from mine. He moves like a predator, smooth muscles and lithe strength in an immaculately-tailored tuxedo.
Holy.
Shit.
My feet go still and the earl stumbles off balance, his hand falling away from my lower back. I don’t even bother apologizing as Carter comes to a stop beside us. His dark brows are pulled inward.
“Can I cut in?”
He doesn’t wait for permission. He simply steps into our space, slides his arms around my body, and tugs me out of the earl’s fumbling hold. My lips part on a gasp as my body collides briefly with the hard planes of his chest. I press them firmly together as my right hand interlaces with his, my left sliding up to rest lightly on his shoulder.
“What do you think you’re doing?” I hiss as we begin to move.
“Just being a good brother.” He pauses meaningfully, eyes glittering with leashed violence — at me, at our situation, at the whole damn world. “Saving my sister from permanent foot damage.”
“Carter…”
“You’d rather I left you to that great oaf?” he mutters, eyes narrowing. “Fine. I’m sure I can call him back—”
“Don’t you dare,” I snap.
He smirks.
I blow out an exasperated sigh and give myself over to the dance. And it’s strange — we’re surrounded by hundreds of people but, somehow, in the circle of his arms, I’m able to convince myself it’s just the two of us. A dance all our own, without regret or repercussion.
We move together flawlessly — miles more in sync than even my most accomplished suitors. It’s as though my body recognizes his, as though he knows every step I’m going to make before it happens. As the waltz progresses, our spins and turns bringing our bodies closer and closer, the sliver of air between our faces begins to simmer with so much tension, it’s hard to breathe properly. His hand tightens on my waist, flexing against the gold fabric of my dress, and I know he feels it, too.
I just hope no one watching from the crowd can see the way my pulse is pounding, can sense the slight hitch in my breath whenever I pull a shallow gulp of air into my lungs.
Just two siblings, sharing a celebratory dance.
Totally innocent.
His face is set in a polite mask, but his eyes — they singe me like a fiery brand. He hasn’t looked at me like this since the night we crossed an unspeakable boundary, back at the Lockwood Estate. I worry as soon as this dance ends, he’ll never look at me like that again. That, as soon as the notes fade into silence, he’ll throw that wall back into place — the one made of callous indifference, that’s so terribly effective at shutting me out.
Time is running short. Each slide of the violin bow against its strings carries us one note closer to the end of this moment. The end of us. So, before I can stop myself, before I can remember the reason why those careful walls exist between us in the first place… I ask a reckless question. A question that’s been killing me each night as I lie in bed, waiting for a bluetooth chime that never comes.
“The song.” My throat convulses. “Why?”
The final notes play out, and our steps taper off into stillness. He still hasn’t given me an answer. In my peripherals, I sense couples around us pulling apart, exiting the dance floor in the brief interlude between songs… but we don’t move. Neither of us is ready to let go. Because we both know, the moment we do…
It’s over.
“Why?” I beg, a break in my voice.
He stares at me with his jaw clenched tight for so long, I don’t think he’s going to answer. When he finally speaks, his tone is carefully stripped of all emotion.
“Because the only thing I hated more than seeing you with him… was making you cry over me.”
His words hit me like a physical punch. My hands drop away from him. My eyes are full of tears when I shake my head and whisper, “Then you’d better look away.”
The last thing I see before I turn and race off the dance floor is Carter’s face, crumbling with defeat and despair. My feet don’t slow as I brush past several waiting suitors, eager to claim my next dance. The facade I’ve kept in place all evening is unraveling with an alacrity that scares me. If I’m going to hold myself together
, I need air that doesn’t smell like bourbon, spice, and smoke. I need space that’s not thrumming with acute anguish. I need time enough to forget the feeling of forbidden hands on my skin.
So incredibly wrong.
So utterly right.
Leaving the ballroom behind with a series of muttered excuses, I don’t stop until I’ve found my way outside into the castle gardens. It’s dark and cold in the late October night — far too chilly for any other party guests to brave the elements. The three King’s Guard keeping watch at the doors don’t try to stop me as I run down the winding path, long train whipping out behind me like a flag. I revel in the silent solitude as I drag uneven breaths into my lungs.
I’m not even sure where I’m headed until I find myself stepping into the glass greenhouse at the center of the courtyard. It’s warmer inside. There’s no light except that of the full moon shining overhead. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust, squinting until the shapes of various plants and flowers come into view. There’s something almost haunted about this place, lit only by starlight. Closed off from the rest of the world.
Brushing the worst of the dirt off a slate workman’s table, I prop myself against it and drop my head into my hands. The clatter of my crown falling to the flagstones makes me jump — I’d completely forgotten it was on my head.
Oops.
I crack open my eyes, already bending to retrieve it… and freeze as I find myself staring not at a dirty greenhouse floor, but into the turbulent blue eyes of the man who’s just crouched down at my feet. I didn’t even hear him follow me in, but there he is — Lord Carter Thorne. On his knees with my tiara clutched gently in his big hands, looking up at me like I’m the source of all his pain and all his passion.
Shadows play over his features as I reach out, trembling like a leaf, and wrap my fingers around the tiara. He doesn’t relinquish his hold — even when I tug lightly. Instead, he rises, finding his feet in one smooth motion, stepping forward into my space… And then, the crown is clattering back to the stones at our feet, utterly forgotten, because without another thought or breath or beat of hesitation, Carter reaches out, hauls me into his chest, and crushes his mouth to mine.
Passion explodes violently, a tsunami that washes in without warning and submerges us completely. Our hands claw and tear, desperate to get closer after so much time suffering in separate agony. My fingers dig into his back, hard enough to bruise. His lips claim mine, savage enough to leave them swollen.
There is no room for reasonable questions or sound arguments. Not anymore. We have flown past the point of no return, to a place were the only thing that matters is this.
Us.
Now.
His kiss is a broken promise on borrowed time. His touch is faulty fuse struck with the hottest match. We possess all the potential in the world without an ounce of fulfillment. We are a lost cause, doomed before our inception. And still, I cannot stop myself from shoving the tuxedo jacket off his shoulders, to the dirty ground. Just as he can’t prevent his hands from lifting me up onto the slate table.
My legs part beneath the thick layers of tulle as he bunches it by my waist, so he can step closer.
Closer.
Never close enough.
My need for him is so strong, I can hardly see straight as my shaking hands slide down his chest to trace the throbbing outline of his cock through the thin fabric. The ache between my thighs magnifies as I feel his shaft swell beneath my touch. God… he’s so huge, so hard, it’s difficult to believe I’m the one who’s sparking this reaction within him.
He growls my name as his hands clutch me harder, lips dropping to suck the sensitive skin of my neck. The nip of teeth against my jugular vein, where my pulse races double speed, has my back arching like a bowstring.
Fingers grasping blindly, I fumble with the buttons of his pants, then struggle to slide his zipper down. I need to free him, to feel him heavy within the grip of my hands, no barriers left between us. I need to watch him come undone beneath my touch, just as he’s undoing me. I need him inside me, under my skin, embedded so deep he’ll never fully leave me.
His hands tangle in my hair as he kisses me again, ruining my perfect up-do in an instant. I don’t give a shit. Our lips never part, even as I pull him into my hand and begin to pump his length, rhythmic strokes that draw deep groans of pleasure from the back of his throat.
With a sudden growl, he tears his lips from mine and shoves me back, flat against the table. Before I can blink, he’s out of my reach, kneeling on the ground between my legs. His dark head disappears beneath my voluminous skirts, his hands roughly shove my knees apart. I cry out when his fingers delve into the flimsy fabric of my underwear and tear it clear off my body, the intricate stitches no match for his impatience.
I don’t even have time to be shocked by his savage action. My focus narrows to the broad fingers stroking my inner thighs as he hitches my legs over his shoulders. When he leans in, his mouth sucking on my clit like he’s been starving for me, I swear my whole damn world ceases to exist. There’s nothing left but this — his lips feasting on me, my back arching up off the table. Pleasure spikes in a dizzying bolt, my thighs clenching around him as he fucks me slowly with his tongue.
The orgasm slams into me without warning, so fast I’m unprepared for it. I cry out as I come, loudly enough to draw unwanted attention. Carter swiftly rises to cover my mouth with his, swallowing my cries as his hands finish the job his lips began. His fingers slide into my soaked core, first one finger, then two, working with expert precision as waves of pleasure crash through me, over and over, a never-ending tide. I’m moaning, clutching wildly at him as I taste myself on his tongue, desperate for more even as my whole body trembles with aftershocks.
Our eyes meet in the darkness and I see my own lust reflected back at me — so strong, it’s almost painful. I grab his shirt and pull him fully down on top of me, his heavy weight settling between my thighs. Tulle bunches around my waist in a thick layer, but I hardly notice as my legs wind around his back.
“Emilia,” he groans, face suddenly tortured. “Are you sure?”
“I’m on the pill,” I whisper, kissing him again. Sliding my hands into his hair. Reveling in the delicious weight of his hard, hot body, pressing me down against the cool slate.
“You know that’s not what I mean. Once we do this…”
His expression is composed as he hesitates, but the rapid rise and fall of his chest gives him away, as does the tension in his shoulders when his hands plant themselves on either side of my face. I feel the hard head of his shaft brush the slickness between my thighs, and that merest hint of him is nearly enough to trigger another orgasm.
“Carter…” I reach down between us, encircle my hand around his pulsing length, and maneuver him until he’s poised perfectly at my entrance. “I’m sure.”
Groaning with need, he slams himself home without another instant of doubt, entering me in a brutal thrust that jerks my whole body several inches up the table. I’m unable to tame the screams of pleasure that fly from my throat as he moves inside me, filling me so fully, I think my body might break in two. He fucks me like a man possessed, each stroke deeper than the last.
“Emilia.”
He growls my name like a prayer. Like a promise. Like a vow.
His tongue spears into my mouth, moving to the same rhythm as his cock. His eyes are wilder than I’ve ever seen them — holding mine captive as we move together, thrust for thrust.
We are dancing on the edge of a blade that’s liable to slice us both in two at any instant, but I don’t care. Right now, there’s just him and me and this table. No past, no future. No names, no labels. Just lust and need and maybe, if I look a little deeper, something more.
Something that scares me a million times more than anything else I’ve faced, tonight.
When I orgasm again, it’s even more powerful than the first time. Carter follows me over the edge of pleasure mere seconds later, my name exulta
nt on his lips as he spills himself inside me. And as we lie there in the aftermath, breathing hard with the glass of the greenhouse fogging around us and the moon a pale spotlight overhead, we hold each other so tight, it’s almost easy to forget that in a few short minutes…
We’re going to have to let go.
Chapter Nineteen
We dress in the darkness, not speaking as we brush dirt from our expensive clothes, straighten our mussed hair, refasten our buttons. I can’t quite meet his eyes as he bends to retrieve my tiara from the stone floor.
“Here.”
I stare at the literal reminder of responsibility, a tangible reality check cradled within his hands, and feel my heart stutter inside my chest.
“Thank you,” I whisper rather haltingly, reaching out to take it from him. Hoping it’s not crooked, I set it back on top of my head. I press my eyes closed to keep my emotions in check as I force out the next words. “We should probably head back.”
I swear he makes a low sound of rage, but when my eyes flash open, he looks totally composed. The picture of indifference.
“They’ll come looking for me, if I’m gone too long.”
He snorts, but otherwise doesn’t respond.
My eyes narrow. “Do you have something to say?”
“No. You want to go back in there, that’s fine. But if you think I’m about to follow you, to stand there on the sidelines, watching you flirt with every man in a six hundred mile radius—”
“Do you honestly think I like this?” I cut him off sharply, temper rising to match his. “Do you think I enjoy being passed from hand to hand like some prized breeding mare, when the only person I want to be with—” I bite my lip to contain the dangerous words, so hard I’m surprised it doesn’t split down the center.