For a moment a strange sense of thrilling terror washes over me. This is the creature I’ve allowed myself to bully and argue with? Forced to dance and entertain humans? If he wasn’t cursed and had his magic intact, how long would it take him to kill everyone in this room?
A chill crawls up my spine, but it doesn’t make me want to run. It makes me want to move closer to him, as if he’s a hearth fire on a chilly day, capable of burning those who get too close…and yet doesn’t.
He pauses, and the guests offer bows and curtsies. A flicker of hesitation crosses his face until his eyes find mine. His gaze slides over my dress, and his lips pull into the warmest smile I’ve ever seen him wear, which doesn’t help me rid myself of the image of him being a fire…nor the heat that floods every part of my body. Imogen must feel the same, for she fans herself faster as he advances toward us.
“Mr. Rochester,” she croons, stepping to the front of our retinue to greet him, “this ball is simply marvelous. You’ve truly outdone yourself in giving the people of Vernon the honor of dancing in your home.”
He offers her an easy smile, but his eyes flick to me. “You can thank my steward, for she’s done all the work.”
Imogen purses her lips and I give Elliot a warning look.
He returns his gaze to Imogen and takes her hand in his. “I have you to thank for procuring the guest list. This night wouldn’t have happened without you.” Then, lifting her hand, he brings the back of it to his lips.
My stomach ties itself in a knot, and for a moment I feel paralyzed. Then Elliot releases Imogen’s hand and greets the rest of her party, including my father. They exchange tense formalities, and I’m impressed how well he’s playing his role as host, his expression betraying not a hint of the disdain I’m sure he still feels toward my father. Finally, his eyes land on my sister, and his tone takes on an apologetic note. “I’m sorry, but we have not been formally introduced.”
“Oh, right!” I say, stepping forward, remembering how he’d almost growled at her the day she came with Father. “Mr. Rochester, please meet my sister, Nina Bellefleur.”
They exchange greetings, then Elliot straightens his posture. There’s a bit of mockery in it, but I doubt anyone but I can recognize it. “I am pleased to see you all again, but as host, I must greet the rest of the guests so our dance can begin. Miss Bellefleur, come make the proper introductions. Miss Coleman, I shall see you lead the first dance.” With a bow, he turns and starts off, and I’m forced to follow.
“You should have asked Imogen to make introductions,” I whisper furiously once we’re out of earshot. “She’s your hostess tonight. Also, you should have said you’re looking forward to seeing her lead the first dance, not simply state you’ll be watching.”
He turns to me with a sardonic look. “First of all, you’re my steward. You have a job to do, and I’m going to make you do it. If you’re going to torture me by forcing me to dance at a ball, then I’ll torture you right back and have you make my introductions to the people you despise probably more than I do. Second of all, if I were capable of lying, I would have said how greatly I looked forward to seeing that girl dance, but alas, I cannot, so there you have it.”
A corner of my lips tilts into a grin. There’s the unrefined wolf man I know. “I suppose that’s fair enough. Now, come, let the torture commence for us both.”
I lead Elliot around the room, making the proper introductions until all required greetings have been made. Then finally, the first song begins. I guide Elliot to stand where he’ll be in Imogen’s sight for most of the dance, then leave him alone while I survey the room, ensuring everything is running as smoothly as I intend. As predicted, every moment Imogen can spare, her eyes depart from her dance partner to lock on Elliot with a coy smile. Elliot, in turn, does his part to look pleased. As I study his face from the other side of the room, I begin to wonder if maybe he is truly pleased watching Imogen’s elegant yet controlled moves as she circles her partner on the floor.
My thoughts are interrupted by a figure parting the crowd to approach me. Gavin Aston. Dread and irritation send my feet into a flurry as I shuffle between a group of guests, then weave my way to the other side of the dance floor. Casting a glance around, I see no sign that Gavin has followed. Thank the saints. I’ll do whatever it takes to avoid saying a word to that man tonight.
As the song comes to an end, I rush to Elliot’s side and mutter, “The next song is the waltz. It’s time to ask Imogen to dance.” Seeing Imogen’s eager face as she leaves her former dance partner to approach Elliot, I move to step away. My breath catches as I find Elliot’s fingers suddenly circling my wrist.
“Stay,” he says through his teeth, face going a shade paler.
“Mr. Rochester,” I hiss, trying to tug my arm away. Luckily, our hands are hidden behind my billowing skirts, but we’re standing too close.
His expression softens. “Please, Gemma,” he whispers.
“Fine,” I say, and he releases me just as Imogen parts through the crowd.
“How did you enjoy watching the first dance?” she asks, angling her back toward me as if to push me out of the way.
I give in, taking a few steps back until Elliot burns me with a beseeching glare. Then, composing his expression, he answers Imogen’s question, his words slow and calculated. “It was a lovely song and…and you looked like you greatly enjoyed dancing.”
She cocks her head, clearly having expected a more gracious compliment. Then she somehow manages to pucker her lips and smile at the same time, her lashes fluttering like butterfly wings. “Will you be dancing the next?”
Elliot’s throat bobs once. Twice. Then a quiet, “Yes.”
“Oh, how wonderful!” Imogen sways side to side, eyes wide with anticipation. The music cues the dancers to secure their partners.
I clear my throat, hoping it will convey what Elliot must do. Ask her to dance, you fool! Just then, a new figure joins our party, one that has me stifling a groan. Gavin offers Elliot a nod and me a bow. “Miss Bellefleur, would you do me—”
“Miss Bellefleur, may I have the honor of the next dance?” My eyes flash to Elliot, who has his hand extended to me. I stare at it in stunned disbelief, barely processing what just happened. Did he just…interrupt Gavin to ask me to dance? But no, this is all wrong.
Imogen scalds me with a seething glare, then stalks off with a huff. Gavin glances awkwardly from me to Elliot, who still holds his hand outstretched, then slowly sulks away.
Heat burns my cheeks as I look up at Elliot. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“I cannot dance my first dance with her.”
“What are you talking about?” I say through my teeth. “This has been the plan from the start. This is why you learned to dance in the first place.”
“I can’t do it, Gemma.” A twinge of panic seeps into his tone. “I’ll dance with her, but not the first one. Do you see how many people are watching?”
“That’s exactly why you shouldn’t dance with me. I’m your steward, not a proper dance partner. We’ll draw too much attention. Besides, balls are a thing of my past. I don’t dance anymore.”
“Well, you do now,” he says, his eyes a bit maniacal. He brings a hand to his hair, as if to drag his fingers through it, but seems to think better of it at the last minute. Instead, he tightens the hand into a fist and holds it at his side. “If you expect me to dance, then dance with me. If I dance with anyone else right now, I’m going to be sick.”
I furrow my brow. “Why?”
“I might stumble. Trip on this damn leg in front of everyone. I’ll look like a fool.”
“Since when do you care what the vile humans think of you? Better yet, how exactly am I supposed to prevent you from tripping in the first place?”
His gaze locks on mine. “I’m…comfortable with you.”
My irritation softens at his words, but what he’s asking is a terrible idea. “Surely, I’m not the only one you’re comfortable with. Any
one else would be a better choice than me. Amelie, even. Where is she—”
“There is no better choice.” He holds out his hand again and offers something between a grimace and a tenuous grin. I’ve never seen him so flustered, so…vulnerable. His voice trembles with a desperate plea. “Dance with me, Gemma. I’m begging you. I cannot do this without you.”
I bite my lip. Oh, for the love of the saints, I’m going to regret this, aren’t I? “Only if you promise to dance the polka and gallopade with Imogen.”
“I promise.”
With a sigh, I place my hand in his, and we step onto the dance floor.
31
We take our places with the other dancers and face each other. One glance around the room shows Imogen has quickly found herself another partner—Gavin, actually—but if her scowl wasn’t already enough to tell me she’s annoyed, her tense posture is more than evident from here. I’ll have to remedy this at my first chance. Right now, I have more pressing matters to consider. Primarily, the fact that I’m about to dance with my employer in a room full of judging eyes.
Sweat beads at my brow and my stomach begins to turn. Oh, for the love of the saints, why did I agree to do this?
“Gemma,” Elliot whispers.
I bring my eyes to his and all prior thoughts disappear. My chest heaves as I notice the slim space between us—space that will only grow smaller once the dance begins.
“It’s just us, all right? We can do this.” I don’t know if his words are meant to comfort him or me, but they somehow manage to keep my head from spinning.
He’s right. We can do this. If it means getting to the next step in our scheme, then it must be done. I take a step closer, our chests mere inches apart. With slow, trembling moves, I lift my hand and press my palm against his, ready to weave our fingers together. But no, that’s all wrong, too intimate of a touch. It takes us a few awkward moments to get it right, but soon our hands are properly and demurely clasped and I bring my other hand to rest on his shoulder. He closes another inch between us, and I feel his hand come to the middle of my back.
I gasp at his touch, feeling the tips of his fingers meet bare skin where the back of my dress dips low. My heart pounds against my ribs, a melody I’m sure is loud enough for Elliot to hear.
Then the music begins, and it’s now or never. Our first few steps are off beat, my legs threatening to give out beneath me. But the warmth of his hand on my back serves as an anchor, guiding me into the next set of steps. After a few measures, we find the rhythm, stepping and turning with far more ease. I keep my face averted slightly to the right while his remains just turned toward my left, our bearing civil yet unfamiliar, as is proper.
With each beat that goes on, my nerves settle more and more. The dance starts to feel natural, like it’s a part of me. Ember’s piano blends harmoniously with the violin as we step and turn, step and turn. A smile tugs my lips, my feet feeling lighter, and I realize Elliot must be feeling the same. His grip on my hand has loosened, his palm more relaxed against my back. I hazard a glance at him, and he meets my eyes at the same moment. His grin matches mine, but there’s an element of shyness to it. The flush in his cheeks only enhances that quality, and I let out a soft chuckle.
“Don’t laugh at me,” he says, leaning slightly closer so his whisper reaches my ear above the music.
“I’m not laughing at you. I’m laughing at us both.” As I speak, I try to keep my face averted away from him, but I find myself returning to his gaze again and again despite my best efforts.
“Tell me honestly, Gemma.” As often as he’s used my first name in private, hearing it from his lips in a room full of spectators sends a sinful chill through me. Thank the saints no one can hear us. “Am I the worst dancer you’ve ever been forced to endure?”
“No, Mr. Rochester. Far from it.” It’s the truth. Despite his reservations, he moves just as well as anyone I’ve danced with.
He laughs, his breath stirring my hair. “Freezing hell, if that’s the case, I hate to think of the sorry souls who have stepped on your toes.”
“Oh, come on,” I say with a wry grin. “You’re too hard on yourself.”
“Am I?”
“Yes. I know you don’t love your seelie form, but you truly wear it beautifully well.”
His expression turns serious, his garnet irises glittering in the dim light of the room. “So, you like my body as it is?”
I swallow hard, my breaths growing heavy. What kind of question is that? A fae one, of course. One where he has no understanding of its implications. And yet, it’s an honest question, and I suppose I can answer with equal honesty. “I think I can safely say I’m fond of it.”
He smiles, and we continue the next few beats of the dance in silence, our gazes locked on each other. I feel his hand move slightly lower down my back, his thumb caressing the lace of my gown. Does he realize he’s doing that? I suppress a shudder and find myself inching closer, my arm growing more relaxed as my hand rests more comfortably on his shoulder, like it’s never belonged anywhere else. In this moment, I feel as if we’re the only two people in the room. We move on instinct, unaware of the other dancers, the music guiding our every step, sway, and turn.
My lips part, but I don’t know what I want to say. Everything in me wants to step even closer, press my cheek against his, feel his breath against my neck as we dance. But I don’t. For somewhere in the back of my mind is a piece of me that knows we aren’t alone. That we’re being watched, judged, assessed. Right now, it’s impossible to care, but logic tells me I will when this is all over.
When this is all over.
Yes, this moment will end. The realization has my heart sinking, making me wish this song could last forever. But I know better. Beautiful moments in my life never last. They always end badly. Still, does that mean I shouldn’t enjoy them while I can? I think back to the book I read last night, the one with the boy and the dog. Is it worth it?
Yes, it’s worth it. The good and the bad. It’s the story as a whole that matters.
But if that were true, then why have I been running from love ever since the scandal with Oswald? Why have I been pushing everyone away? Why have I been dreaming of an isolated life in Isola?
Elliot squeezes my hand, his brow furrowed. “What is it?”
I realize my gaze has dropped, and my lips have pulled into a frown. With a quick shake of my head, I return my eyes to his and force a convincing smile. “It’s—” I want to say it’s nothing, but can’t summon the words. Because it isn’t nothing. It’s everything. Something has changed inside me, and I can’t ignore it any longer. The truth is, I’ve grown to like Elliot in a way he’ll never be able to like me back. All he wants is to be rid of his seelie form and become a wolf again. How many times has he reminded me of this fact? When the curse is broken, he’ll flee this place, return to the caves he was once so fond of.
And I…I’ll lose him.
Like the boy and his dog.
But if I’m the boy in this story, and Elliot is the dog, then perhaps I can accept that my life has become better from him being in it. Maybe it’s even true that he’s saved me in a way. Reminded me what it’s like to open up to someone, trust someone with the pains of my past. Maybe I’m starting to believe in…I can’t even think the word. But I know it’s there. That tender connection between two people. Maybe it doesn’t have to last forever to be real.
The song draws near its end, and with it comes an urge to speak my truth—the answer to his question that still hangs between us. We slow to a stop with the music and pause in place, my hand still clasped in his, his palm still firm against my back.
I take a deep breath. “It’s just…I think I’m going to miss you, wolf man.”
The crease deepens between his brows. He opens his mouth to speak, but this is where the dancers must part and offer curtsies and bows. I dip low, and he folds into a bow a moment too late. As we rise, his expression remains flustered, but again any potential respons
e from him is cut off as the floor erupts with polite applause. The sound acts as a wall in my mind, one that seals off this moment from the last, between now and the magic of our dance. On this side lies logic, duty, and a scheme that must be brought to completion. On the other is a beautiful memory I’ll keep with me always. But in the past it must stay.
The applause dies down, and the couples separate to find new partners. Elliot advances toward me. “Gemma—”
“Thank you for the dance, Mr. Rochester,” I say with calm and poise, my false persona wrapped tight around me. My smile, however, is genuine, and my heart is at peace. Or as peaceful as it can be with such a bittersweet ache at its core. “I have much work to do, and I will get on with it now.”
Before he can argue, I turn to leave. A lump rises in my throat, but I swallow it down, vaguely aware of the feel of his eyes burning into me with every step I take away from him. Their heat lingers long after I’m lost in the crowd.
32
The night wears on, and I stay far from the dance floor, keeping to tasks that take me to the perimeter of the ballroom or other rooms altogether. I visit the footman, the servants, confirming all is going well for the evening. Then I make my rounds to the refreshments table, the parlor, finding everything in neat working order. Next, I check on Bertha and the cooks, ensuring supper is coming along in the kitchen, then oversee the final preparations for the dinner table. Since the dining room has been requisitioned for dancing, the break for supper will take place in a smaller, adjoining room.
Curse of the Wolf King: A Beauty and the Beast Retelling (Entangled with Fae) Page 23