He looked about the room for Benny, the only man on his ship who could play an instrument worth listening to. “A tune if you will, Benny. What is a wedding without dancing?”
Grace clapped her hands together like he’d announced water in the middle of a dry desert. He had to wonder yet again what kind of life they’d led even before their father had died. Had they never even been to a party? A dance or fete?
Benny left the room but emerged moments later with his lute, Paddy following closely with a Navajo flute. They may never grace ballrooms to accompany a string quartet but the two together could play lively tunes guaranteed to brighten any sad man’s day.
“Nothing bawdy,” Darius warned the two as they set up in the corner of the room. Furniture was pushed back in all directions towards whichever wall was the closest. The Penfold children merely stood and stared with their mouths agape at the activity.
Darius approached Eliza, tucked one hand behind his back and held the other out to her as he bowed from the waist. “May I have this dance?”
The curtsy she dropped was so low, she may as well have touched the floor with her forehead, her skirts fanning out about her as though she was a princess. When she rose, a smile played at the edges of her lips and her blue eyes were bright with mischief. “A pirate who can dance? Do you also sing?”
“Only when I’m alone,” he confirmed with a wink.
Before she could form a reply, Darius grabbed her by the hand and pulled her into his arms, aligned his lips with her ear. “And I’m not a pirate. Not anymore.”
Again he didn’t give her time to react. He knew her type so well. She overthought every situation, every scenario and conversation. It’s what little duchesses in the making were taught from the cradle, the intrigues of men. For her, the dangers had been social, for him, physical. He’d known fear quite intimately for a long part of his life. Forever trying to be one step ahead of everyone else, of the danger lurking around every corner. But not here. After taking up with Montrose, Darius had left his terror behind. He wouldn’t let her be afraid in his house, in his presence. Frankly, it was a little insulting that she thought him not up to the task of protecting them.
“Relax,” he begged her as they took their first step into what was more of a jig than a waltz.
“I don’t know how to dance like this,” she answered.
Duncan cantered by, Gabriella’s hand held loosely in his own, and said, “No one knows how to dance like this, girly, you just jump around to the music in whatever way feels good.”
“But there’s no order. No steps.”
“Welcome to our world,” Marcus said, roaring with laughter as he showed Ethan how to lift his legs in a strange manner that almost looked like it might have a method.
Darius paused and took hold of Eliza’s chin between his thumb and forefinger. He felt her breath catch and then sail past his knuckle, pulling away before she exhaled again. “Just keep your right foot between mine and your left on the outer. That way I won’t step on your toes. Oh, and hold on tight.”
*
Eliza held on tight. She held on to her dignity, her upbringing, her sense of propriety. At least she tried.
As Darius swung her about the room, she was forced to lean her body into him, flush against him, chest to chest, stomach to…well something. His arm was like a steel cage at her back, his torso all hardness and warmth at her front. Her cheeks burned hot and despite her finer senses telling her this was all bad, she tipped her head back and laughed and laughed. She laughed until she could no longer draw breath and had to beg Darius for a brief reprieve between shaky puffs of air.
He gave her a nod and called to Benny over the revelry, “Take it down a notch.”
As the temporary musician adjusted his instrument, Darius gave another man a nod and within seconds, Eliza had a glass in her hand, dark liquid filling it about halfway.
She attempted to extricate herself from Darius’s touch but he held fast, only pressing a finger to the bottom of the glass as she went to take a small sip, instead forcing her to drink it all.
“It will warm you,” he told her with a small smile.
She wanted to make him grin like a pirate in that moment, not these tiny, almost sad, smiles he kept gracing her with. Shrugging off her shawl and removing her gloves, Eliza threw them on a settee, heedless of the fabric or the brazen way the movement twisted her body against his. She held one bare hand in the air, the other she placed just below his shoulder on his arm, and issued him a silent challenge.
“The cuts on your hands.” He traced the largest with his forefinger, careful not to apply too much pressure. “Does it hurt much?”
She cleared her throat, her mouth dry despite the alcohol, and unwilling to cooperate fully. “They are only small scratches. Nothing to worry about really but I can put the gloves back on if you’d rather?”
“I would not.” He wrapped her small hand in his large one and brought it to his mouth. He placed a hot, wet kiss against her knuckle and she nearly swooned. She’d thought her hands finally warm but his breath burned fiery hot.
“A waltz?” she asked, her voice shaking, her insides melting.
“I don’t know how to waltz,” he told her, his smile falling away completely. It was the first time she’d seen him so unsure, almost defeated over the mention of one silly little dance.
“I can teach you, if you want to learn?”
“Bastards aren’t taught to waltz, Eliza.”
“And duke’s daughters aren’t taught jigs, Darius.”
“You aren’t a duke’s daughter anymore. You’re
