His Forbidden Debutante Read Online Free PDF

didn’t know where to settle, taking in her fashionable gown, a deep shade of crimson which complemented her porcelain skin and mahogany hair, then to the white gloves buttoned at each wrist. Her features were delicate, high cheekbones and soft, full lips, and her shy smile, when she finally became comfortable with the new circumstance, lit the room more than the plentitude of high-strung chandeliers spaced across the ceiling amidst the departing rays of the sun.
    He approached, his prior tension a fading memory.
    Livie watched as the gentleman strode across the dance floor, her heart pounding a ferocious beat. Without cause, her palms grew damp beneath her gloves, and she was grateful to have remembered them, as she’d have been mortified to present sweaty hands to this handsome stranger. He stood a head taller than any man she’d danced with before, though that number remained few. Monsieur Bournon practised with her ordinarily and he was of smaller stature. Her eyes rose and she found his expression one of dubious curiosity.
    What an unexpected twist to an otherwise troubling day. Who was this stranger? And how did he come to need dance instruction when his appearance presented as polished as any gentleman with whom she’d ever made acquaintance? Here stood a man who hadn’t gone soft like so many aristocrats, his physique broad and fit. His clothes were pristine and pressed, his dark brown hair combed precisely to fashion and, unless she was mistaken, she detected the warm, spicy scent of bergamot in his cologne. How she loved candied orange peel. The thought eased the moment.
    ‘May I?’
    His deep voice resonated, slid through her senses with a lasting beat as if he opened the door to her heart and whispered to her soul. Not the hollow echo that accompanied every sound in the vast ballroom. Instead, the two words vibrated within her and the reaction proved fascinating and unsettling. His striking appearance had already set her heart to beat triple-time; she needed no other observation to abrade her nerves. Aware she stood a motionless ninny, she forced a smile and they moved equidistant to close the space between them.
    ‘Of course.’ She replied and he reached for her, one hand settling in her gloved palm while the other gently clasped her waist. They touched and her gaze shot to his in kind with an expression of equal surprise.
    A woman could get lost in such large brown eyes, the colour of his irises a mixture of coffee and honey, framed by lush dark lashes, long and curled at the very tips. She swallowed, hoping he couldn’t hear the sound.
    And still they stood motionless.
    She’d danced with partners who’d held her in identical frame, but somehow this moment was different.
Defining.
His touch warmed her from the inside out, filled her with an unidentifiable sensation that assured and at the same time pitched her pulse to high riot. She must control her nerves and accomplish her very best dancing. For some reason, it seemed all the more important today.
    From the corner of her eye she noticed Mr Moira retreating to the far wall where he raised a violin. The first stroke of the bow startled yet again and she jumped, Lord W’s hand tightening on her waist as if he wished to hold her safe and prevent her from falling. They hadn’t taken one step, but it pleased all the same, the protective measure he showed without the slightest provocation.
    With a subtle nudge he swayed into the music, leading with the firm insistence of his hand at her waist, the measured exhale of his breath against her temple. They danced in silence, the graceful, disconsolate melody fraught with unexpected sentiment. It filled her with gentle longing and loss, as if myriad tender emotions, fragile and evanescent, milled within, unable to find their correct tempo and position.
    Lord W appeared equally affected though she hadn’t shifted her eyes, content studying the elaborate folds in his cravat, the rugged shape of his jaw, how