His Forbidden Debutante Read Online Free PDF Page B

his Adam’s apple moved when he swallowed unspoken words. His mouth possessed a deep cleft at the peak of his upper lip like the crease of a heart. How would it feel against her mouth? Her pulse tripped at the wayward thought, and she knew without looking he possessed a tentative unrest, just as she did. They’d scheduled the lesson to learn the proper footwork, yet their steps were completed without hesitation, their bodies consumed with some unexplainable force far more important than timing or inclination to the turn. They danced a grand circle around the ballroom, her heart counting the rhythm more than her mind, the sensation bewildering, but pleasant, a lick of fiery desire anxious to become a conflagrant fire.
    What was this? What strange passion affected him? Unsettled him? He’d danced with numerous partners through every lesson, never the same woman twice, all experience at social functions mirroring a similar routine, yet now, in this moment, he’d never felt more scattered and collected, the opposing qualities at war with his composure. He focused on the far wall, each step in time, every pace completed perfectly, yet blood pounded in his veins, the disconnect of sensibility and emotion too loud to comprehend. Why was this happening when he’d worked so hard to organise his life and compartmentalise each aspect of his future? Now that he’d chosen Claire for his wife, he had no use for inconvenient feelings. Whatever they may be. His brain floundered for a logical explanation and found nothing.
    He dared a glance at the lady within his arms, her flowing hair arranged in a lovely manner that allowed the length to cascade down her back. The loose ends glossed amber light from the shimmering candles and caught in the air as they spun through a turn. Her eyes remained steadfast, fixed on his neckcloth and seemingly unaware his body reacted to her presence with ardent intensity.
    It was wrong. An ignominious betrayal. Yet he couldn’t look away and refused to debate his respectability. He would observe every aspect of her appearance before their dance ended and he forced himself to forget.
    Abandoning inhibition and reason, he noted the bow of lashes upon her delicate cheek, the creamy skin flushed soft as a new-born rose, and her endearing spectacles, which reflected light and shadows with their rotation through every turn. Pretty seemed an inadequate descriptor. His brain discarded beautiful next. Exquisite and rare came to mind and took immutable hold. Her features were fine-boned and delicate, her mouth poised as if she worked hard to keep words contained, and when she tilted her head ever so slightly and slanted a fleeting glance, her eyes darting to his and back again, the unintentional flirtation sent blood to his groin in a hot rush of desire.
    The dance continued, the violin serenaded, strains of song accompanying the fluidity of their progress, and still he grew more attentive; her tiny waist beneath his palm, the warm, delicate trust of her gloved hand, her quickness of breath. It was as though each rotation wound him tighter, every revolution pulled him inward. He blinked hard and widened his eyes, at once aware he’d drawn her to his chest, all but crushed her to his body and she hadn’t uttered a word of objection.
    He stopped, abrupt and jolting, though the song continued for several lingering notes before Moira realised they no longer danced. Penwick could only stand and stare, the distress in the lady’s eyes mirroring the turbulence coursing through him. What had he done? He waited not another minute before rushing from the hall.

Chapter Four
    I have dark hair and eyes, in case you’ve ever wondered. I mention it because I find myself thinking about your appearance at times and imagining the person behind the lovely words. I hope I haven’t offended you. I’d never forgive myself if you believed me shallow or otherwise short on manners. I confess my curiosity can be a curse.
    His chest