EPISODE 2:

A Dangerous Dance

The ball carried on with its endless chatter, tinkling laughter, and perfumed air, but Evelina felt none of it. Her heart still raced from Damian’s whispered promise. The Duke had vanished into the throng, yet she felt tethered to him by an invisible string, each tug a reminder of the fire he had awakened.

Her cousin, Lady Cassandra, fluttered to her side, eyes sharp with envy.

“You should be careful,” Cassandra said sweetly, though her tone dripped with malice. “The Duke of Ravenscroft ruins women. It would be wise to keep your distance.”

Evelina forced a polite smile. “And yet, you seem very eager to speak of him.”

Cassandra’s painted lips tightened, but before she could retort, a shadow fell across them. Damian had returned, towering, his presence drawing stares and whispers from every corner of the room. His hand extended toward Evelina once more.

“One more dance, Lady Evelina,” he said, his voice low enough to be a challenge.

Cassandra’s eyes narrowed, scandal written in every blink. Evelina should have refused—every lesson of propriety screamed at her—but her hand betrayed her again, sliding into his as if it belonged there.

The orchestra began another waltz. Damian drew her onto the floor, though this time his hold was tighter, more possessive. His palm pressed firmly at her lower back, guiding her body so close their breaths mingled.

“You tempt scandal,” Evelina whispered, daring not to meet his gaze.

He tilted his head, his lips grazing dangerously close to her temple. “No, my lady. I tempt you.”

Her body betrayed her with a shiver. His thigh pressed against hers as they turned, each movement of the dance a veiled caress. She felt the heat of him even through the layers of her gown, every brush a promise of what lay beneath his control.

“Release me,” she demanded softly, though her grip on his shoulder tightened.

“I will,” he said, his voice a sin against her ear, “but only after I’ve made you admit how much you crave this.”

The music swelled, and he spun her, pulling her flush against him as though they were alone, unseen. His hand slid daringly low along the curve of her waist, fingers brushing the swell of her hip where no gentleman should ever touch. Evelina’s breath caught, her cheeks aflame. If anyone noticed… her reputation would be ashes.

Yet she could not step away.

Her eyes met his at last, and the dark hunger there nearly undid her. Damian Hawthorne was a man who took what he desired, and every unspoken word told her she was next.

The music ended, but he did not bow nor step back. Instead, he bent close, his lips almost brushing hers before stopping, forcing her to ache for what he withheld.

“Midnight. The east garden,” he whispered. “Come—or spend the rest of the night wondering what it is I would do to you.”

Then he was gone again, leaving Evelina breathless, trembling, and dangerously aware of the heat pooling low in her body.

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