Free His Forbidden Debutante by Anabelle Bryant Page A

thought she might stop breathing altogether.
    ‘Have we met before, little fox?’ His rich tenor dallied near her ear though the motion of the dance carried them through a revolution.
    It was an excellent question as they hadn’t completed introductions and were partnered out of circumstance, yet seemed aware of each other on an almost intimate level. She couldn’t let the moment pass without the smallest parry.
    ‘A lion and a fox are unlikely friends, are they not?’ Her casual query whispered close.
    He had no time to advance an answer as the steps pulled them apart to circle with other participants in the formation. She was grateful for the reprieve. Her heart beat triple-time to match the severe scolding her better sense warred on her bold flirtation.
    Breathless and more than a little thrilled to be dancing once again on sturdy legs, able to depend on her feet to move her into his hold, the wish occurred with miraculous celerity. The exhilarating giddiness, that same bubble of laughter she’d kept contained while considering Esme’s suggestion, gained strength and pushed up from the butterflies reeling in her stomach, past her hesitation and free. Aware she drew stares from the others enjoying the quadrille, she laughed louder, caring not a whit.
    Effervescence. The definition explained not the condition, but rather, the epitome of the darling fox who laughed within the dance. She possessed an inner joy that overflowed, causing everyone near to revel in the light she shared. The desire to touch her, stroke his fingertip across her cheek, caress her skin, made him unbearably restless and he missed a step in the formation. Quick to correct, he again clasped her arm to whirl in a circle, the dizzying sensation welcome and at the same time disorienting. What was he doing? How could he experience such visceral emotion when he was bound for marriage in less than two weeks?
    Her fragrance wound around him casting a spell, a delicate floral scent he would forever remember, and as he slid a sideways glance to her profile, he noted the brilliant glint of exhilaration in her bright blue eyes as if she kept a precious secret there, the mask too concealing, the yearning to see more of her an urgent thrum in his brain. If he hadn’t identified her by the lovely cascade of hair, he would have known her during the dance, the curve of her waist beneath his palm imprinted from their waltz, no matter his gloves prevented true contact.
    The necessary steps forced them to separate and, when he took hold of the next partner, he shifted his focus to the fox with a rationalisation he could claim no foul for attending participation within the dance.
    Her hair caught the momentum of her motion, silky strands of fawn, sienna and amber, and for a reason he could not explain an aching knot of tension wrenched his chest. His body tensed. Each muscle tightened. Did she recognise him? Would she remember him from the lesson they’d shared? Did it matter?
    Yes.
    He’d once lost the opportunity to make a lasting impression, the letters nothing more than memories now. It was important she know it was he. It couldn’t lead to anything. Could never be more than a coincidental encounter, yet the notion the music would end and she not know he partnered her burned like a flame in his soul.
    The number approached its finish and with the next exchange he held her for the final revolution. They hadn’t spoken since their initial repartee and, somehow, he knew she was as aware as he of fast-fading opportunity. They twirled to the music, their heads turned in synchronicity, nose to nose, mask to mask, their eyes locked in a heated velvety silence that overrode the buoyant music, louder than the vibrant conversation and spontaneous laughter. He couldn’t drag his gaze from hers. They spoke without words, forged a connection, as if tied by a thread and slowly ravelled closer until time stopped, all else ceased to exist, the scant space between them