Storm Reawakened

A Reception to Remember

"If I recall, my face isn't down there Duchess," Hawthorne murmured, a rare playfulness in his tone.

"Truly, you render me speechless from such a complaint," I returned, hazarding a glance upward to roll my eyes before shifting them back to the floor. "I'm doing both of us a courtesy by not stepping on your toes, Duke. Besides, I thought I was known to operate beyond the bounds of ballroom decorum?"

Eli Hawthorne remains quiet, and I can feel his gaze boring into the top of my head.

"You'll have to excuse any impolite oddities of behaviour I might display," I added, nibbling my bottom lip as the pace of the music suddenly increases.

"And you say this as if you haven't been odd or impolite from the start."

Touché. And I have no barbing comment in response—shocking, I know.

There's a lengthy pause as neither one of us says a word and to my surprise, Hawthorne is the first to break it. "You're not going to severe my toes, Evara. It's all right to look up."

"No, no. I dare not risk it. I'm not much of a dancer and the last thing I wish to be accused of is stomping on ducal feet."

"Ducal feet?" he asked.

"What else do you call the toes belonging to the feet of a Duke?"

"Are you asking or do you wish to spar with words?"

Sighing, I finally straighten my spine and look Eli Hawthorne dead in the eyes. "Don't say I didn't warn you."

"Stop worrying. You might doubt your capabilities, but I don't doubt mine. As your dance partner, you do me a tremendous dishonour by not relying on me."

"And you talk as if trust is a thing that actually exists between us," I grumbled, losing my patience with the man and instantly regret my words when Hawthorne whisks me past the couples around us, twirling and dipping me with a bemused smirk on his face as my head swims.

The damn, beautiful, and obnoxious prick!

Once again, I'm torn between this Sha-La-La moment where a male character is quite literally whisking me off my feet and the churning of my stomach as my head spins along with the room.

"See. Nothing to worry about," Hawthorne whispered, sinfully close to my ear and if I wasn't smart enough to know that it's all an elaborate act for the spectators eyeing us, my dark heart might have actually skipped a beat. Besides, I have my own safety to worry about.

My expression must be swimming with anxiousness because the smile slides off his face and I dart my eyes around the vast room. "There is so so much to worry about."

He stiffens, clasping my hand more firmly. "We've taken all the necessary precautions."

"How?" I questioned, eyes widening when he points to all the people assembled around us.

Hawthorne grins, easily stepping us back into the dance. "Why not take a closer look at some of the ladies in attendance."

"What?" I snapped, shrivelling up my features slightly to zero in on some of the ladies occupying the floor. Realization suddenly dawns on me and I release a gasp from the shock. "No. Eli Hawthorne, you didn't," I murmured.

There, in the most outlandish and comical way possible are his personal guard dressed as society women attending the wedding reception. Men who normally strut with ease in their uniform, squirm uncomfortably in blindingly bright dresses, wigs, and shoes that look three sizes too small for their feet.

"Why couldn't they have just attended as themselves?" I asked, recovering quickly.

"The ratio of men to women was off, so they offered to come as a few."