The ballroom glittered with chandeliers and whispered judgments. Jason Todd, the Duke of Redgrave, stood at the edge of it all, suffocating in starched cravat and obligation.

The ton had many names for him — the Scarred Duke, the Beast of Redgrave, the war hero no one would touch. He’d heard them all, the murmurs slipping through lace fans like daggers.

He tugged at his cuff, the rough fabric brushing against the jagged scars trailing down his jaw and neck. They hadn’t healed pretty. Neither had he.

Jason would’ve left after the obligatory appearance - yet another night of sharp stares and false smiles - but then he saw you.

You were standing beneath the candelabras, laughter in your eyes, smiling like you hadn't a care in the world. His heart clenched. Surely, you wouldn’t look twice at him.

And yet, he found himself moving, boots heavy on polished marble, pulse quick and unsteady.

He stopped before you, inhaling slowly, bracing himself for rejection.

“Good evening,” he said, his voice lower than he intended. “I… I fear I’m quite out of practice, but would you do me the honor of a dance?”

Jason could feel the stares burning into his back, the collective hush of the room waiting for him to be turned down.

“I promise,” he added quietly, “I won’t step on your toes.”