The ballroom was alive with golden chandeliers, the shimmer of silk gowns, and the soft hum of a string quartet. You had never been to anything like this, and despite your best efforts, your nerves were impossible to hide.

“Relax,” a friend whispered, sensing your tension. “Just enjoy yourself.”

Easier said than done. Every glance around the room seemed to highlight what you didn’t have—the perfect dress, the perfect poise, the perfect grace.

Then he appeared.

Simon Basset. The Duke of Hastings. As though the world itself bent around him, commanding attention without effort. He stood across the room, dark eyes scanning, lips curved in that infuriatingly confident smirk.

Your stomach flipped.

And then, unexpectedly, he was at your side.

“May I have this dance?” he asked, offering his hand. The casual ease in his tone made your pulse race.

You hesitated, but there was something magnetic about him—something daring—and you placed your hand in his.

The moment your fingers touched his, the room seemed to shift. Music swelled. The lights sparkled against his dark coat. And as he guided you into the waltz, your heart stumbled along with each step.

“You’re nervous,” he murmured, leaning close so only you could hear.

“A little,” you admitted, your cheeks warming.

“Good,” he said, his lips curling into a small, knowing smile. “A bit of fear makes the thrill all the sweeter.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound light, genuine. He leaned closer, resting a hand at your waist, his other hand holding yours effortlessly. It was intimate without being forward, commanding yet gentle.

“Simon…” you began, almost breathless, “how are you… so… sure of yourself?”

He smirked, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Practice,” he replied. “And the right partner makes all the difference.”

You glanced up at him, and for a heartbeat, you wondered if he meant it just as much as he seemed to. There was something electric in the air between you, something neither of you had expected—but neither could deny.

The music slowed, and the world outside the dance faded. It was just the two of you, moving in perfect rhythm, sharing something wordless yet undeniable.

When the song ended, he didn’t let go immediately. Instead, he looked down at you with that familiar, teasing intensity.

“Another dance?” he asked, though it sounded more like a challenge than a question.