Daring and the Duke (The Bareknuckle Bastards #3)(82)

She lifted the seemingly empty cup, to reveal a rose, blooming vibrant red. A collective gasp rose from the audience, and Ewan’s smile widened, even as Fortuna lifted the rose, bright and beautiful, dipped her head, and extended it to him. “For your innamorata. Piacere.”

He reached for the rose, but before he could take it, her gaze passed by him, over his shoulder. “Unless . . .” She paused. “A rose is not correct?”

And then, before the eyes of everyone assembled, she waved a hand over the bloom in her palm, and damned if it didn’t become something else altogether.

A stunning pink dahlia.

He laughed, knowing what he would find when he turned around. “As a matter of fact,” he said, loud enough that she would hear him. “That is perfect.”

Fortuna’s secret smile turned wide, and she tipped the bloom into his hand. She said something else in Italian, but Ewan was already turning to find Grace, and his breath was gone from his lungs at the sight of her.

She was in gold.

The spools of gold thread he’d promised her as children, they were here, woven into her magnificent gown, a rich dupioni silk that glittered in the candlelight. To an outsider, the dress was no doubt considered demure—particularly in relationship to the other frocks in attendance—perfectly fitted to her shoulders and down her arms, where the silk ended in a crisp point at the back of her hand.

But there was nothing demure about the neckline—low and scooped, revealing the swell of her breasts, and a stunning expanse of smooth, freckled skin. Her copper curls tumbled down around her shoulders, catching on the fabric and teasing at the line of the frock, one errant curl caught inside the fabric like a wild temptation.

The combination of gold and copper turned her into the sun, and surely, that was the reason he was so damn hot all of a sudden.

She ought to take it off or she was going to set this building ablaze.

A smile passed over her lips, and something flashed in her eyes, as though she knew what he was thinking. She nodded in the direction of his hand, where he had barely refrained from crushing the magician’s bloom.

“Fortuna’s favorite trick.”

“It’s an excellent one,” he said, his voice coming out low and graveled, as though he hadn’t used it for weeks. “I particularly enjoyed the bit where she manifested you.”

“That bit doesn’t always happen.” Her smile widened, and he had a wild urge to puff out his chest. He would make her smile forever if she’d let him.

“Even better,” he said. “She’s very good.”

“What is a circus without a magician?” she replied. “Shall we trade? My prize for yours?”

She extended a glass toward him, two fingers of bourbon within, and he raised a brow, his gaze tracking over the room, looking for the servant with the tray of champagne. “How did she . . .”

“Dominion is designed to provide you with your pleasure, sir. You think a bit of bourbon is a challenge?” He heard the triumph and pride in her words, and they made him want to kiss her.

“To provide me with pleasure, is it?”

“To provide attendees with pleasure,” she laughed.

“And what of you?” he asked. “Do you partake in it?”

She shook her head once, instantly. “No.”

“Why not?”

She paused, and he saw the answer go through her, but she didn’t speak it. And he’d never wanted an answer more than he wanted this one.

He waited. Tell me.

“Because it is business,” she said, finally, and it might be true, but it wasn’t the answer she’d wanted to give. “Because it is my building and my business and my commodity. I don’t partake because my pleasure comes in giving others access to it.”

He nodded. “Like me.”

She looked down at that. Was she blushing? Christ, he loved that. He wanted that blush forever. “If you would like it, tonight, yes.”

Tonight.

“I would like it, tonight and every night.”

She was blushing.

“I only offer tonight.”

He was through with one nights. He wanted them all. “Then I shall take it. And spend the evening convincing you to give me more.”

She raised a brow. “We shall see.”

“It’s not a no.”

She rolled her eyes, but he saw the smile playing across her lips as she turned away, leading him out of Fortuna’s room, back through the larger space, where a second fiddler had joined the first, and a collection of couples had joined the original dancer, twirling and twirling in abandon.

Grace paused to watch, her gold skirts swirling around her as she stilled. He followed her gaze. There were three couples dancing, each pressed close enough to their partners that it made the dancing feel like something far more. An older masked woman danced with a tall, fair-haired man, the two of them locked in each other’s eyes as they moved. Closest to Ewan and Grace, a dark-haired woman spun from her lover’s arms, offering her a wide, winning smile before beckoning her from the dance . . . and presumably somewhere more private, for how quickly the women disappeared through the crowd.

And next to him, Grace smiled, her utter delight impossible to deny.

“Would you like to dance?”

She looked to him, confusion on her face, as though he’d spoken a language she didn’t understand.