Her morning was spent having breakfast with Jade and Ruby, both of whom concerned about what happened the other night. Jade had to repeatedly convey her apologies, claiming that if she had controlled herself last night, Sasha would have not been left alone.

Sasha had to repeatedly assure them that she was fine. And yes, she shall send a report against Willoghby the soonest that she could.

When Aliya pulled Sasha to the side during an afternoon tea in one of the drawing rooms, Sasha realized that news traveled fast even outside of Belcourt.

"Are you certain you are all right?"

"Yes."

"This is not the first Willoghby has done something, but this is surely the first that he went overboard. I insist that you make a report, Sasha. It is all for our safety."

"Thank you for the concern, Aliya. I will make the report within the week. I will send my servants to Belcourt to deliver it the soonest I can."

Aliya nodded and firmly said, "You are a new Belle, Sasha. There is more you must learn. I hope this is a lesson."

Sasha swallowed. "It is."

Aliya eyed her with suspicion. "I hope you are not saying that to appease me."

"No, I am not."

"Very good."

Aliya never approached her or any of the Belles after that. It seemed that she had a world of her own. She had her own circle of admirers and friends.

All throughout the morning and even that afternoon during luncheon, Sasha had not seen West. It was understandable, for there were hundreds of guests in attendance, the most that Humbrick could accommodate.

That night, Sasha was relieved that her servants, most particularly Iyana, seemed to now believe that she was fine, recovered from last night's attack.

Of course, she was not. She would still shudder at the memory of being dragged into that garden...

But it was a consolation to know that Willoghby had failed again.

Or did he? Sasha asked herself, remembering the last words the man said to her.

"I will be up all night waiting," Iyana told her before she left for the ball downstairs.

"There is no need, Iyana. Ruby promised to personally accompany me back to my chamber later. Jade swore she would not be drinking a drop of sherry."

"And of your gentleman?"

Sasha shrugged. "I do not expect more from him."

"So do I."

Sasha sighed. "He was not the one who attacked me, Iyana. You must know that."

"I know. But he was not there to save you."

"It is not his duty to." She smiled at Iyana. "Please, go and get your well-deserved respite. I will be fine. Aaron assured us that his own footman saw Willoghby climb into his carriage this morning. He is no longer in Humbrick, Iyana. There are no more threats."

Iyana nodded, although still looking unconvinced.

Sasha left, hoping her maid would get the rest that she needed because tomorrow, Sasha was planning to send them back to Coulway without her.

*****

West found Sasha with Ruby and Jade. The entire morning, he had done nothing but have Darren follow her around in secret. His valet was only happy to do so, always eager to return and report that Lady Sasha was having tea with her friends; that she went for a walk with Sir John, the navy hero and that the man had shamelessly plucked a poor budding flower for her, with not a care that the flower had barely had its time in spring; that she walked to a nearby lake with her friends; that she retired to her chambers and must be preparing for the ball; that she was now at the ball; that it was best he did the stalking alone for he feared Lady Sasha saw him wandering about.

"Good evening, ladies," he greeted, eyes on Sasha who remained motionless beside him. Everyone had looked up to greet him with a curtsy. "If you would please allow me a moment, Sasha?" he asked.

Ruby and Jade turned to each other. Then Ruby regarded him with suspicious eyes. He sighed. "I will not be leaving her alone. You can stone me to death if I do."

"Good," Ruby said, stepping away. "Let us go, Jade. I heard there are useful stones in the garden for us to collect. Just in case, of course."

West waited until Ruby and Jade were far enough before he turned to Sasha and ask, "How are you?"

"I am fine," she said, looking around, focusing on everything around her but him. "I believe you said we cannot be seen together in a venue such as this."

"And I thought I made it clear that said limitation only pertains to you. I can approach you anytime and anywhere."

Sasha sighed. Without looking, she said, "If you are here to talk about Willoghby, you can leave."

West's jaw tightened. No, he did not want to talk about Willoghby. He had intended to deal with the bastard on his own that morning after he left Sasha's room, but the man was already gone by then. Like a bloody coward that he was hiding behind his Sutherland Post and The Grimes.

"I am not going to talk about that bastard, Sasha. At least not tonight."

He saw her shoulders relax. She did not have to hide the effects of last night for they were clearly there—in how she stood, in the way her voice would rise when she uttered Willoghby's name. But also apparent was her struggle to keep up the façade that she was dealing with it well. And perhaps she was. She was doing a tremendous job. He would hate to be the one to let the curtain fall and reveal the vulnerability that hid behind it because Sasha was too proud to let anyone find her weak.

For the first time, she looked up and stared at him. Then she looked around. So did he. "Humbrick is not like other balls. Everyone may be curious at first, but everyone minds their own business here."

Sasha fixed her gloves with a small smile. "I heard Lady Renee makes certain that her one rule is followed by everyone."

"It is. We all live Humbrick the way we desire to, and we leave Humbrick to live the proper way we are expected to."

"If you say so, of course."

A ghost of a smile tugged at his lips. "You sound like my bloody valet."

"Darren is a dear, but I am better at stalking than him."

West shrugged, eyes on her lips. "He did it willingly. It was his idea, not mine."

She bit her lip to control her smile and he felt a shudder course through him, tingling and nearly painful. "If you say so."

There was a teasing glimmer in her eyes. West had to look away, clearing his throat. He looked around the ballroom. Everyone was preoccupied with something, most of whom in search of their dance partners as the previous one ended, signaling for the next one.

No, do not dare, a voice hissed in his ear.

Just one. It would not hurt.

It will be suicide.

West had to listen to only one voice so he turned to Sasha and asked, "Would you care for a dance?"

She blinked in surprise and looked behind her as if expecting someone else had asked the question. And when she realized it was him, she frowned. "You mean, here?" she inquired, looking around with a laugh. "You cannot be serious, sir. People will see."

Yes, she is correct. Listen to her.

"Do you know how to dance?" he asked instead.

"Well, of course! But I cannot dance with you in this ball—or any other ball."

Again, she is right. Do not be the fool.

"Everyone may already have an inkling of our relationship, Sasha. You Belles may be more in control of your mouths, but I am afraid Hartcaster can be a little too chatty after a few bottles of brandy."

She gave the crowded ballroom another glance. Lords guided women who were not their wives to the center of the room, ready for a dance. Women laughed gaily, openly. "The atmosphere tonight is different," she said.

No, it is dangerous, that's what it is.

"Indeed."

"I do not feel the staring. Nor do I hear whispers."

"I am certain they have grown out of their initial curiosity. They have settled, shall we say. Any opinions of the world outside Humbrick have evaporated by now."

"No one to judge."

Hundreds of eyes, Eaton. Hundreds!

"Yes."

She sighed and dropped her shoulders. "Very well. Since you do insist. But let me remind you—it is your reputation that is going to suffer should a rumor spread after this party."

Listen to her, you fool. She seems to be wiser. It is not too late. Retreat!

With a confident grin, West took her hand and led her to the middle of the room to join the waltz. "The rumor may have already begun, Sasha. But then again, this is Humbrick. No one will confirm for no one will claim to have noticed anything." She was not able to react verbally as he suddenly twirled her around to join the others. She gasped in surprise. "I thought you said you know how to dance," he pointed out.

She is a Belle. She knows how to do dance and many other things at that!

"I do, but I always danced the man's part!" she hissed as he took her gloved hand and lifted it to the side. "In Belcourt—oof!" she gasped again as he twirled her to the side and pulled her back, only to throw and spin her around. She glared at him.

"I saw you dance with Sir John," he nonchalantly said.

"He is a terrific dancer," she shot at him.

"Dare not step on my foot, Sasha," he warned when she stumbled.

"I am considering both feet as we speak," she growled through her teeth.

West smiled and sent her whirling on her toes again, but this time she was prepared. She turned when she needed to and landed perfectly into his arms.

His entire body reacted when her eyes glided up at him.

You are bloody damned.

"You ought not to be looking at me," he reminded, gazing deep into her eyes.

Damned indeed, the bloody idiot...

"They are looking at us," she said, although the glimmer in her eyes was far from concerned. The tension that he saw earlier was long gone either.

"I said Humbrick minds its own business. None of the eyes looking at us now would dare say anything after they leave this party," he whispered, pressing her closer as they moved around with the other dancers. "Everyone in Humbrick has a secret to keep. How does the church say it—do not do unto others what you do not wish others to do unto you?"

The voice in his head groaned with chagrin. Stop, just stop.

"I see where your confidence comes from."

He nodded. "They keep my secret, I keep theirs."

"If you say so," she retorted, lifting one bare shoulder.

Her eyes wandered down between them to watch her steps then looked back up at him. Her lips were slightly parted, her cheeks flushed. From the dance? Or by being too close to him?

No, with your bloody vulturous staring!

West swallowed, his heart beginning to hammer as the memory of last night came back to him.

He heard her voice echo in his head, drowning his conscience.

No more games... I yield. You won. I would have none of this anymore.

His hand reflexively tightened around hers. She looked up at him, eyes curious.

Why? What is wrong? Her gaze asked.

Everything was wrong. This is wrong.

He should not be dancing with her. He should not be holding her this close. He should not be hearing her breathe. Bloody hell, he should not be thinking of being closer... skin to skin, one breath, one kiss...

He blinked.

Why did he ask her to dance again? He was not foxed nor was he in a good mood.

You are being bloody stupid and impetuous, that is why.

No, that was not the answer.

The answer to the question was dancing in his arms, perhaps innocent of his thoughts.

Is she, really?

He could not tell, no.

"Bloody tarnation," he cursed under his breath.

"What?"

He bent his head and shook his head. "Nothing."

"You are stealing the air I breathe—again," she pointedly said when West absently bent lower to smell her hair. He could not help it. "If you would just—" she stopped, bending her head as West nuzzled his nose against the featherlike strands near her ear. He heard her swallow and her head moved ever so slightly to brush her cheek against his chin, his lips.

They missed five steps of the dance at the very least and he did not bloody care. She was there, too close. A potent potion of temptation.

This was a bloody stupid idea, the constantly angry voice in his head screamed. She is a stupid idea!

West was barely in control after the last part of the dance and they all curtsied. Wasting no time, he did not let go of Sasha's hand and instead pulled her out of the dance floor and through the flurry of gowns, suits, drinks, and laughter. By now, most were too accustomed to seeing everyone mingle with anyone that no one seemed to care that the Duke of Eaton was hand in hand with a Belle.

"West!" she hissed behind him. "What are you doing?"

He did not answer. She might run away.

Stop now, you idiot, the voice ordered. Return her at once to where she belongs.

No, she belonged elsewhere at the moment.

He was in near panic as he led her out of the ballroom and down to the right corridor which led them to the main hallway. He cursed under his breath as his eyes surveyed the area, frantic to find any path that would reveal a good place. Heart beating fast and hard against his rib cage, ringing his ears, West's mind was no longer in control. It was a willing slave, tired and weary, finally in surrender.

Pulling Sasha down a narrow corridor, his eyes frantically searched for a room—any room.

Finally, he found a door. He pulled it open and found five gentlemen smoking cigars.

Blast it.

He slammed the door without a word and continued further down the carpeted path.

Sasha nervously laughed behind him. "What is happening, West? Where are we going?"

He could tell she knew what was on his mind. He could sense it by the tight grip of her hand around his. If she was feeling anything akin to how she felt last night when she was attacked, she would have long pulled away. She was not doing that now. Neither of them was thinking about last night or Willoghby.

They were still in the dance. Close. A breath apart. Alone.

Her grip held no fear.

The anticipation built with each step he took, taking them to the end of the corridor and to the last door. He opened it.

Dark.

Empty.

The light at the end of the tunnel.

The kindling heat building within West since the start of their dance suddenly erupted into flames.

Sasha had gone quiet behind him, her breathing heavy and short, her grip tight.

The room was too dark. And it was perfect.

He pulled Sasha inside and kicked the door closed behind them. He whirled her around like he did multiple times during their dance. Her gasp caught in midair before she crashed against him.

The voice in his head had given up. There was nothing else but the silence of the room and their heaving breaths.

He walked her backward against the nearest wall with a long line of bookshelves, his eyes already consuming her in the darkness, stealing her breath. And she was doing the same. One mere touch and he would erupt. One breath and he would go insane.

Heaving and panting, West rested his forehead against hers, feeling his control slowly slip away. His gaze held hers, making certain that he saw she understood what he was about to say.

"The game is over," he harshly whispered.