I’d like to go to one,” she said. “It might not be my…

““I’d like to go to one,” she said. “It might not be my thing even, but I’d like to go at least once to say I’ve done it. Sometimes I feel cheated. I know it’s selfish, but sometimes I wonder what it would’ve been like if my grandfather didn’t get himself exiled. Who knows, I might have been a lady.” He didn’t have much use for ladies. A lady was someone else’s wife or daughter or sister. They were not real, almost like trophies forever out of his reach. She was real. And strong. She looked about to cry. “Would you like to dance?” Her eyes opened wide. “Are you serious?” Once he learned something, he never forgot it. William took a step forward and executed a perfect deep bow, his left arm out. “Would you do me the honor of dancing with me, Lady Cerise?” She cleared her throat and curtsied, holding imaginary skirts. “Certainly, Lord Bill. But we have no music.” “That’s fine.” He stepped to her, sliding one arm around her waist. She put her hand on his shoulder. Her body touched his, and he spun with her around the attic, light on his feet, leading her. It took her a moment and then she caught his rhythm and followed him. She was flexible and quick, and he kept picturing her naked. “You dance really well, Lord Bill.” “Especially if I have a knife.” She laughed. They circled the attic once, twice, and he brought them to the center of the room, shifting from a quick dance to a smooth swaying. “Why are we slowing down?” she asked. “It’s a slow song.” “Ah.” She leaned against him. They were almost hugging.””

— Ilona Andrews