"But Madame Ashford requested something a little more... refined."
His fingers brushed the edge of his own cuff. A quiet, elegant motion, before extending his hand again.
"The kind of dance that might... swoon a lady without agitating their mother."
Carmine's stomach dropped.
Oh.
He hadn't thought that far ahead.
And he absolutely hated the way Ambrose said that. Soft and steady. Like he was issuing some quiet challenge without ever raising his voice.
Carmine's pride prickled at once.
He straightened, jaw set, and allowed himself to be led this time. "Fine. Let's do that."
Ambrose's smile stayed fixed. The kind that somehow made it very clear he expected no such thing at all.
"Of course, Young Master."
He stepped forward. Close enough that Carmine caught the familiar, clean scent of black tea and starched linen.
One gloved hand rose again, palm up, in silent invitation.
Carmine glared at it.
Then, with a sharp breath through his nose...
He set his fingers lightly against Ambrose's waiting palm.
The gramophone whirred to life. The waltz from before, but slower this time.
Deliberate.
Carmine expected Ambrose to begin like before. Simple steps, measured corrections. But the moment they started moving...
He realized his mistake.
Ambrose's hand settled firm at the small of his back. Not just guiding, but controlling.
The steps were the same as before...
But the dance itself felt completely different.
Closer.
Hotter.
Every little motion was slower. Drawn out just a fraction longer than necessary.
Each step seemed to coil tighter around that steady grip at his waist.
Carmine's breath hitched despite himself.
He glanced away. Anywhere but at Ambrose. Only for the butler's voice to cut in soft and low.
"Eyes forward, Young Master."
Carmine's gaze snapped back at once. Heart thudding harder beneath his ribs.
Ambrose's smile flickered wider. Just barely, before he turned them again...
Right into another slow spin.
Oh, this was dangerous.
The room blurred around him. Heat curling at the edges of his mind.
But his whole world narrowed down to that voice in his ear…
That hand on his waist...
Those eyes, never breaking away...
"You see?" Ambrose murmured. "Not so difficult... when you let yourself be led."
Carmine's throat clicked.
He wanted to snap something back. Something sharp and cutting. But his tongue felt clumsy in his mouth.
He stumbled on the next step.
Ambrose caught him instantly. The hand at his waist sliding lower for just a second. Fingers pressing into the small of his back.
"Relax." The word was barely more than a breath. "You're holding too tight."
Carmine's heart gave a traitorous little lurch. The kind that felt far too loud in the suffocating heat between them.
He hated this.
He hated the fluttering heat pooling low in his stomach.
He hated the way Ambrose's thumb traced along the line of his waist. Subtle, absent. As if he didn't even realize he was doing it.
Did Carmine had to do it that way with his partner too? Could he?
He hated the way his own head was starting to feel light. As if every slow, steady turn was winding him tighter and tighter.
But what he hated most of all...
Was how much worse it felt when Ambrose finally pulled away.
For one brief second, Carmine thought the dance was over.
Until Ambrose's gloved fingertips grazed his wrist.
Then lower, down the side of his forearm.
Then lower still, curling around his waist once more.
But this time...
He didn't guide.
He lingered.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Testing the line of Carmine's body. Just bold enough to feel like something... Intentional.
Carmine's breath caught hard.
His eyes flew up straight into Ambrose's.
That smile hadn't moved an inch.
But the look behind it was...
Something else entirely.
Something darker.
Something that pressed closer. Leaned in without ever needing to touch.
Oh, God...
Carmine's heart was slamming against his ribs. So loud he was sure Ambrose could hear it.
Another slow turn. The room spinning around him. He barely registered the way Ambrose's fingers traced one last lingering line along his side.
It was almost nothing.
Almost.
By the time Ambrose finally released him, Carmine felt as if he'd been wrung out. Dizzy and flushed. Like he'd spent the last three minutes forgetting how to breathe.
He stumbled back two steps, ears burning hot.
Ambrose bowed. Polite, unruffled. With nothing behind his gaze, nothing dark and dangerous.
Only cold poise.
"Very good, Young Master."
Carmine couldn't speak.
He could barely even think.
He just stood there, Heart still thumping in his chest. Trying not to feel the phantom press of fingers at his waist.
Ambrose's eyes flicked up… watching him.
Waiting.
His gloved hands folded neatly behind his back once more.
"You were right about one thing," he murmured.
Carmine blinked. Throat tight.
"...What?"
Ambrose's smile curved, slow and playful.
"Spinning around is very dangerous."
.
.
.