Diana Hamilton - New Year Fireworks

“Dear God! Why would you do that?”

“The usual reasons. Jealousy, anger, to rid myself of an inconvenient wife so I could marry my mistress.”

Shrugging, he opened the doors of a parquetry chest to display a well-stocked bar.

“It didn’t seem to matter that I had no mistress. What would you like to drink?”

“It’s going to be a long night. I’d better stick with something nonalcoholic for now.”

Marco chinked ice into two glasses and twisted off the lid on a bottle of Chinotto. The dark liquid fizzed like a carbonated drink and had a unique taste that combined bitter and sweet at the same time.

“We always allow a few members of press to take photographs at the ball. Be warned, they’ll have an avid interest in you.”

“Because I resemble Gianetta?”

His dark eyes held hers. “Because you will be the first woman I’ve invited to the ball since Gianetta.”

Ohh-kaay.

Sabrina took another sip of the fizzing soft drink and willed her heart to stop hammering against her ribs. The waltz Marco had described so beautifully earlier suddenly seemed to have picked up in tempo. She couldn’t shake the feeling she’d just been swept into a sultry tango.

The tempo kicked up yet again a little over an hour later.

Gowned, gloved, her hair anchored high on her head with the topaz-studded comb, she swept out of the bedroom in a glitter of gold. Two paces into the sitting room she caught sight of Marco and stopped dead.

Her jaw sagged. Her breath got stuck somewhere in the middle of her throat. The best she could manage was a breathless whisper.

“Wow.”

“My sentiments exactly,” he answered in a low growl. “You look magnificent, Sabrina mia. ”

His eyes devoured her as he crossed the room. Hers drank in the snowy white tie and pleated shirt, the black tails, the jeweled insignia of some royal order pinned to the red sash that slashed across his chest.

Tonight, Sabrina realized as her heart drummed out a wild beat, her handsome doc was every inch a duke.

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