Someone cleared his throat behind them. “Mr. Blake.”
His stomach plummeting, Jules turned and found Westcliff and Liam standing there. Judging by the sympathetic look on Liam’s pretty face, they had heard Uncle Wayne’s words.
Looking anywhere but at Westcliff, Jules smiled faintly while Uncle Wayne and Westcliff made small talk. He didn’t care. Being publicly humiliated was hardly something new for him. He didn’t give a shit about Westcliff’s opinion.
“Would you care to dance?”
At the sudden silence, Jules frowned and looked at Westcliff. Realizing that he was looking at him expectantly, his hand stretched to him, Jules flushed. Glancing at Liam, he found him looking at Westcliff with a grateful, soft smile, which only humiliated Jules more. He didn’t need anyone’s pity, much less this alpha’s.
Jules glared at Westcliff and bit out, “No, thanks.”
The startled expression on Westcliff’s stupidly handsome face would have made Jules laugh in any other circumstances. Had anyone ever told this man “no”? It seemed no one ever had.
“Jules!” Liam hissed reproachfully.
Jules smiled, putting on an innocent look. “What? I don’t feel like dancing.”
“Don’t be an idiot, boy,” Uncle Wayne said. “If people see the duke paying attention to you, someone might actually notice you.”
Oh, wow. Uncle Wayne was outdoing himself tonight.
Jules’s smile turned strained, but he kept smiling. “I don’t need those hypothetical ‘someones’ noticing me. I’m fine without them—having the time of my life with my loving family, actually.”
“Do you not know how to dance, perhaps?” Westcliff said in a soft voice, though the look in his eyes was anything but soft. He seemed amused. Amused.
“I dance perfectly well, thank you,” Jules bit out.
Those green eyes held a challenge. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Westcliff said in the same soft tone.
Jules glowered at him. “I know how to dance,” he gritted out. “Fine!” He grabbed Westcliff’s wrist and dragged him toward the dance floor.
“There’s no need to drag me,” Westcliff said, forcing him to slow down his footsteps. Fuck, he was strong, incredibly so.
Jules gave him a fake smile as they took their places on the line beside the other couples. “I just want to get it over with.”
His eyes flashing with mirth, Westcliff bowed to him. “With an attitude like that, it’s no wonder no one invites you to dance,” he said quietly.
Jules snorted, though truth be told, he felt a little pleased. This was preferable to Westcliff pretending that he hadn’t heard Uncle Wayne’s humiliating comments. And it was… a little less humiliating that Westcliff had said people didn’t invite him to dance because of his attitude rather than his lack of omega appeal. A little less.
“That was smart, I’ll give you that,” Jules said, lifting his hand and aligning it with Westcliff’s hand a hair’s breadth apart as they moved through the steps of the dance.
“What was?” Westcliff murmured, snapping Jules’s gaze from his strong, long fingers. His hand was much larger than Jules’s.
He met the alpha’s gaze. “You definitely won a few points with my brother by offering to dance with me.”
Westcliff’s sensual lips curled into an insufferably arrogant smirk that made Jules want to wipe it off with his—with his fist.
“I know,” the duke said. “I’m quite proud of myself for thinking of that.”
Jules stepped on his foot, hard.
The asshole just smiled wider and, laying a hand on Jules’s lower back, spun him around with insulting ease, as if Jules weighed nothing.
By the time Westcliff set him back on his feet, Jules was flushed and out of breath.
“I didn’t let you do that,” he hissed, stepping away from the alpha’s broad chest.
Westcliff raised a haughty black brow. “It’s part of the dance. It’s what alphas do at this part of it. I know you’re from the country, but surely you’ve seen it since the start of the season?”
Jules gave him his sweetest smile. “I might be a country bumpkin, but I have danced a stacetto before, and I know for a fact that not all alphas do it. Don’t take me for an idiot, Your Grace.”
Noticing the strange expression on the duke’s face, Jules said, “What?”
“You should smile more,” Westcliff said, his expression still odd. “You’re kind of pretty when you smile.”
Jules hated the heat that spread to his cheeks. “Wow, kind of pretty? I’m so flattered. Are you this smooth with Liam, too?”
The horrible part was, he was flattered. He normally ignored all the empty compliments Liam’s suitors paid him. They just made him roll his eyes. You’re as beautiful as your brother was his absolute favorite, because it simply wasn’t true. But Westcliff’s words did seem genuine—he’d said them almost grudgingly.
“With that attitude, it’s really no wonder you don’t have any suitors,” Westcliff said, smiling a little. “Have you tried being nice to people? Or am I the only subject of your sharp little tongue?”
“You’re not special, Your Grace,” Jules said, returning the smile as they aligned their hands again.