"Keep your head up," François scolds as he moves to the music, dragging her along with him like a rag doll. "And stop looking at your feet."

Emelia wishes that was possible but it feels like her legs have zero coordination, much like a newborn fawn standing for the first time.

"Slow down," she growls, not surprised when he doesn't listen. The idea of using her one of her high-heels to tread on his toes crosses her mind but she resists the temptation, remembering the threat he made just moments ago.

"You have terrible posture," he comments offhandedly, only adding to her humiliation. "That's probably the reason why you lack balance and grace. But don't worry," he casually adds as if he is granting her some sort of marvellous favour. "I will teach you."

Emelia huffs incredulously, reeling from indignation. The nerve of this guy...

"I don't want you to teach-" her words are cut short when François grips her hips and lifts her up into the air without any warning, causing a squeal of surprise to burst from Emelia's mouth.

With her feet no longer touching the ground, panic seizes hold of her and she grabs onto his shoulders to gain a semblance of security. To François, her reactions all seem to be extremely amusing.

"Scared?" he asks, grinning up at her. Emelia glares daggers back at him.

"Put me down," she says in what she hopes is her most demanding tone. The music makes it difficult to tell.

"As you wish," he replies blithely, before dipping her with stomach-lurching abruptness.

Emelia gasps when the world tips upside down, her back arching as her body is suspended half-way between vertical and horizontal.

François leans over her, smiling with satirized delight, his arms the only things preventing her from crashing to the floor or being seriously injured by whiplash when she is pulled back upright a few dizzying seconds later.

The experience leaves Emelia light-headed for a minute and she has no choice but to lean into François' strong frame and allow him to support her weight as she is temporarily unable to do so herself.

François throws his head back and laughs. It is breezy and carefree sound. Not the sharp and cruel one she has because accustomed to. It renders her speechless for a moment.

"Did you think I was going to drop you?" he asks, an inkling of bemused surprise in his voice, and Emelia squares her shoulders, resenting him for rattling her nerves.

"I wouldn't put it past you," she retorts, the breathlessness in her voice weakening the sharpness of her words.

"You seem to think the worst of me in any given circumstance," François comments and Emelia feels her brows coming together in a frown when she hears an inkling of displeasure in his otherwise blasé tone. What on earth has annoyed him now?

"Can you blame me?" she asks with incredulity. Does he not see himself for what he is; an ill-tempered sociopath? It is a rhetorical question which she doesn't expect him to answer.

As they continue to move to the music, Emelia searches for a glimpse of Sofie with Jacques and Malcolm but the sea of swaying bodies makes it impossible to see anything outside the circular dance floor.

François is quiet for a long moment, his expression pensive. When he does finally speak, his voice is so low that she almost doesn't hear him.

"No, I don't blame you."

Distracted by whether or not she heard him correctly, Emelia forgets where to place her feet during the next spin and trips, twisting one of her ankles painfully when the heel slips and then topples over beneath her.

She inhales sharply through gritted teeth as sharp pain shoots through her foot , her face contorting as she struggles to stay quiet. François blinks rapidly as if he has just been pulled out of some deep, faraway thought. His eyes refocus on her and a frown creases his brow.

"What's the matter?" he demands.

"Nothing," Emelia mutters, suppressing a wince. "Just these stupid shoes."

François' frown deepens, resembling more of scowl now as he glances down. Wordlessly, he adjusts his grip, one hand releasing her hip so it can reach round to touch the base of her spine, and pulls her body flush against his frame. With an arm securely circled around her waist, he lifts her off the floor until there is no more weight for her legs to support.

"Better?" he asks, cool breath fanning across her face. Now it's Emelia's turn to blink. What the...

"Better," she admits finally, albeit begrudgingly, now finding it difficult to look at him due to the extra proximity and so opts for staring past him instead.

As they whirl past and between other couples, Emelia spots Jacques dancing with an unfamiliar woman and a slow, sinking sensation develops in her stomach. Where are Sofie and Malcolm?

Noticing her distraction, François pulls back slightly to peer at her face.

"What's the matter now?" he sighs, sounding exasperated. She meets his scowling expression with wide, worried eyes and thinks, What isn't the matter?

She is being held in the arms of her abductor - a vicious murderer - while Sofie and the creep named Malcolm are nowhere to be seen.

"I have to go," she says in a strained voice.

François' eyes narrow until they are almost closed, his face immediately taking on the likeness of stone as his arms tighten around her, going from supportive to restrictive in an instant. When he replies, the tone of his voice sends shivers down her spine.

"You're not going anywhere."

As their dancing continues, Emelia's anxiety grows and grows until she is certain that if he doesn't let her go she will spontaneously combust right here on the dance floor.

She squeezes her eyes shut as François whirls fast and fluidly across the floor, his pace quickening to match the rising tempo of the music. Despite shutting out the overwhelming visuals, Emelia's head still spins as she fights to keep her breathing even.

"François..." she says forcibly through gritted teeth, unsure whether it is a plea or a warning. Either way, he ignores it.

It feels like forever has past until the dance finally comes to an end but he doesn't release her straight away, most likely relishing the physical advantage he has over her at this moment.

"If you truly value your life and that of your cousin's," he growls beneath his breath, "then you will keep in mind the reason you're here tonight and be on your best behaviour."

He pins her with a glare, his eyes holding a vicious glint. Gone is the strange and almost cordial François from moments ago. Here is the man Emelia is more familiar with.

Too dignified to provide a response to his threat, she wrestles herself free and shoves away from him on unsteady feet, turning with dizzying speed and racing through the assemblage in search of Sofie.