“Or,” she said softly, “she overestimates mine.”
He looked at her sharply, but said nothing.
They sat in silence for several minutes, their shoulders nearly brushing despite the width of the bench.
“Tell me about the Winter Solstice Ball,” she said at last.
“What of it?”
“What should I expect? Who will be there? What dangers should I anticipate?”
He seemed grateful for the shift. “The Duke and Duchess of Haverford host it annually. It concludes the social calendar before families retreat for Christmas. Everyone who matters attends.”
“And we matter?”
“We are currently the most discussed scandal in London.” His tone was dry. “Of course we matter.”
“Because of our swift marriage?”
“Because of our apparent passion despite it.” He glanced at her. “That waltz at the Ashford soirée is still being dissected in Mayfair.”
“Good.”
“Good?”
“Better that than the terms of our practical arrangement.”
“True.” He shifted, considering. “There will be those who seek to provoke trouble. Lord Ashworth, whom you rejected. Matrons who had… ambitions. And of course the Vanceleys—we met them at the inn. They will have taken pains to report their observations.”
“And what did they observe?”
“That the new Countess of Rothwest appears to have a certain influence over her husband.”
She arched a brow. “Do I?”
He didn’t look away. “I expect you know you do.”
The quiet between them shifted—charged, but no longer brittle.
“It goes both ways,” she said softly.
Something flickered in his expression—surprise, perhaps, or something warmer. “Does it.”
“You know it does,” she continued. “The way you watch me. The way you—temper yourself. It’s plain enough you’re giving me room I haven’t earned yet.”
“I’m not giving you anything,” he said, though without heat. “You’ve simply taken it.”
“Then stop me.”
He exhaled, the sound low, almost a laugh, almost a growl. “If I could, I would. That’s the difficulty. I’ve spent half my life keeping myself in perfect order, and you walk in and… undo it without even trying.”
She held his gaze. “I don’t consider that a difficulty.”
“No. I imagine you wouldn’t.”
He looked away briefly, then back at her. “You think it’s a triumph that I cannot put my mind to a single clear thought when you’re in the room? That I lie awake imagining what you look like under those perfectly proper dresses? That every time you say my name, I—”
He stopped abruptly, jaw tightening with the force of what he refused to say.
