“And did it?”
“No. It just created more hollow places. Until eventually, I decided it was better not to feel at all.”
“And now?”
He looked at their joined hands. “Now you’re here, making me feel everything I’ve spent twenty years avoiding.”
“Is that so terrible?”
No answer.
They rode in silence for a time, their hands still linked, the air between them less volatile but no less charged. When she spoke again, her voice was lighter.
“What shall I wear to the ball?”
“Burgundy,” he said promptly. “With diamonds. Not rubies—the effect should be refined, not flamboyant.”
“You’ve given this thought.”
“Of course.” His tone was matter-of-fact. “We are presenting ourselves as a united household. The styling must reflect that.”
“And you?”
“Dark blue. Silver waistcoat.”
“We will complement without matching.”
“Precisely.” He paused. “And we shall dance.”
“How many times?”
“Three. Any more invites gossip. Any fewer invites commentary.”
She smiled. “Calculated affection?”
“Strategic,” he corrected softly. “But real enough to be believed.”
She held his gaze. “Is it real?”
His voice dropped. “Far too real.”
The carriage slowed, approaching an inn. He withdrew his hand, the mask of propriety slipping back into place—but only just.
“We’ll stop here briefly,” he said. “Stretch our legs, take refreshment.”
“Together?”
His brow lifted. “Of course. We are married, are we not?”
He helped her down from the carriage, his hands firm at her waist. For a moment neither moved. They stood in the inn yard—his hands still on her, hers on his shoulders—something unsaid sparking between them like a dare.
“Your Grace, my lady,” the innkeeper interrupted, bowing low. “The private parlour is free, if you’d care for it.”
The Duke stepped back at once, mask restored. He offered his arm with impeccable formality. “Shall we, wife?”
“Lead the way, husband.”
The dining room was small but comfortable, a fire crackling in the grate, a simple table laid for two. The innkeeper poured wine, announced the dishes, and finally withdrew, leaving them alone.
