As Amelia listened, she felt a momentary satisfaction warm her chest. Perhaps her unconventional marriage had served a greater purpose after all. Her gaze drifted across the ballroom, idly seeking Charles among the revelers.
She found him at the refreshment table, but he wasn’t alone. A woman in an exquisite Cupid costume stood beside him, tiny wings of gossamer and gold attached to her shoulders, a miniature bow and quiver hanging decoratively at her hip. The woman’s hand rested with casual intimacy on Charles’ arm, her fingers lingering against his skin as she leaned close to whisper something that made him laugh—a genuine laugh that transformed his features with boyish delight.
Something sharp and unexpected twisted in Amelia’s chest at the sight. The woman was stunning even behind her rose-gold mask, her costume modest by some standards yet perfectly designed to accentuate her figure and flawless complexion. The easy familiarity between them spoke of an established connection, one that predated Amelia’s arrival in Charles’ life.
As Amelia watched, Charles placed his hand at the small of thewoman’s back in a casual, intimate gesture.
“Amelia?” Elisha’s voice broke through her distraction. “Are you all right? You seem miles away.”
“I’m fine,” she replied automatically, dragging her attention back to the conversation. “Just a touch warm.”
Her eyes, however, kept returning to Charles and the mysterious Cupid. Their body language spoke of established familiarity—the easy way they leaned toward each other, the casual touches, the shared laughter. A knot formed in Amelia’s stomach, tight and uncomfortable.
“Ah, there’s Charles returning,” Lancaster observed. “And with champagne, thank goodness. I’m parched.”
Charles rejoined their group and distributed glasses. “My apologies for the delay. Margaret insisted I hear about her latest adventures in Bath.”
“Most likely involving her hands straying to improper regions,” Amelia mumbled before she could stop herself, the words emerging sharper than intended.
Charles glanced at her, a question in his eyes, but said nothing.
The orchestra began to play, signaling the start of the dancing. Lancaster immediately led Elisha toward the floor, and Steven excused himself to greet an acquaintance, leaving Amelia alone with her husband.
“Shall we?” Charles offered his arm, his expression unreadable behind his mask. “I believe this is a waltz.”
Amelia accepted with a nod, allowing him to guide her to the dance floor. His hand settled at her waist, warm through the silk of her gown, as they joined the swirling couples.
“Is something troubling you?” he asked as they moved through the first turn.
“Not at all,” she replied, her voice deliberately light. “Why do you ask?”
“Because your smile doesn’t reach your eyes,” he said softly. “And you’ve been watching something—or someone—across the room with remarkable intensity.”
She kept her expression carefully neutral. “I’m merely observing the various costumes. Some are quite elaborate.”
“Indeed.” His voice held a hint of amusement now. “Any particular costume that caught your interest?”
Despite her best intentions, Amelia’s eyes drifted to where the Cupid stood conversing with another couple. Charles followed her gaze and swallowed a smile.
“Ah,” he said, “I see.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Amelia replied stiffly.
“Don’t you?” His smile widened to a decidedly wicked grin. “Could it be that my wife of convenience is most inconveniently experiencing a touch of jealousy?”
“That’s absurd,” she protested, though heat rose in her cheeks. “I was merely noting the impropriety of her costume. Those wings are ridiculously impractical for dancing.”
Charles laughed, the sound low and warm. “Of course. The wings. How thoughtless of me not to realize that your architectural interest in proper wing construction was the source of your fascination.”
“You’re being deliberately obtuse.”
“And you’re being deliberately evasive.” His voice softened as he drew her slightly closer. “Tell me, Amelia, does it bother you to see me conversing with other women?”
“You’re free to converse with whomever you please,” she replied, lifting her chin. “Our arrangement doesn’t preclude social interactions.”
“Hmm.” His eyes studied her face with unnerving intensity. “So, you wouldn’t mind if I danced with her next? Perhaps even escorted her to the terrace for some air?”
The mere suggestion sent another sharp pang through Amelia’schest. “Of course not,” she lied. “Though it might raise eyebrows, given that you arrived with me.”
