“Indeed.” Heath seemed untroubled by this as Blanche studied him anew.
My betrothed. Soon I’ll wed this man!
“Enjoying the view?” he teased.
“Adjusting to the idea,” she deflected.
“Of what?”
“Being your wife.”
“I eagerly await it,” he said in a tone that piqued her curiosity.
“Are you… excited to wed me, Your Grace?”
“In several respects, yes.” His smoldering look reminded her vividly of her literary heroes.
The Duke’s gaze burned with quiet intensity—a man who had spent too long in the shadows, now drawn to her warmth like the first touch of sunlight after a bitter winter. He watched her as though she were something rare, something undeniable, something he was not yet ready to lose.
“I wonder,” Heath murmured, leading her down a secluded tree-lined path. “Do you understand what’s expected of a bride on her wedding night?”
The question startled her. Fortunately, they’d moved beyond the earshot of others.
“Doesn’t every educated person know what occurs between spouses?”
“Has your mother explained it?”
“Of course. I know my duty is to provide heirs.”
“I speak of the act itself,” he said, his fingers tracing her gloved hand, sparking tingles even through silk.
Blanche suddenly understood—Heath was pushing boundaries she had no actual intention of resisting.
She shouldn’t want this to be anything more than a marriage of convenience. She shouldn’t want him… his eyes… the way he smells…. And yet…
“Mother has said little of… marital relations,” she admitted, voice softer than intended. “But I’ve read enough books to?—”
“Hold on.” His gaze sharpened with amusement. “Are those thescandalous booksyour sister was referring to?”
Heat rose to her cheeks, though she lifted her chin, refusing to shrink beneath his scrutiny.
“I enjoy literature,” she hedged. Then, after a brief pause, she confessed, “Particularly romance. The stories where…”
Heath watched her, a slow smirk pulling at the edges of his lips, as though he already knew the ending of her sentence.
His stare unsettled her in ways she could not quite name.
She swallowed, willing composure back into her voice. “Where the hero proves himself worthy of his beloved.”
Heath hummed, thoughtful. “And do you believe such men exist?”
Blanche opened her mouth—then stopped.
Do I?
Her father had abandoned them. Theton’smen whispered sweet nothings while scheming behind pretty facades. And Heath—Heath was an enigma. He had proposed to her, pursued her, yet she still could not fathom his true intentions.
Still, she could not bring herself to answer honestly.
