Instead, she changed course. “I believe the notion makes for a captivating story.”
His gaze lingered on her, unreadable, before flickering briefly past her shoulder.
Fanny and Lady Gooldwer had wandered some distance ahead, now engaged in lively conversation with passing acquaintances. They hardly noticed Blanche and Heath lingering behind.
“You continue to intrigue me, Lady Blanche.” His voice was low, amused.
They strolled along the path, the lively chatter of others drifting around them.
Then, as if drawn by instinct rather than intention, Heath veered slightly, guiding her toward a more secluded stretch of the park—a quiet alcove where the trees cast longer shadows, muffling the sounds beyond.
Blanche’s pulse faltered.
“A quieter part?” she echoed, wary.
“You enjoy romance, do you not? Let us indulge in the notion of a private stroll, then.”
Blanche hesitated—but only for a breath.
Excitement prickled beneath her nervousness, curling at the edges of her thoughts.
She was not simply speaking with the Duke of Woodrey. She was walking with her future husband.
His smirk deepened.
And with quiet deliberation, Heath led her away, toward the winding path where no curious eyes could interrupt.
Seven
“So, you’re… curious about intimacy?”
Heath’s voice was smooth, deliberate, his gaze flickering toward her with unmistakable interest as they wandered deeper into the secluded paths of Hyde Park.
Blanche hesitated only a breath before replying. “Perhaps,” she admitted, pulse quickening. “Though such passion seems more common between lovers than spouses.”
Heath hummed, thoughtful. “Then tell me, Lady Blanche, do you believe passion has no place within a marriage?”
She glanced at him, only to find his piercing blue eyes already fixed upon her, searching, assessing.
Her breath caught.
Good heavens, he is handsome.
She had always known it, of course—had noted the sharp cut of his jaw, the rich darkness of his hair, the effortless command with which he carried himself. But here, alone with him, away from prying eyes, his presence felt different. Stronger. More tangible.
And those lips—firm, sculpted, curling ever so slightly at the edges in amusement—had never seemed more tempting.
The thought startled her, sent warmth rushing to her cheeks.
“I believe,” she murmured, carefully measuring her words, “that marriage is built upon duty first, desire second.”
Heath’s smirk deepened—eyes gleaming with something dangerously close to delight. “And yet, desire remains present.”
Blanche exhaled softly, fingers tightening around the book she still held. Her mind flickered back to her earlier reading—to the novel’s hero, to the way she had unconsciously replaced his name with Heath’s.
Now, standing beside him, that foolish whim felt even more absurd.
“Perhaps,” she conceded, lifting her chin. “Though desire alone is hardly enough to sustain a union, wouldn’t you agree, Your Grace?”
