She glanced up at him, her brow slightly furrowed. “That seems rather harsh, Your Grace.”
Heath smirked. “Harsh, perhaps. But not inaccurate.”
His stride remained steady, commanding, as he led her toward the farthest end of the grand hall—the place where whispers shaped laws, where fortunes were decided with only a nod from the right man.
And Heath, despite his youth, had long learned how to walk among them.
“Lord Wexley is insufferably miserly,” Heath murmured, his tone as casual as if he were commenting on the weather.
“He once threatened to cut off funds for a naval expansion because it would interfere with his personal investments in merchant fleets. Lord Redgrave cannot string together three words without sounding as though he is delivering a sermon on moral decay. And Lord Chancellor…” Heath exhaled lightly, eyes gleaming with something sharp. “He enjoys testing boundaries. Mine especially.”
He had spent enough years studying them, enough time maneuvering through their games to understand precisely where their weaknesses lay. It was not knowledge gained in idle conversation—it was earned, learned, weaponized.
Blanche studied the cluster of distinguished men ahead, her expression thoughtful. She tilted her head slightly. “You are remarkably well-informed on their shortcomings.”
Heath glanced down at Blanche, the corner of his mouth lifting in something dangerously close to amusement. “One cannot govern men without understanding their weaknesses.”
She faltered only for a moment. “Govern them?”
A chuckle escaped him, his fingers brushing lightly against hers. “Did you think I intended only to sit among them?” No arrogance colored his tone—only certainty, the kind that bordered on inevitability.
“They may have built this exclusive circle, but they have done so with fading hands.” He lowered his voice, ensuring only she could hear. “Soon enough, they will recognize who holds the future of their influence.”
As they moved deeper into the grand hall, Heath observed the cluster of noblemen ahead. But despite their years—despite the carefully cultivated facades of power—they were relics, clinging to a world that was shifting beneath their feet.
Blanche studied them too, though a flicker of intrigue played at her lips. “But you are rather young, Your Grace. Surely, they find that troubling.”
Heath smirked. “Oh, they did. Some still do. But they will learn soon enough that they were mistaken.”
Her gaze lingered on him; curiosity threaded between the lines of her expression. “And how do you plan to convince them?”
Heath merely lifted a brow, but before he could answer, the gathering shifted. Several noblemen turned toward them, their expressions seeped in controlled diplomacy.
He straightened slightly, his grip firm against Blanche’s as he prepared to enter the lion’s den.
“Your Grace.” Lord Chancellor inclined his head, a calculated smile curling at his lips. “Congratulations.”
Heath acknowledged the greeting with a brief nod, his grip steady against Blanche’s hand as she responded with effortless grace. Every movement was precise, refined, the epitome of composure—just as he had expected.
“A most fortunate match, if I may say so,” said Lord Redgrave, his sharp gaze sweeping over Blanche with practiced approval. “Your wife is as poised as she is lovely, Your Grace.”
A murmur of agreement passed through the gathered men, their acknowledgment carrying the weight of both admiration and scrutiny.
Heath tilted his head slightly, his gaze settling on Blanche, unreadable. She was exquisite tonight—the deep jewel tones of her gown casting a richness against her fair skin, the delicate fall of her curls brushing against her collarbone like silk.
But it was not the elegance of her appearance that held his attention. It was the quiet confidence woven into her expression, the way she met these men without hesitation.
A flicker of something unspoken stirred beneath his composed demeanor—something dangerously close to desire.
“I find myself in agreement,” Heath remarked, his voice smooth, deliberate. “I could hardly have chosen better.”
It was not a declaration of love.
It was something else—something akin to possession, to satisfaction, to the quiet thrill of having beside him a woman capable of matching him stride for stride.
Lord Chancellor took a measured sip of his brandy before asking, almost carelessly, “How did your meeting with the Prince Regent go?”
Heath exhaled, smoothing his thumb absently over the edge of his glass. “A discussion best suited for private ears, my lord.”
