Blanche exhaled, irritation sparking beneath her skin—though not nearly enough to drown out the traitorous thrill that curled at the edges of her restraint.
Heath leaned back slightly, studying her with a satisfaction that set Blanche’s nerves on edge. “Perhaps,” he murmured, lazily swirling the remnants of his drink, “it is time for society to see exactly what kind of marriage we have.”
Blanche arched a brow, placing her own glass down with measured precision. “And how do you propose we make such a demonstration, Your Grace?”
A slow smirk traced Heath’s lips. “The ball tomorrow evening. It will be the perfect stage for our… performance.”
She hesitated, weighing the prospect.
Her family would be there.
The timing was, admittedly, convenient.
Two birds, one stone.
Blanche inhaled lightly, lifting her gaze to meet his. “Very well.”
Heath’s smirk deepened. “Then we shall give them a spectacle worth remembering.”
Just like that, the game began anew for them.
Fifteen
“Areckless heart meets ruin, but in the hands of a skilled lover, ruin becomes desire.”
The words were soft—scandalously so—barely above a whisper as they slipped past Blanche’s lips.
Heath had intended to speak, to announce his presence with some semblance of decorum. Instead, he lingered in the doorway, arms crossed, watching with quiet amusement as she read aloud, entirely unaware that she had an audience.
A slow smirk traced his lips.
“You must forgive me, Duchess, but I believe I am interrupting something… rather indecent.”
Blanche startled violently, the book snapping shut as she turned, color rising to her cheeks.
“You should announce yourself,” she accused, lifting her chin to regain composure.
Heath stepped forward, the amusement in his gaze entirely unrepentant. “And ruin the pleasure of watching you so utterly engrossed?”
Her glare was swift, but he saw the flicker of embarrassment beneath it—the way her fingers tightened imperceptibly over the leather-bound novel, as if she could will the moment into oblivion.
“What do you want, Your Grace?”
He let out a measured breath, considering how best to prolong her suffering before settling for the simple truth. “Your mother and sister have arrived. Uninvited.”
Blanche blinked, all traces of indignation vanishing in an instant.
“Here?”
Heath inclined his head. “Unless my eyes have deceived me.”
She barely hesitated before pushing past him, the novel forgotten. Heath watched her go, exhaling a quiet chuckle before following at a more leisurely pace.
Blanche hardly lingered before sweeping past him, her steps quick, but not careless. Heath followed at a more deliberate pace, watching the way the color lingered high on her cheeks—not merely from embarrassment, but something softer, something undeniably warm.
“You could at least pretend to be displeased,” he murmured, his tone edged with deliberate mischief.
Blanche cast him a glance over her shoulder. “Must I?”
