He turned slightly, ensuring his voice reached only her ears. “Tell me, Duchess.” His voice was quiet, teasing. “Was itphilosophy you were indulging in earlier? Or ruin in the hands of a skilled lover?”
A sharp breath. A deliberate blink. And, of course, the unmistakable rise of color in her cheeks.
Blanche held his gaze. “How dare you! You are insufferable.”
Heath’s smirk deepened. “And yet, terribly observant.”
Before she could retaliate, her mother’s voice rang out once more.
“Good heavens, the original volumes of The Canterbury Tales!”
Heath exhaled lightly, allowing Blanche a brief reprieve before turning his attention back to his mother-in-law.
Lady Gooldwer had moved on, entirely absorbed in admiring the gold finish of an ornamental frame, her delight unrestrained.
“Your Grace,” she declared, waving a hand toward the intricate carvings along the mantle, “it is entirely excessive, and I adore it.”
Blanche exhaled, shaking her head, though Heath caught the faintest twitch of amusement at the corner of her lips.
Fanny, ever observant, smiled softly. “You have quite the eye for details, Mother.”
“Details?” Lady Gooldwer scoffed. “My dear girl, when one is presented with the luxury of this magnitude, one does not simply observe, one marvels!”
Blanche turned, her gaze fleetingly meeting Heath’s, and in that instant, he knew—she was silently daring him not to laugh.
A challenge he nearly lost.
As the conversation continued, Heath allowed his focus to shift, his gaze finding Blanche once more. Her posture was composed, and her expression was neutral, yet the tension in her hands betrayed her.
She was bracing herself, anticipating.
He stepped closer, ensuring his movement remained unnoticed, his fingers brushing the fabric at her waist—light, fleeting, absent of expectation yet entirely deliberate.
Blanche inhaled sharply, though she did not move away.
“Careful, Duchess,” Heath murmured, his voice just low enough for only her to hear, “lest you appear too affected.”
She turned her head ever so slightly, eyes narrowing, though the rise of color at her throat did not go unnoticed.
“And you, Your Grace, should be cautious,” she returned, her voice steady despite the heat in her cheeks, “lest you grow too bold.”
A slow smirk traced Heath’s lips. “Bold?” His fingers ghosted above hers, barely grazing against the soft fabric of her sleeve. “Surely, you do not object to boldness.”
Lady Gooldwer, still oblivious, turned toward them with a sigh. “I hope, Your Grace, that you intend to host a grand ball soon. A house of this magnitude begs for celebration!”
Blanche exhaled, composing herself. “I am certain His Grace will arrange something suitable.”
Heath, pleased beyond measure, glanced down at her, murmuring just beneath his breath. “Something suitable, indeed.”
And for that, he was rewarded with the sharp flick of her fan against his wrist. He chuckled.
Blanche exhaled, her chin lifting just slightly, a silent attempt at reclaiming the upper hand.
“Do try to behave, Your Grace,” she murmured, low enough that only he would catch it.
Heath tilted his head, observing her with deliberate ease, his eyes flickering toward her lips for the briefest, most telling moment.
“And here I was, under the impression that misbehavior was rather encouraged.”
