And worse, she had done so without trying.
Mrs. Talbot dipped her head once more before moving past him, leaving Heath standing amidst the quiet hum of his thoughts, the weight of realization pressing against his chest.
This had been a battle once.
Now, he wasn’t certain if he was still fighting.
Or if he had already surrendered.
Sixteen
“Smile, Duchess. They are watching.”
Heath’s voice was smooth, edged with quiet amusement, though Blanche did not need the reminder. It was her first appearance as Duchess, her very first invitation to such a glittering assembly, and every eye seemed determined to decide whether she would rise to the role—or falter.
The grand chandelier above gleamed with a thousand flickering flames, casting light across the opulent ballroom, where silks swayed and polished shoes glided effortlessly over marble floors.
Blanche inhaled, adjusting the delicate lace of her gloves as Heath led her through the entrance, his posture effortless, every movement marked with unwavering confidence.
“They expect a spectacle,” he murmured, his lips barely moving, though his tone carried that dangerous certainty she associated with him.
“And shall we give them one?” she mused, tilting her chin just slightly, ignoring the flicker of something unwise that sparked at the edges of her composure.
Heath smirked, guiding her forward until they reached the center of the gathering. “Undoubtedly.”
She had attended many soirées before, yet tonight felt different.
This was her first ball as a duchess. And if the lingering gazes, the murmured assessments, and the calculated smiles of the nobility were any indication, society was keen to observe her every move.
Blanche exhaled lightly, maintaining perfect composure as Heath brought her gloved hand to his lips, pressing the faintest kiss upon it.
His gaze met hers, unreadable, just as he inclined his head. “Enjoy yourself, Duchess.” And then, he was gone—lost among the crowd, moving with the kind of deliberate ease that marked him as someone too accustomed to command.
Blanche watched him for a beat longer than necessary, then forced herself to turn away.
She would not let her thoughts spiral—would not allow herself to linger on the storm of emotions Heath seemed capable of conjuring within her without effort.
She had other matters to attend to. And thus, she moved forward, ready to play her part.
“Blanche!” She turned just in time to see Fanny approaching, her eyes gleaming with familiar excitement.
They embraced, laughter spilling between them like a long-forgotten melody. Finally alone with her sister for the first time since the wedding, Blanche let out a breath, tension she hadn’t realized she was carrying easing just slightly as she turned toward her sister.
“Lovely ball, sister!” Fanny said excitedly, her eyes flicking up to the chandelier and then around the room quickly. “Lovely home.”
“Thank you for coming, Fanny.”
“I must say, marriage suits you rather well.”
Blanche arched a brow. “Does it?”
Fanny hummed in amusement. “You look impossibly elegant. Perhaps it is the air of nobility, or perhaps it is that husband of yours. Either way, you have certainly transformed.”
Blanche chuckled, shaking her head. “I assure you, I remain quite the same. It’s been… interesting. Anything new with you?”
Fanny sighed dramatically. “Oh, Mother is relentless, as always. She insists that my future husband lurks around every corner, just waiting for me to be sensible enough to marry him.”
Blanche laughed softly. “And have you entertained any of her choices?”
