“Lord Chancellor was insufferable,” she admitted after a beat, exhaling lightly. “And perhaps I allowed myself to be more…” she hesitated, searching for the word. “Exuberant than necessary.”
Heath hummed in mock consideration. “Exuberant. An interesting choice.”
She shot him a glance—sharp, assessing—though there was no real bite behind it.
Heath chuckled. “Not that I am complaining, mind you. It is quite flattering to have my wife wage battles on my behalf.”
She scoffed lightly. “I merely refuse to let anyone speak ill of you.”
Something flickered in Heath’s chest—unexpected, warm.
He rarely found himself the recipient of such effortless loyalty. And yet, here she was—glorious, defiant, defending him as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
He exhaled slowly, allowing himself—for just a moment—to admire her. The soft glow of candlelight kissed her skin, her dark lashes casting delicate shadows against her cheeks.
Her beauty was striking, effortless, but it was her spirit that captivated him.
He smirked. “If that is the case, my dear, then poor Percy shall suffer under your rule.” Blanche laughed—a soft, rich sound that curled at the edges of his restraint.
It was absurd, really.
But I am beginning to enjoy her company more than is wise…
Heath spun Blanche effortlessly through the final steps of the waltz, his grip steady, assured, guiding her with an ease that made it impossible for her not to follow.
Their movements slowed. For a moment—just a moment—they lingered, their gazes meeting, speaking in ways words could not.
There was a quiet understanding in it—an acknowledgment of their differences, their stubborn clashes, their undeniable pull.
She is magnificent… And she is mine.
Heath exhaled lightly, offering his arm. “Shall we depart?”
Blanche hesitated only briefly before slipping her hand into his. “We can’t just leave without paying our respects to the hosts. It’s rude!”
“Just follow me, Duchess.”
The warmth of her fingers curled against his sent an unfamiliar thrill through his veins. Composed as ever, Heath led her through the gathering, pausing only briefly to bid farewell to Lady Gooldwer and Fanny.
Then, they stepped into the night.
The carriage door closed behind them, sealing them into the quiet intimacy of the space.
The ballroom’s distant hum faded into nothing, leaving only the muffled clatter of hooves and the rhythmic creak of wood as the vehicle rolled forward.
Blanche settled into her seat, her hands resting delicately on her lap as she smoothed the fabric of her gown—though Heathdid not miss the faint rise and fall of her chest, measured yet unmistakably uneven.
He reclined against the seat opposite her, stretching his legs in slow, deliberate ease, watching as the candlelit glow flickered over her features.
“Where are we going then?”
“You’ll see.”
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then, Heath smirked, his voice edged with amusement. “It is rather curious, Duchess.”
Blanche flicked a glance toward him, her brow arching slightly. “What is?”
