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"I did not mean—"
"You did."
She closed her fan, her fingers trembling slightly. "Perhaps I did."
Julian reached for her hand, his fingers closing around hers through the thin kid leather. He held her hand between both of his, his thumb resting against her knuckles.
"I am immensely proud to stand beside you tonight," he said softly. "Not because of the title, the expedition collection, or any legal agreement." His voice dropped into a quiet register. "A lady of your intellect and spirit is someone men would fight to win, Adelaide. I consider myself fortunate beyond measure that you are here—with me."
A sudden, palpable charge settled in the quiet space between them. Adelaide turned to meet his gaze—his blue-gray eyes steady, intent, and close.
He leaned nearer, the solid warmth of his presence drawing close as his gaze dropped to her lips before returning to her eyes.
He is going to kiss me.
The certainty settled into her bones. She held her breath as his face drew inches from hers, noting the small scar near his jaw and the fine lines at the corners of his eyes.
The orchestra swelled as the stage lights flared. The second act erupted onto the stage in a crash of strings and brass, causing Julian to draw back slightly.
Neither spoke or moved. The music swirled around them, filling the box and the silence where his lips had nearly met hers.
Adelaide did not look at the stage. She looked at Julian's hand, still holding hers in the dark, his thumb moving once across her knuckle.
Her heart was racing, and she suspected that his was, too.
CHAPTER 16
"Ihope you enjoyed this evening, Adelaide."
Julian stood at the threshold of her bedchamber, one hand resting against the oak doorframe. The hallway behind him lay in shadow, the wall sconces having been doused by the footman. The sole light emanated from the candle burning upon her dressing table, casting a warm golden glow across the pale counterpane.
Adelaide looked up at him. Her bonnet lay set aside upon a chair, her gloves half-removed, and her chestnut hair loosened from its formal evening arrangement. She offered a warm, open smile.
"I had a delightful time," she said softly. "I should welcome doing it again."
Again. The word settled in his chest with quiet, unexpected force. She spoke without reservation or hesitation, as though the opera, the private box, and the near-kiss had caused her no apprehension whatever.
A sudden, sharp hope stirred within him.
He reached for her hand, and she offered it freely, her gloved fingers settling into his palm with an ease that disarmed him completely. The kid leather felt soft and warm from her skin.
Lifting her hand to his lips, he pressed a gentle kiss against her knuckles, holding her fingers for a moment longer than strict etiquette prescribed.
"A peaceful night, Adelaide."
He lowered her hand, yet neither moved away.
The silence between them held all the unspoken tension of the opera box: the charged air, the nearness, and the moment his face had descended toward hers before the orchestra surged. The feeling remained, coiled tightly in the narrow space between them.
Julian met her gaze. Her hazel eyes held his, steady and clear in the candlelight. Her lips were slightly parted, and he became acutely aware of her mouth—the soft curve of her lips holding the lingering ghost of a smile.
Lean down. Pull her into your arms. She would allow it.
The thought arrived with absolute clarity. He understood the geometry of the moment: the narrow distance separating them, the tilt of her chin, and the way her fingers had not yet withdrawn from his hand. A single step forward would bridge the gap.
Yet he checked his impulse.
She is grateful for your defense at the theater. She is pleased with the opera, the private box, and the attention. Gratitude is distinct from desire, and taking advantage of her appreciation is no way to establish a genuine marriage.
