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Adelaide blinked. "I had not realized my botanical annotations were of such general interest."

"They are of immense interest," Lady Calliwell declared. "Any woman who can match wits with the Duke of Ravensmere and win is a woman worth knowing. I congratulate you on your marriage, my dear. You have achieved what half the mothers in England have been attempting for years."

"You are too kind, Lady Calliwell."

"I am never too kind; I am precisely kind enough." The older woman reached forward and patted Adelaide's hand gently. "I hope you will join me for tea sometime soon. I should very much like to hear about these botanical corrections firsthand."

"I would be most delighted," Adelaide replied, meaning every word.

Lady Calliwell nodded with satisfaction. "I shall send word."

The exchange lasted no more than a few minutes, yet its effect rippled through the entire room. Adelaide caught the immediate shift. The cluster of matrons and debutantes who had been watching with polite, curious smiles now wore an entirely different expression.

The smiles remained fixed, yet the eyes behind them had gone sharp and cold; envy, plain and undisguised, directed at the woman who had just received the enthusiastic blessing of the three most powerful hostesses in London.

Julian's hand pressed firmer against her back. He drew her close against his side, his arm warm and solid through the fine silk of her dress. The gesture was subtle yet unmistakably possessive. It declared, without words, that she belonged here—that she was no impostor playing at being a duchess, but the Duchess of Ravensmere herself.

Adelaide lifted her chin, holding her head high and meeting the room's collective gaze without flinching.

The orchestra swelled as the opening notes of a waltz swept through the ballroom, prompting couples to move toward the floor.

Julian turned to face her. He bowed, offering his hand with quiet authority.

"May I have this dance, my duchess?"

Adelaide placed her gloved hand in his. "We ought to have hosted a dinner party first; we could have practiced in the privacy of our own drawing room."

"We could have," he agreed, leading her onto the crowded floor. "Yet I prefer an audience."

"You prefer to make me nervous."

"I prefer to watch you rise to the occasion." He drew her into position, his right hand settling firmly at her waist. "You always do."

The initial steps felt stiff. Adelaide's feet found the familiar figures, yet her awareness of the watching crowd made her movements self-conscious and rigid. She counted the beats in her mind, placing each step with deliberate care.

Then Julian's hand shifted at her waist—a subtle adjustment that allowed the rhythm to find them both. His lead was sure and natural, and her body followed without conscious thought, falling into a cadence that felt less like dancing and more like breathing.

The warmth of his hand burned through the blue silk at her waist. She remained acutely aware of every point of contact between them: his fingers, firm and steady; his shoulder beneath her left hand; the breadth of his chest as they turned together, close enough that his scent of cedar and shaving soap reached her with each revolution.

Julian's dark eyes held hers without wavering. He did not look away, nor did he glance at the crowd or check their position on the floor. His entire focus remained fixed on her face with an intensity that made the air between them feel thin.

"I never anticipated this," he said softly, his voice low enough that only she could hear.

"Anticipated what?"

"That dancing with you would feel like this."

The words settled against her skin. She looked up at him as the surrounding ballroom grew soft and dim, the other dancers blurring into streaks of color and light. There remained only Julian's hand at her waist, his eyes on hers, and the music carrying them through the turns.

"I did not anticipate it either," she breathed.

His fingers tightened at her waist—a fraction of pressure that sent warmth flooding through her chest. She longed to close the small remaining distance between them, to rest her forehead against his jaw and remain held in the curve of his arm while the music played on and the rest of the world faded away.

They turned and glided across the floor in sweeping arcs, and Adelaide stopped counting steps. She ceased thinking about the watching crowd, the envious debutantes, or the formidable matriarchs who had approved her. She stopped analyzing entirely.

There was only this moment—only the two of them locked in a bond that felt sacred, fragile, and entirely new.

The final note swelled and faded.