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“Then you are happy with the husband you chose, are you?” Lord Chester nodded his head at the crowd around them.

Ophelia turned her head away. She looked between the ladies dressed in silk and the men wearing deep black suits, standing amongst candelabras draped in flowers, and she sought out Elliot. He was standing a distance away, talking to Harrison, but his eyes were on her.

He looks in pain.

She couldn’t understand why.

“I am,” Ophelia lied. She was not going to reveal the difficulties between her and Elliot to a man like Lord Chester. When he attempted another time to bring her closer, she thrust the palm of her hand deep into his shoulder. “May this dance be over quickly, I beg.”

“Why is that?” he asked. “You are the only lady I have ever met who seems to be… immune.”

“Immune to you? To what you see as your charm?” Ophelia laughed at the idea. “Yes, indeed, I am immune. There is nothing that could persuade me to be charmed by you.”

“You are happy with your husband, then.” His hold on her loosened a little.

“I am,” she insisted, glancing back at Elliot, whose hand had tightened so much around his champagne glass that the knuckles had turned white. “Let this be our last dance, Lord Chester, for good. I am married now, as you have so observed.”

“You are marriedfor now,Your Grace.”

“Wait, what does that mean?” Ophelia stumbled the dance steps, shocked by the words. Lord Chester didn’t answer her; his smile only continued to grow.

The moment the dance was over, she didn’t let him escort her from the floor. Instead, she hurried as quickly as she could from the dancers and crossed back to Elliot’s side. His hand reached out toward her, sensing her approach, and she took it without hesitation.

“How long must we stay?” she whispered to him.

“After what I have just seen,” he said, looking past her back at the dance floor, “I will leave at any moment.”

***

Elliot knew his jealousy was absurd. After all, Ophelia was married to him. She had purposefully married him to avoid ending up being wed to Lord Chester, yet still, the envy lingered. Each time he thought of the way Ophelia had danced with Lord Chester, it made him sick to his stomach.

Soon enough, they left. They talked with their friends for a short while, then headed toward the carriage that awaited them on the drive.

Ever since she had returned from the dance with Lord Chester, Elliot had not released her hand. At first, he had feared he was being too possessive. But each time he considered releasing her, he noticed that she had not released his hand, either. If anything, her fingers clung to him.

As he helped her up into the carriage and closed the door behind them, their joined hands rested on the carriage bench between them. Elliot looked down at those hands as the carriage set off, watching the way the carriage light danced across her gloves and his fingers.

“You have not released my hand, not once,” he murmured, finding he had to draw attention to it.

“That dance with Lord Chester.” She seemed to shudder. “He frightened me.” Elliot’s spine straightened and he angled himself toward her on the carriage bench.

“What did he say?”

“It does not matter.” She shook her head. Her eyes betrayed how preoccupied she was with her thoughts of the dance, for they kept flitting to and fro, never resting on a single thing. “He just frightened me.”

Elliot lifted her hand to his lips. Ignoring the fact her gloves were between them, he kissed her hand. That touch raised her gaze to him at last.

“He can’t hurt you. Remember? It was why we married. You are safe from him now.”

“I pray you are right.” She sidled toward him on the carriage bench. He flinched at first, surprised she was coming so close, then he relaxed, feeling her head resting on his shoulder. Hope began to build inside him as he remembered what Harrison had said.

Perhaps Harrison was right. So much has changed for her. Maybe she just needs time to see me as I see her.

“He will not hurt you. I promise you that,” Elliot whispered to her and turned his head enough to press his lips to her head. It was a tender moment, one that made it easy to forget all the strange things between them.

“Elliot?”

“Yes?” he said softly.

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