She crossed her arms, glaring up at him. “And what excuse doyouhave for prowling these halls at such an hour? Or do you often haunt your own corridors half-dressed?”
He grinned. “Only when I suspect a duchess might be about.”
Her mouth fell open, half in shock, half in disbelief. “You are the most provoking man alive.”
“Possibly.” He leaned one shoulder against the wall, far too casual. “But at least I’m entertaining.”
“Infuriatingwould be the better word.”
“Ah, but you’d miss me if I weren’t.”
“I’d regain my sanity.”
“Sanity’s overrated. You’ve had twenty-one years of it. Try wildness for a change; it would suit you.”
Beatrice’s heart thudded far too quickly for propriety’s sake. “I would very much like to retire, Duke, before you say something even more absurd.”
Edward didn’t move immediately. The candlelight caught in his eyes, softening the teasing into something gentler. “I was only checking the corridor,” he said, his voice lower now, almost thoughtful. “I’ll post a footman outside your door tonight. Ring if you need anything.”
Her chin lifted. “Thank you, Duke, but that won’t be necessary.”
He smiled slowly, far too sure of himself. “Unless, of course, you mean to ring for me.”
Her breath caught despite herself. “I doubt such a service is included in our arrangement.”
A faint smile tugged at his mouth. “Pity,” he murmured, tilting his head as though studying the effect his words had on her. “I was beginning to think this marriage might not be so dull, after all.”
Heat prickled unhelpfully at her throat. She wished she could summon a polished retort, something crisp and unbothered—anything except the flutter behind her ribs.
She exhaled sharply, though she couldn’t quite summon her usual composure. “You are impossible.”
“Mm.” His gaze dipped to her mouth before rising again. “And you are far too proper for your own good.”
Her spine went rigid, ready to deny it, ready to defend herself. But when the corner of his mouth curved, her resolve wavered.
“Proper,” she repeated, trying for dignity. “Someone must be.”
He stepped closer, close enough that she felt the brush of his breath and the quiet warmth of him. “We make quite the pair, don’t we?”
The words were light, almost careless. But his voice was low. And she felt it—felthim—far too keenly.
She lowered her gaze, gathering what poise she could. Her heart thrummed painfully against her stays.
A pair.The idea sat in her chest like something dangerous.
“We make… something,” she said quietly, unable to meet his eyes. “Though I imagine neither of us expected it to look like this.”
He let out a soft breath—almost a laugh, almost something else. “No,” he agreed. “But perhaps that’s not entirely unfortunate.”
The admission hovered between them, warm and startling.
Beatrice swallowed, her fingers tightening slightly around the hem of her shawl. She could not trust her voice then, couldn’ttrust her own thoughts. So she inclined her head instead, a gesture meant to convey composure.
“Careful, Duchess. If you look at me like that, I may forget myself.”
She stared at him, torn between indignation and something far more dangerous. His humor should have irritated her. Instead, it made the air between them feel perilously alive.
“Goodnight, Duke,” she said, proud of how steady her voice sounded, though her pulse beat wildly at her throat.
