“I absolutely do not.”
“You do,” Margaret insisted, chuckling. “Every thirty seconds, you check where he is.”
Beatrice flushed. “I’m alert. There are too many people here who would enjoy another scandal.”
Margaret tapped her arm with her fan. “And that requires staring at your husband’s back as if he’s about to cause one?”
“HeisEdward,” Beatrice argued. “It is practically guaranteed he’ll offend someone.”
“He has not flirted with a single woman this evening.”
Beatrice’s lips pressed together.
Sebastian approached them with a glass in each hand, then handed one to each of them, earning a smile from Margaret and a thank you from Beatrice.
“Not even Miss Blackwell,” Margaret continued pointedly, “who has been orbiting around him like a moth for the better part of an hour.”
“That does not mean he won’t,” Beatrice muttered.
Margaret’s eyes sparkled. “You sound remarkably sure.”
Beatrice opened her mouth, then closed it again, because she had no proper response, largely because the truth was inconvenient.
Margaret smirked. “Thought so.”
The truth was, Beatrice’s eyes did seek him out. Constantly. Too constantly. She wasn’t sure when it had started. Perhaps in Bath. Perhaps in the carriage. Or perhaps the moment he had looked at her tonight and gone still.
But she wasn’t about to confess that, not even under threat of execution.
She forced her gaze away, only for it to drift back to him moments later—just in time to catch him glance toward her.
Their eyes met. The connection was brief, fleeting enough to deny if questioned, but something in his expression shifted. It was not a smile, nor quite concern, but awareness.
Heat bloomed beneath her skin.
She looked away first.
Margaret watched her with quiet satisfaction. “You know,” she said lightly, “most women would be pleased to have a husband who spends an entire evening watching the room rather than the ladies in it.”
Beatrice’s voice came out too neutral. “He is only being vigilant.”
“Mm.”
“He has a reason.”
“Does he?” Margaret asked gently.
Beatrice didn’t answer. The truth hovered too close to the surface, unwelcome and unexamined.
Edward started moving toward them. Beatrice’s pulse quickened, betraying her.
Margaret smiled to herself. “Ah, reinforcements.”
“I do not require?—”
Movement at the side drew Beatrice’s attention, just as she was beginning to believe she might endure the evening without incident.
A gentleman she had not spoken to before stepped forward with a polished bow. He looked too young, well-dressed, and far too confident.
