“I find it an excellent use of my time,” she said lightly, though her pulse raced.
He leaned closer as they passed another couple. “Careful,” he murmured. “People might think us fond of one another.”
She met his gaze without flinching. “Would that be so terrible?”
His eyes darkened, but his tone remained teasing. “For a marriage of convenience?Scandalous.”
“Then we must be cautious,” she replied. “I should hate to alarm the ton.”
Greyson inclined his head gravely. “You are right. They are a delicate species. Startle them too greatly, and they begin to invent.”
“I was under the impression they do that regardless,” Hazel said as he guided her through a turn.
“True,” he allowed. “But we need not provide unnecessary inspiration.”
She smiled. “In that case, you should release me at once. We are standing far too close for propriety.”
He did not loosen his hold. “I believe this distance is entirely sanctioned by the dance.”
“For now,” she replied. “But if you continue to look at me so intently, someone will assume you are plotting something.”
“Perhaps I am,” he replied easily.
Her brows lifted. “Should I be concerned?”
“Only if you object to being asked for the next dance.”
She laughed softly, the sound surprising even her with its ease. “Such audacity.”
“You married me,” he reminded her. “You cannot now be shocked by it.”
Their eyes met, and for a moment the teasing thinned, giving way to something far deeper and quieter, which had lodged itself inside Hazel’s chest.
The music ended. Applause rose around them.
Greyson released her slowly, as though reluctant to do so. “Shall I escort you back,” he asked, “or would that also alarm the ton?”
She placed her hand in his without hesitation. “At this point,” she told him, “I suspect the damage is already done.”
His smile deepened.
Greyson was torn from her side with an ease that startled her.
One moment, his hand lingered at her elbow, his attention wholly hers despite the press of bodies and sound. The next, Jasper appeared with the unmistakable air of a man intent on mischief, with Robert at his shoulder wearing an expression of polite inevitability. A few murmured words were exchanged, and then Greyson was being guided away, casting her a look that hovered somewhere between apology and amusement.
“I shall survive,” Hazel told him softly.
“I am not convinced,” he replied, before allowing himself to be claimed by the other gentlemen.
She watched him go for a heartbeat longer than necessary. Then she turned and found her mother beside her. Her mother’s smile was fixed, pleasant and entirely deceptive. Hazel recognized it at once. It was the expression her mother wore when something had gone slightly, perilously awry.
“My dear,” her mother began, touching Hazel’s arm with proprietary familiarity, “I am so relieved to have you to myself for a moment.”
Hazel felt the familiar tightening in her chest. “What has happened?”
Her mother glanced about them, as though the room itself might be listening. “It is Chastity.”
Of course it was.
