Hazel nearly tripped over her own feet.
“I… what? No, I do not.”
Greyson stared at her. “I was not aware my eyesight was in question this evening.”
She flushed. “I only meant… I am wearing a dress I have already owned for years. It is nothing new.”
“I see.”
“And I did nothing special with my hair.”
“I noticed.”
She frowned. “I did not even have time to sit for more than a basic wash, because Chastity lost her?—”
“Hazel.”
Her name sounded even more delectable this time.
She snapped her mouth shut.
He leaned in, drawn by something he could not describe. “You are arguing with me about your own beauty.”
“I am simply being factual,” she whispered defensively. “You needn’t flatter me for… well, for dancing with me. I know I look perfectly adequate.”
“Adequate,” he repeated, horrified. “My wife believes herself adequate.”
Hazel’s brows pulled together. “Are you… mocking me?”
“Yes,” he said. “And no. Rest assured, I am equally disappointed and personally wounded.”
A surprised laugh escaped her. He wanted to hear more of it, but instead, his voice took on a more serious note.
“I did not offer you a compliment out of politeness. You are radiant tonight… beautiful in every sense.”
She stared at him, stunned and silent, as though she had never once considered that her appearance might inspire sincerity in anyone, let alone her husband.
When she finally found her voice, it was soft. “I… did not expect you to notice.”
His jaw tightened. “I notice a great many things about you.”
The blush that colored her freckles was warm enough to thaw an entire winter. But Hazel’s brief moment of soft bewilderment passed. No, itvanishedlike mist burned away by sunlight. Greyson watched, both intrigued and faintly irritated, as her spine straightened barely perceptibly and her eyes narrowed with that familiar determination.
Ah. There she is again, composed, stubborn and entirely certain she will reclaim control of the moment.
“Isuppose,” she said lightly, “that if you insist on distracting me from my important work?—”
“Important work,” he echoed. “At your own wedding ball.”
“Yes, well,” she continued breezily, “chaos does not schedule itself around ceremonial events.”
His mouth twitched. “How inconsiderate of it.”
“I know,” she sighed dramatically. “One would think the universe might give a woman a moment of peace.”
“I suspect,” he said, leaning just slightly closer, “that the universe avoids giving you peace because you would not know what to do with it.”
Her eyes flashed at him in a dare. “Are you implying I thrive on disorder, Your Grace?”
