A cluster of guests gathered near the fireplace, absorbed in a discussion about hunting that he could not muster the energy to engage with. He joined them, his movements mechanical, following a script, contributing observations at the right moments, nodding at appropriate intervals. His voice emerged steady and calm, a testament to years of practice.
His gaze drifted back to Alice.
Now she leaned closer to the lieutenant, her hand resting on his sleeve with a familiarity that made Samuel’s jaw tighten. The gesture spoke volumes, a clear signal of interest, and the lieutenant responded with eager enthusiasm. His posture mirrored hers, head bent as if sharing a secret, delight lighting his features as if he believed he held her genuine attention.
Samuel looked away. Then back. Then away again. Each time his eyes found her, his control frayed further.
"Exceptional season for grouse, or so I’m told," one of the hunters remarked. "Do you shoot, Lord Crewe?"
"When the occasion requires." Samuel's response was clipped and distracted. He did not grasp what he had agreed to, nor did he care. Across the room, the lieutenant said something that made Alice laugh again, her bright, practiced laugh that Samuel now recognized as performance rather than genuine amusement.
But the lieutenant did not see it. He was captivated by the sparkle in her eyes, the curve of her lips, and the attention she poured on him. Young, handsome, and uncomplicated, he embodied precisely the sort of man society expected her to marry.
The hunter spoke again. Samuel nodded along, his focus fixed on the lieutenant as he reached for Alice's hand.
His fingers closed around hers, ostensibly to admire her ring, but the gesture felt too familiar, too prolonged, too clearly an excuse to touch her. Samuel watched him turn her hand in his palm, feeling the heat rise in his chest as the lieutenant’s thumb brushed across her knuckles. Alice smiled, granting the liberty, and something in Samuel constricted painfully.
His teacup rattled against its saucer.
The sound was slight, a small indication of unsteady hands, but to Samuel, it echoed like a gunshot. He set the cup down carefully, murmuring an apology that none of the hunters would remember moments later.
He moved to the window.
He told himself he had chosen this spot for the view, the rain-washed gardens visible through the glass, the grey sky mirroring his mood, the neutral backdrop demanding nothing of him. Yet the window also provided a clear sightline to where Alice stood with her lieutenant, and he found he could not look away.
She was extraordinary. That truth had clawed at him since their first meeting, rising against his willin gardens and stables, burning beneath his careful composure. She was extraordinary, and she was flirting with another man. The fact that she had every right to do so, that he held no claim upon her, no understanding, no acknowledged connection, made watching unbearable.
His expression hardened. He felt his features arrange into something cold and distant, the mask he wore to shield himself from feeling too much. The rain continued its gentle assault on the windows. The guests maintained their pleasant conversations. And Samuel Baldwin, Viscount Crewe, stood in his self-imposed exile, watching the woman he had kissed last night charm another man with the same weapons she had once wielded against him.
She glanced his way.
The contact lasted less than a second, barely enough time to register, certainly not enough to decipher her expression. But he caught a flicker in her eyes, something that might have been acknowledgment, challenge, or merely the reflexive awareness of being observed.
Then she turned back to the lieutenant, laughed at something he said, and touched his arm again.
The message was unmistakable.
Samuel gripped the windowsill with both hands,his knuckles whitening just as they had that morning in the library alcove. His resolve to maintain distance faltered within minutes of his arrival. He had promised himself propriety, restraint, and that he would treat her as nothing more than a fellow guest whose presence required no particular attention.
Yet here he stood, watching her like a man starved, his composure cracking at the seams, his carefully constructed defenses inadequate against the simple reality of her laughter shared with another man.
The rain fell. The lieutenant leaned closer. Samuel felt jealousy, transcending the boundaries that logic tried to impose.
"The gardens are particularly lovely after the rain." The voice came from his left. Samuel turned to find Clara, Countess of Oakford, regarding him with an expression that suggested she saw more than he wished to reveal.
She stood with quiet grace, an effective hostess, elegant without showiness and warm without presumption, her presence conveying both sympathy and expectation. Her gown, a soft rose, complemented the grey light filtering through the windows, and her eyes held the kindness of awoman who understood that observation is a form of care.
"Lady Oakford." Samuel inclined his head in automatic courtesy. "I was merely admiring the view."
"The view, yes." Her smile hinted at her awareness. "The conservatory offers an even better perspective and considerably more privacy than this window."
An invitation cloaked in discretion; refusing it would have felt rude. Samuel allowed himself to be guided from the drawing room, following Clara through a door that led into a glass-enclosed space filled with exotic greenery.
The conservatory of Oakford Hall was a testament to the previous earl's botanical interests. Potted palms arched toward the high ceiling, their fronds creating patterns of shadow and light. Orchids bloomed in carefully arranged displays, purple, white, and a delicate pink that reminded Samuel of the flush that had risen to Alice's cheeks the night before. The air was warm and humid, scented with earth and growing things, a retreat distinct from the social negotiations occurring in the rooms beyond.
Clara arranged herself on a wrought-iron bench beneath a particularly impressive palm, her skirtssettling around her with the ease of a woman accustomed to elegance. She gestured for Samuel to join her.
He sat. The bench was uncomfortable in the way decorative ironwork often is, but he suspected comfort was not the point of this meeting.
