“Are you sure you wouldn’t like some tea?” the butler asked tentatively. Lady Roland had asked him once already, but Malum was simply anxious to get on with the business at hand—that of acting like a besotted fool.
“When you take my arm, draw me closer than necessary,”she had said.“When I speak, you’ll want to lean down, as though you are hungry to hear every word I say.”
She was correct in that people would be watching even when it felt like they weren’t. He clasped his hands behind his back, his feet planted firmly on the floor. In any other circumstances, he wouldn’t mind giving his attention to Melanie. He just hated that, in order to satisfy theton, it was required of him.
Just then, footsteps sounded on the landing above, and looking up, his breath caught.
Long before she’d appeared on his doorstep, Malum had noticed the little bird who lingered by the window across the street. After opening his door and finding her on his front step, he’d been struck by how exceptionally pretty she was.
But this afternoon? She was more than that.
Stunningly lovely. Thewords slipped into his mind unbidden.
Perhaps it was her gown, an elaborate and fashionable piece that perfectly emphasized her best features, the color a pale, silvery blue that matched that of her eyes and brightened her skin. Or perhaps it was the artful arrangement of her hair, the curls softer than he remembered. Beyond her physical appearance, there was something intangible…
Whatever it was, the effect was undeniable.
“Your Grace,” she murmured, dipping her chin in greeting before descending the stairs… looking oh, so very brave.
And when she sent him a vague smile, it struck him.
She had dressed for battle. Her gown was her suit of armor, her chignon a helmet, and that enigmatic smile—her weapon.
Everyone who knew her had seen her retreat after the fire at her uncle’s hunting lodge, and they’d marked her as frail, delicate, even weak. And yes, she was vulnerable. Standing before him now, barely reaching his chin, she looked it.
But she was not weak.
“Melanie,” he said, inclining his head in reply.
“Here she is, your betrothed, Your Grace,” her mother all but sang. “As pretty as a picture for your drive in the park.”
Melanie’s smile faltered—so briefly that he almost missed it. Her tongue flicked across her lips, and when her gaze met his, there was a flash of something in her eyes—nerves, perhaps.
“Harry,” she said, her voice warm and deliberately casual as she stretched her smile wider.
The name landed like a cannonball, drawing noticeable shock from everyone within earshot. But Melanie, seemingly unbothered, descended the last few steps and crossed directly to his side, slipping her hand through his arm.
Malum raised his brows, masking his surprise with a faint smirk. It seemed she was setting the tone for how this game would be played.
His usual response to the casual use of his given name would have been a scowl so withering that the speaker would have instinctively fumbled through an apology.
For the sake of their own self-preservation.
Malum had specificallynotgiven her permission to call him by that name. Even calling himHaroldin front of a servant would have been extremely forward on her part.
But, he supposed, forward was normal when a couple was meant to be in love. So instead, Malum took her arm, ironically appreciating the boldness of her act.
It seemed Melanie was determined to maintain their façade, even here, within the supposed privacy of her mother’s townhouse. He supposed it made sense, considering he’d told her he didn’t trust her family to keep their secret.
Malum raised his hand to her shoulder, his movement slow and deliberate. And as he traced a line down her sleeve, found himself oddly affected by the warmth radiating through the fabric. When he reached the inch of bare skin just above her elbow, he paused, lingering there before gliding over the silk of her glove.
A shiver ran through her, almost imperceptible, but he felt it.
Just as he’d intended.
Then, with quiet assurance, he bowed over her hand, taking longer than what would have been deemed appropriate.
Imagining her rosebud mouth, his thoughts drifted to that moment in the private parlor—the way she’d parted her lips, an unspoken invitation. He’d been tempted, a rare enough occurrence. But even with the privacy surrounding them, he hadn’t allowed himself that pleasure.
