But thoughts of her sister soon faded, eclipsed by her awareness of the man seated beside her.
As the meal progressed, Melanie tried to focus on the conversation around her, but it was a losing battle. Perhaps it was the heat radiating from Malum beside her, or the way his hand brushed hers beneath the table—was it deliberate or accidental?
With mere inches separating them, even just the deep timbre of his voice sent a strange, charged thrill through her.
His scent was smokier than usual, and even that had her practically swooning.
It was disturbing—flustering—and impossible to ignore.
Reed and Helton were trading quips with Westcott about some shared adventure from years past, while Caroline leanedtoward their mother, her expression animated as they discussed the details of the upcoming engagement ball.
“I think lilies would be lovely for the arrangements,” Caroline said, her tone decisive. “Don’t you agree, Melanie? They’re elegant but not too fussy.”
“Yes, of course,” Melanie murmured distractedly, nodding without quite registering the question.
“And the menu,” her mother chimed in, dabbing delicately at her lips with her napkin. “I know we were considering an extensive buffet, but I do wonder if all that might be too heavy for a midnight repast. Melanie, darling, what do you think?”
“Oh… yes, absolutely,” Melanie answered vaguely, realizing too late that her answer made little sense. She flushed as Caroline gave her a curious look, but her mother was too caught up in her own ideas to notice.
Meanwhile, Goldie presided over the table with her usual poise, steering the conversation back to lighter topics whenever it veered too close to something contentious.
And yet, none of it seemed to matter—not with the slow, deliberate way Malum’s hand rested on her back as he leaned forward to make a passing remark to Reed. It was all she could seem to focus on, the touch casual, but deliberately possessive.
The notion that she belonged to the duke shouldn’t have made her feel like this.
She forcibly redirected her attention to the food, her fork clinking softly against the china, and made an even greater effort to gather her thoughts.You agreed to this,she reminded herself.Even when there’s no one watching.The trouble was…
Knowing it and living it were two entirely different things.
How much of this was real? Was he as… affected by it as she was? Was that even possible?
Malum dropped his hand to his side, grazing her arm as he leaned back, his fingers trailing lightly against the fabric ofher sleeve. How did something that was so maddeningly subtle ignite every nerve in her body?
Beneath the table, his knee bumped hers, but rather than move it away, he left it lingering…
Another accident? She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, but his expression was perfectly calm, all his attention focused on Westcott’s story about the lengths he’d taken in order to convince his stepmother to move into the dower house.
Melanie blinked, utterly lost.
The pressure of Malum’s knee remained, firm and steady, and every touch, no matter how brief, seemed designed to unbalance her.
By the time Goldie rose gracefully, Melanie’s skin felt hot and her heart was pounding. She reached for her wineglass, hardly touched until now, and downed the remains of it without thinking.
“Thirsty?” Malum’s voice was low, pitched for her ears alone.
Melanie didn’t dare meet his eyes, her composure already strained to its limits. Instead, she gave a quick nod, her throat too dry to trust herself to speak.
“Ladies,” Goldie announced warmly. “Shall we retire to the drawing room so the gentlemen can enjoy their port?”
Melanie rose to follow the other women, but she already knew she couldn’t sit making polite conversation, listening to chatter about Lady Westcott’s pending confinement or plans for her own engagement ball.
Not now.
Melanie murmured a quiet excuse to Goldie and headed toward the nearest exit. The night air hit her the moment she stepped outside, and she drew in a steadying breath, letting it fill her lungs.
The courtyard stretched before her, a decorative space she rarely visited. Clipped hedges lined the perimeter, and a stonefountain at its center trickled softly, the only sound in the stillness. The glow from a few lanterns made for long, dark shadows.
Even here, away from the warmth of the dining room, she still felt it—the heat of Malum’s gaze as she’d exited, lingering on her like a brand.
