It was as though her skin had become more sensitive to every movement, every brush of fabric, every shift of air between them.
What is wrong with me? She thought desperately, and her fan slipped again.
James leaned closer, his voice low, barely a breath against her ear. “Contain yourself, Eleanor.”
Her heart stuttered.
“Contain?” she whispered back, mortified.
His gaze did not turn, but his voice dropped further. “You will be noticeable.”
Her stomach dipped. “Can they tell?”
“No,” he murmured. “But I can.”
Her breath caught.
She hesitated, then whispered, “I do not understand what is happening.”
His inhale was slow and deliberate. She felt it more than heard it, as though the air itself were reacting to him.
“Do not,” he said softly, “give anyone reason to look.”
“Should I leave?” she asked, her voice barely sound. “If they can tell…”
“No.” James shifted closer.
Her senses reeled. The space between them vanished, replaced by the solid, undeniable nearness of him. He drew in another breath, deeper this time, and the faintest brush of his knuckles touched her sleeve.
Her pulse raced.
The act of his breathing felt charged, as though he were deliberately reminding her that he was there, that he was aware of her in ways she did not yet understand.
She pressed her lips together, her fan trembling slightly in her hand.
Then, at last, the service ended.
Eleanor rose with the congregation, relief rushing through her in a dizzying wave. She smoothed her gown, gathered hercomposure, and stepped forward at James’s side as though nothing at all had happened.
They moved through the aisle together, slow and measured.
Outside, sunlight struck her eyes, and the low hum of polite conversation surrounded them at once.
Lady Calderwick approached first, her expression bright with practiced warmth. “Your Grace,” she said to Eleanor, dipping into a curtsy. “You look radiant.”
“Marriage suits you,” Lady Penhurst added lightly.
Lady Harrowby smiled knowingly. “The glow of a new bride is unmistakable.”
Eleanor’s cheeks warmed, but she inclined her head gracefully. “You are very kind.”
James’s hand rested at the small of her back. “We are quite happy,” he said smoothly.
The words settled around them like a shield. The ladies murmured their approval and moved on. Eleanor’s pulse took longer to settle as she chanced a glance toward the pews where Arabella would be. Her sister’s smile was easily spotted in the crowd, and it settled her. But right as her sister’s gloved hand rose to wave at her, James was leading her away.
“Wait, husband– my sister–”
He turned, spotting the Baron and his daughters, and whispered into her hair, “We must away, wife. Another time.”
