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Then his gaze shifted downward, landing upon the paper beneath their hands.

A detailed sketch lay half-revealed beneath the letter—Thomas's distinct work, marked by bold lines, confident strokes, and meticulous attention to leaf structure. It depicted an alpine wildflower, rendered with the deep care Thomas brought to every living subject.

Julian's hand went rigid against hers.

He drew back sharply, his chair scraping loudly against the floorboards as he stood up. The warmth vanished from his features, replaced by a cold, formal distance.

"Forgive me," he said, his voice stiff and controlled. "I have pressing estate business I neglected to address this morning. I must confer with Mr. Danvers immediately."

"Julian—"

"I apologize for leaving the cataloging incomplete. We shall resume the task another time."

He turned and crossed the room in four quick strides. The library door opened and closed firmly, his footsteps echoing down the hallway as he departed.

Adelaide remained standing beside the desk, her hand hovering over the empty space where his fingers had rested moments before.

Lowering her hand to the cool wood, she looked at the silent room. The dried blooms lay scattered across the blotting paper alongside the stacked correspondence and empty specimen trays.

She looked down at Thomas's sketch—the wildflower open and detailed, preserved by hands that were gone.

What did I do?

She replayed the moment in her mind: the touch of his fingers, his soft whisper of her name, the raw intensity in his eyes, followed immediately by his sight of the sketch and his sudden departure.

He saw Thomas's work, and he left.

The pattern stood revealed with painful clarity: the moment in the opera box when he had drawn near only to pull away, his formal kiss upon her hand in the drawing room before retreating, his quiet farewell on their wedding night, and the adjoining door that remained locked every evening.

He cannot bear to touch me.

The realization arrived with quiet devastation. She had spent weeks attributing his distance to grief, guilt, and the weight of Thomas's memory. She had remained patient, offering him space and grace to approach her when he felt ready.

Yet a far harsher possibility presented itself.

What if his distance stemmed not from grief, but from a fundamental lack of desire? What if he viewed her as a respectable companion worth defending in public, yet unappealing in private—a helpful partner for cataloging specimens and reviewing taxonomy, but never a woman he truly desired?

He married me for Thomas's collection. He married me for the trust. He married me because I was safe and convenient and would never demand more than he wished to give.

CHAPTER 20

"Have you any notion of the storm your sudden wedding has created across the ton, Adelaide?"

Charlotte set her teacup back on its saucer with a decisive clink and leaned forward, her blue eyes bright with the lively eagerness she reserved for intelligence worth sharing. Afternoon light poured through the drawing room windows at Ravensmere House, catching the gilt edges of the tea service and warming the pale silk of the upholstery.

Adelaide passed the plate of biscuits. "I had gathered it caused some talk."

"Talk?" Charlotte laughed softly. "Talk does not begin to cover it. You have set every drawing room in London alight. Lady Mendrick's musical evening last Tuesday was entirely devoted to the subject. I counted no fewer than six separate theories advanced before the first aria."

"Six." Adelaide selected a biscuit and bit into it. "I am almost flattered."

"You should be. Lady Ashby insisted the duke must have compromised you, which I found amusing given that you were in Kent the entire time and he was in London." Charlotte waved this away with her hand. "Lord Pembroke wagered five guineas at White's that the marriage was purely a business arrangement regarding the trust. And then there is the most popular theory, which I am afraid is rather less kind."

Adelaide set her biscuit down. "Which is?"

"That Ravensmere married solely to sire an heir before setting sail for Xanthos." Charlotte's expression shifted, the brightness dimming into watchful concern. "The ton has concluded he took a bride because he means to depart into considerable danger and wishes to secure the succession first. Several ladies at the Mendrick affair said so quite openly. Lady Carlisle among them."

"Lady Carlisle." Adelaide's fingers tightened around her napkin. "Of course she did."