Page 37

Daniel was very pleased. His expression brightened, in fact. “I did say that.”

“Then you must stay for dinner.” She said it simply. “I insist.”

Daniel looked between them. “Even wild horses,” he smirked, “could not remove me.”

The dining room held four that evening, which was a different arrangement entirely from two. Eloise had installed herself beside Daniel and was describing, at considerable length, an illustrated plate on page forty-three of one of her new books: a sailing vessel whose rigging she had strong opinions about.

The entire table listened closely, although Adam sat at the head of the table, trying his damnedest not to look as though he were paying too much attention to the hearty conversation between his wife and his very meddlesome friend, who didn’t seem to know his boundaries.

He didn’t think it was working very well, though.

It was all the more irritating because Juliet was sitting across from Daniel. He would have preferred it if she were looking at him instead.

When she reached for the bread, his hand shot out without him even thinking about it, so he could hand it to her.

Juliet blinked at him, surprise in her gaze, but just the mere contact of her gaze on his sent a jolt through him. Damn.

“Thank you,” Juliet said.

“Think nothing of it,” he mumbled gruffly, stabbing at his food when she immediately turned to the marquess.

Why was she so interested in him? Was it truly to hear stories of his childhood…

Or was it something else?

No, do not think about that here, he told himself as he refilled his own glass.

He did not reach across for Juliet’s, no matter that he knew how petty and childish that restraint was. More than anything, in fact, he wanted all her attention on him alone, but…

Was he going to fight Daniel for that?

His fingers tightened around the sides of his glass. Why would he have to? She was his wife. Again, Adam knew how ridiculous that reasoning was, and yet…

He found that he could not stop himself.

There was an ugly thing brewing inside him, and he feared that if he opened his mouth, he would say something he might not be able to take back and turn the atmosphere at the table utterly sour.

But then, her attention would be back on him, wouldn’t it?

Now, he closed his eyes and let out a scoff of disbelief.

What was he even thinking of?

The conversation moved the way it always did when Eloise was present: fast, uneven, and genuinely good. She had opinions on the rigging, on whether Sable’s ear would right itself before Moonsong’s did, on the theoretical question of whether a hedgehog could survive in the stone wall by the east garden if one left it an apple. Daniel engaged with all of it at full sail. Juliet laughed twice in the first course alone, a real laugh, the kind that came out before she could trim it to something smaller.

By the main course, she had noticed that Adam had answered Daniel’s last three direct questions in fewer than six words each, and had not addressed Juliet at all. She also knew, without looking, that his gaze had settled on her twice during her exchange with Daniel and moved when she glanced up.

“You were saying,” Daniel told her, over the roast, “that you had a gray mare. Persephone.”

“Old and magnificent,” Juliet said. “She had the temperament of a duchess and the pace of a dowager.”

Daniel laughed. “And your father disapproved?”

“He disapproves of most things that interest me.” She picked up her wine. “In that, he is rather consistent.”

“A universally observed condition,” Daniel said, “where interesting women are concerned.” He looked at Adam. “Your wife has excellent taste in horses, my friend. Did you know?”

Adam looked up from his glass only to glare at his friend, who seemed to be enjoying this predicament rather immensely. “There are a great many things that I can learn about my wife without your meddlesome presence,” he retorted without much thought, and the table fell silent for a brief spell.