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“You seem to know what to say.” She nibbled on her bottom lip, a small, unconscious gesture that drew his gaze before he could stop it. “What to do.”

“I have had a great deal of practice appearing composed,” he said, with a self-mocking tilt of his head.

She considered that, her brow furrowing slightly. “You told me something like that in the garden.”

“It remains true.”

His thumb moved once over her fingers, slow and light. He could have left it there, content with the small, stolen warmth, but she had asked him an honest question, and she had asked it with her eyes wide and searching. He wanted her to know him well enough to believe the answer.

“I was uncertain whether to ask you to dance,” he admitted, his voice low. “I wanted to, and I was afraid you might think I had forgotten what you told me about being uncomfortable in company.”

“You let me choose,” she said, her gaze softening.

“Yes.”

She looked toward the drawing room, where someone was requesting another tune, the sound muffled and cheerful. “I am glad you asked,” she said quietly.

Julian drew a breath, and felt it tremble faintly at the end. He had endured land negotiations with less concern than a few minutes of dancing, and he had never once felt his pulse hammer in his throat over a signature.

“There is something else I should like to ask.” Elizabeth turned back to him, her expression attentive and a little wary, her fingers tightening almost imperceptibly around his. “Will you say my name?”

Color warmed her cheeks, a soft rose rising from her collar. For a moment, she studied him as though he had offered something she wasn’t sure she should accept, her lips parting slightly as her eyes searched his face. “Julian,” she said at last.

He had heard his name spoken affectionately, impatiently, and with considerable disapproval. He had never heard it quite like that, low and shy and a little wondering. As though she were testing its shape. It slid into his chest and lodged there, warm and astonishing.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice rougher than he intended. They had discussed using their given names in the summerhouse, but neither of them had done so yet. He found himself craving hearing his name from her lips.

Her smile grew, bright and tender, and she lifted her chin. “It was my pleasure.”

He stepped nearer, leaving enough space between them to remember the open door, though every nerve in his body protested the distance. “Elizabeth.”

She glanced toward the passage, then back at him, her eyes dancing and her cheeks flushed. “You must not say my name quite that way when other people are listening.”

“What way?” he asked, deliberately innocent.

Her expression told him she knew he understood, and the knowing curve of her mouth nearly undid him. He smiled, but keeping his hands from touching her face took considerable effort, and he curled his free hand into a fist at his side. “I shall do my best.”

She looked down at their hands, her smile fading into something quieter. “We have only two evenings left after tonight.”

He had been counting them too. Hearing the number in her soft, slightly sad voice made the approaching departure feel much less acceptable, and a small, hollow ache opened beneath his ribs. “I know,” he said.

“I keep forgetting,” she said, her fingers tightening on his. “Then someone speaks of leaving, and I remember.”

He lifted her hand and held it in his, cradling it between his palms as though it might break.

“I meant what I said this morning. I shall call upon you.”

“Yes.” Her fingers curled gently against his, and she let out a slow, shaky breath. “I am looking forward to it.”

The simple admission pleased him more than any practiced flirtation could, a deep, glad warmth spreading through his chest. He wanted to tell her how often she had occupied his thoughts, how readily he had begun considering all the places he might take her in London: the opera, the park at dawn, a quiet bookshop in the rain. The words crowded his throat, and he swallowed them back.

He settled upon something he could offer now. “Before we leave, will you walk with me once more after the house is quiet?” Her eyes widened a little, and her lips parted. He saw the question forming, the small, anxious crease between her brows, and he answered before she had to struggle. “In the garden. I should like a little time with you without waiting to be called back.”

She was silent for a moment, her gaze fixed on their joined hands. From the drawing room came the scrape of a chair, followed by Lady Wetherby’s laugh, high and carrying. Julian held very still, aware of every second.

“At the gate?” Elizabeth asked, so softly he nearly missed it.

“If that would please you,” he said.