Page 11 of The Earl’s Marriage of Convenience

She accepted the new dance partner’s hand and quickly evaluated how best to gain his interest.

It was a game, one that was higher stakes than she’d like to remember, but it was necessary, and she reminded herself of that truth when she felt the weight of her duplicity threaten to choke her.

She had no other options.

It wasn’t preference.

It was survival.

When there was a break in the dancing, Gabriel met her at the dance floor and offered her a glass of lemonade. “You certainly must need this. I’m shocked not one of your swains offered,” he said with a dry humor.

She quickly took a long sip. “They did, but I didn’t have a break between the dancing, and I didn’t want to disappoint anyone by declining an arranged dance.”

“I see.” He lingered a moment then whispered, “Are you at least enjoying yourself?”

Eliza took a slow sip of lemonade; she was indeed thirsty. “I’m not here to enjoy myself, my lord,” she answered after a moment, then turned to face him. “But my … previous anxiety has diminished, which is very welcome.” She gave a dry laugh, soft and cautious.

It was a fragile thing, hope.

“I’m not far if you need me,” Gabriel murmured and then stepped back.

Eliza shifted and offered a welcoming smile to her next dance partner.

As he led her onto the dance floor, she considered her earlier thought.

Yes, hope was dangerous.

But the truth was far more threatening.

Chapter Five

As the waltz began, Edwin felt a sharp smack between his shoulders from his brother. Shooting him a sarcastic glare, he adjusted his cuffs and made his way toward the wallflower kingdom.

Lady Molly Humsford watched his approach with calm interest, though just a hint of hope betrayed her—the slight tension in her shoulders easing as he offered his hand. Her cheeks pinkened as she accepted, and she followed him onto the dance floor.

He settled his hand at her waist and guided them into the throng of dancers.

“Lady Molly, I hope you are enjoying your evening,” he said, aiming for a tone both light and reassuring.

She looked at him over the rim of her spectacles and gave a soft smile. “It is certainly improving.”

“I am glad to hear it. May I make the assumption that I am, in some measure, responsible for that improvement?”

She gave a quiet little laugh. “You may make the assumption. However, I am equally entitled not to confirm it.”

One corner of his mouth lifted into a practiced smile as his gaze dipped—briefly, deliberately—to her lips before returning to her eyes, then drifting away again, as though the interest were unintentional. Though, he noted with mild surprise, she possessed more wit than he had anticipated. A boon, to be sure.

“And how is your family faring?” he asked, moving easily into safer conversational ground.

He had, after all, prepared for this—mentally catalogued acceptable topics for ladies who struggled to sustain conversation.

“My family is well,” she replied. “Though Papa is already in a temper over some matter in the House of Lords. But then, it would hardly be a season if there were not some political issue to occupy him.” She tilted her head slightly. “Tell me, my lord—do you find the responsibilities of your seat taxing? Or do you prefer to avoid the political sphere?”

Edwin arched a brow, surprised. He could not recall ever having discussed politics with a lady before. It was not unwelcome—merely … unexpected.

“I invest my time where I see the greatest benefit,” he said. “Most men arrive in the house with their opinions firmly set. I am unlikely to alter convictions formed over a lifetime. So I focus my efforts where they are of greater consequence—namely, my family.” He almost stumbled over the word. Wasn’t his family and his efforts the reason he had exiled himself? He soldiered on, avoiding the landmine of a thought. “I fulfill my duties, of course, but I am not overly engaged in the political atmosphere of London.

“And you, Lady Molly—do you find politics fascinating?”