Page 33 of The Earl’s Marriage of Convenience

“I believe that is true,” she replied.

He studied her, then reached for her hand.

Her breath caught.

He turned her hand slightly in his, his thumb brushing lightly across her fingers as his gaze dropped to where they were joined.

“Lady Eliza…” He hesitated.

Her heart began to pound.

This was it. She held perfectly still, her expression soft, receptive, encouraging—everything it ought to be. He looked up at her again, opened his mouth—

And paused.

“I am very glad for the time we have shared,” he said instead. “Would you do me the honor of riding in Hyde Park in a few days’ time?”

The words landed with quiet weight. Not what she had expected. Not what she had prepared for.

“Yes,” she said after a moment, steadying her voice. “I would be very glad to.”

He released her hand, though not without a trace of reluctance. “Thank you,” he said, his tone almost apologetic.

And then—

The moment was broken.

The butler announced additional callers.

Lord Langshire stepped back at once, composure returning.

“I will call for you tomorrow,” he said, bowing before taking his leave.

Eliza watched him go. Then turned to Pere. Their exchanged glance carried equal parts confusion and concern. There was no time to dwell on it.

Two additional gentlemen required her attention, and she could not afford to neglect them—not now, not when certainty had slipped just beyond her grasp.

She greeted Lord Wakefield and Baron Hoffman with a polite smile and offered tea, but the remainder of the afternoon passed beneath a quiet, persistent unease.

Something had shifted. She could feel it. Her thoughts turned, again and again, to Edwin’s words. Had she been too precise? Too practiced? Had it been visible? Had Lord Langshire hesitated because he had seen it?

The questions circled, refusing to settle.

And for the first time in longer than she cared to admit—

Eliza was no longer certain what her next move ought to be.

Chapter Thirteen

Edwin took the steps two at a time as he returned to Hawthorne House that evening.

He had left his coat behind that morning, and rather than send a servant, he had decided—somewhat impulsively—that retrieving it himself would not be unreasonable. It offered a convenient excuse, one that required no explanation beyond practicality.

At least, that was what he told himself.

The butler opened the door promptly and bowed.

“Would you care to wait in the parlor while I announce you, my lord?”