Page 74 of The Earl’s Marriage of Convenience

“Indeed,” she replied. “Though we might say anything at all, and no one would know the difference.”

“Even nothing at all,” he said with a quiet chuckle. “I could recite scripture, if you prefer something more substantial.”

“And I might compose a sonnet in response,” she returned lightly.

“I must confess, I am a terrible poet.”

She glanced heavenward, unable to suppress a laugh. “Then I shall be forced to endure your shortcomings.”

“You would regret it greatly,” he said. “Though perhaps not in the way you intend.”

“And now I am determined to hear it.”

“Another time,” he said. “We have lingered sufficiently.”

He rose and offered his arm.

She accepted it, allowing herself a small, genuine smile as they returned to the path.

For a moment—just a moment—it felt almost real.

Then his arm tightened beneath her hand.

Just slightly.

She followed his gaze.

And felt her composure falter.

“He will want an audience,” Edwin said quietly. “But he will not find us unprepared.”

She nodded once, steadying herself.

There were fewer people here.

Of course.

Langshire had chosen his moment carefully.

He would not create a scene. He would not force her into spectacle.

Even now—he afforded her dignity.

The knowledge struck deeper than she had expected.

As he approached, Edwin spoke first. “Lord Langshire.”

Langshire inclined his head. “Devon.”

Then his gaze shifted—to her.

Eliza saw it clearly.

The hurt.

The restraint.

The understanding.