Page 80 of The Earl’s Marriage of Convenience

Humford held his gaze.

A long moment passed.

Then—slowly—he inclined his head. “Very well.” He turned to go—then paused. “One thing more, Lord Devon.”

Edwin waited.

“If I hear even a whisper that my daughter’s name has been drawn into speculation—” His voice did not rise.

It did not need to.

“I will not be inclined toward such understanding a second time.”

Edwin met his gaze. “You have my word.”

Humford studied him once more.

Then, with a brief bow, he took his leave.

Only when the sound of his footsteps faded did Edwin release the breath he had been holding.

His shoulders lowered slightly.

That had not been agreement.

Not entirely.

But it had been something far more valuable.

Permission.

Lord Humford would speak—and when he did, it would be with authority. With certainty. With the quiet assurance of a father determined to preserve his daughter’s reputation above all else.

Edwin let out a soft, almost incredulous breath of amusement.

Who would have thought?

The clock in the hall chimed six, alerting him it was time to leave. As his carriage carried him toward Hawthorne House, Edwin found his thoughts circling—not around the conversation he had just concluded, but around the events of the day. Around Eliza. Like a litany, the earlier events of yesterday danced past his mind’s eye.

The waltz.

The promenade.

The way everything had unfolded with such … precision. Too much precision, perhaps. It was working. Almost too well. Then, unbidden, the memory of the kiss returned full force. Both kisses, if he were being honest.

He pushed the thought away at once. There would be time for that later. There were more pressing matters now. When he arrived, the door was opened before he could knock.

Hawthorne himself met him in the hall. “Eliza tells me your outing was successful,” he said.

“Was that her word?” Edwin asked with a faint smile. “Successful?”

Hawthorne lifted a brow. “No. I believe that was my wife’s interpretation.” A pause. “And why should it matter to you?” There was an edge beneath the words.

Edwin noted it immediately. “And why are you so ill tempered this evening?” Edwin returned lightly, though he did not entirely miss the tension beneath it.

“Because you are marrying my sister,” Hawthorne said plainly. “And the two of you appear to be treating it like a strategic exercise. Like a game of chess.” His gaze sharpened. “It is less than ideal.”

Edwin stilled. “I understand,” he said after a moment. “And I will not pretend that this resembles your own marriage. But we are well matched. And I would go so far as to say we are friends.” A faint pause. “Some marriages begin with far less.”