Page 91 of The Earl’s Marriage of Convenience

Edwin stood just beyond the reach of the lantern light, his expression easy, though there was something beneath it—something more focused, more intent than she had come to expect. He stepped forward, offering his hand.

“Lord Devon,” she replied, placing her gloved fingers in his.

The contact was brief. It should have been unremarkable. And yet she noticed it. He offered his arm, and she took it. Without thinking. That, more than anything, gave her pause.

“We could not have chosen a more effective setting,” she said lightly as they began to walk, her gaze moving—not idly, but with purpose—across the gathered crowd.

Already she noted the clusters that would matter.

The observers.

The speakers.

The ones who would carry the evening forward into tomorrow’s conversation.

“Visibility,” Edwin agreed. “And a certain … romance,” he added, almost as an afterthought.

She glanced at him then. “An advantage, if properly applied,” she replied.

He smiled—though it was not quite his usual expression.

There was something quieter in it. Less performative.

“Of course,” he said.

They moved further into the gardens, the press of the crowd tightening slightly as the light grew warmer, the music louder, the atmosphere more charged with energy that felt—not entirely controlled. Eliza was accustomed to navigating society with precision.

Every glance placed.

Every word measured.

Every movement intentional.

And yet as she walked beside him now, she became aware of something she could not quite categorize. It was easier. Conversation required less thought. Proximity felt less deliberate. The subtle adjustments she would normally make—she did not. She noticed it. And, more unsettling still, she did not immediately correct it.

Her gaze shifted briefly, catching a familiar figure at the edge of the crowd.

Lord Carver. Watching.

Of course.

The awareness settled—not sharply, not with alarm, but with a quiet certainty that he had not yet finished whatever design he believed himself capable of executing.

Her hand tightened, almost imperceptibly, on Edwin’s arm.

He felt it. She knew he did because his hand shifted—just slightly—covering hers. Not drawing attention. Not overt. But steady. She did not look at him.

“Still watching,” she said softly.

“Yes,” he replied.

No concern. No urgency. Only acknowledgment.

They continued forward.

And as the music swelled and the lanterns flickered brighter overhead, Eliza became aware of something else entirely—something far less easily dismissed.

She was not thinking about what came next. Not calculating the next conversation.