Page 95 of The Earl’s Marriage of Convenience

Might be calling to him as well.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Edwin sat in his study the following morning, replaying the events of the previous evening with a focus he could neither resist nor quite justify. It was only after several minutes, perhaps longer, that he became aware of the expression fixed upon his face.

He was smiling.

Not faintly, nor with the polite ease he had long perfected for society, but fully—openly—in a way that felt entirely unguarded. He lifted a hand, brushing his fingers across his mouth as though he might physically remove the expression, but it returned at once, unbidden and entirely beyond his control. He let out a quiet breath, something between disbelief and reluctant amusement.

So this was what it felt like. He leaned back slightly in his chair, allowing the memory to settle more fully. The proposal had gone precisely as he had hoped—and yet, in ways he had not anticipated, it had become something more.

She had understood.

Not merely the words, nor the structure of what he offered, but the intention behind it—the respect, the consideration, the choice he had deliberately placed before her.

And she had valued it.

That realization lingered, deeper than satisfaction, more personal than success.

He had given her something she needed—something she had not even known to expect—and had done so instinctively. Not calculated. Not rehearsed. Simply known.

That unsettled him yet also settled within him. Because he had spent years mastering anticipation—reading people, predicting outcomes, shaping circumstances to his advantage.

But this was different. This was not advantage. This was alignment. And she had chosen him.

He had not truly expected otherwise, not once the path had been set, but expectation and reality were not the same thing. To hear her say the words, to see it reflected in her expression before she even spoke, had carried a weight he had not prepared for. She had not hesitated. Not truly.

She had only taken a second to feel it. To understand it.

And he had found, to his own quiet astonishment, that he had wanted her to take that moment.

Wanted her to choose it fully. And then the kiss. He closed his eyes briefly, exhaling through a faint smile that returned before he could stop it. She had expected it. Wanted it. Returned it.

For the first time—without qualification, without hesitation—he allowed the thought to form clearly. This was no longer strategy. He opened his eyes again, the comprehension settling with a quiet, undeniable certainty.

It was something more.

He did not yet know what to call it. Did not yet attempt to define it.

But it was more.

And he found, rather surprisingly, that he was pleased by that. How often, in his life, had outcomes fallen short of expectation? How often had he calculated, adjusted, anticipated—only to receive something lesser in return? And now—he had been given more.

He shook his head slightly, gathering a stack of papers upon his desk if only to occupy his hands, when the door opened and his butler entered. The man’s expression—hesitant, uncertain—was one Edwin recognized at once. It stirred an immediate sense of familiarity.

“That cannot be a good look,” Edwin said dryly. “Tell me—does this concern Lord Carver?”

The butler hesitated, only briefly, but long enough.

Edwin’s brows lifted slightly. “Well,” he said, almost to himself. “That is unfortunate timing.” He had anticipated this, of course.

He and Hawthorne had already seen to the necessary precautions. Documentation had been secured—records verified—every detail aligned to support Eliza’s standing beyond question.

If it had not been completed the night before, it would be by now.

Every account reinforced.

Every gap closed. Carver, however, did not know that.