She lifted her lashes slowly, each delicate beat revealing her gaze until their eyes locked.
The playful smirk she expected was absent; instead, the duke’s eyes darkened with something new, something unspoken. She caught the subtle twitch of his throat as he swallowed, and her own breath hitched.
The space between them thickened, charged with a quiet, irresistible tension that left her senses trembling.
“Ah, that’s much better, lass,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a low, husky timbre. “Ye’re a quick study, Lady Elizabeth. At this rate, ye might be leaving yer teacher far sooner than he expected.”
She gave him a small, almost smug smile, the sensation of accomplishment sparking like fire through her chest. For once, she had the upper hand, and she saw it in the way his gaze lingered, the way his breath hitched.
Triumph was rare in her world, fleeting and fragile, but tonight, she would savor it. Just as she would savor the look that had crossed his face a moment ago.
But before either could speak—before they could push further into this strange and dangerous game—a ripple of laughter echoed nearby. Light, girlish giggles danced through the corridor, growing louder with each step.
Voices. Familiar, chattering, careless.
They were not alone anymore.
“Go, lass,” Alasdair murmured, echoing the words from their very first meeting.
Elizabeth didn’t need to be told twice.
Heart pounding, she turned swiftly on her heel and slipped through the door, the shadows swallowing her before the giggling girls came any closer.
She emerged into the main hall unnoticed—miraculously. The voices had drifted further down the corridor, sparing her from discovery by sheer luck or divine grace.
Her pulse was still racing, every beat a reminder of what had just occurred.
Back in the ballroom, Lady Grisham was mercifully preoccupied, seemingly cornered by two dowagers who had launched into a lengthy dissection of someone’s daughter’s second engagement.
Beside them, Wilhelmina was radiant and animated, effortlessly charming a trio of young gentlemen with one gloved hand perched on her hip and the other gesturing mid-story.
It was the perfect setup.
Elizabeth drifted toward the refreshment table, positioning herself beside the lemon cake. She picked up a plate with studied nonchalance, feigning interest in the dessert as her breathing steadied and the flush in her cheeks faded to something almost manageable.
Inside, however, she still trembled. The sensation under her skin was unfamiliar and exhilarating.
An aftershock of proximity, of possibility. Of being looked at. Really looked at.
No laughter. No pity. For a few minutes, she’d been seen… and not diminished.
She didn’t mistake what the duke had offered her. It wasn’t kindness. It was an opportunity. And she had every intention of seizing it.
Her back straightened as if pulled by a silken thread. Shoulders squared, chin lifted.
When Lady Grisham’s gaze finally flicked her way, Elizabeth stepped forward with practiced ease, as though she’d been standing near the cake all along.
And this time, something shifted.
Eyes turned her way. Not with ridicule, but curiosity. A few appreciative glances. A double take.
It was working.
Let the games begin.
She glided to her stepmother’s side just as Lady Grisham turned to deliver a reprimand, but the marchioness’s tongue stalled.
Wilhelmina was embroiled in a spirited discussion with a young gentleman whose cravat was half-undone and entirely forgotten.