He could feel her waiting, and he could feel himself failing.
He should look at her. It was a small thing, free of charge. He could not seem to do it. Something in him misread her dress as danger. He had not meant to. He had thought it would make the evening easier. He had not thought thatbeautymight make him stupid.
“I do not mean to scold,” he said, “But it would be… beneficial… if you are spoken of well.”
“By gardeners,” she said, and this time her mouth did smile.
He wanted to say, By anyone who has the sense to notice you are trying. He said, “Yes,” instead.
Charity reappeared with two small plates, presenting one to Maria. “Your Grace, may I tempt you?”
“Another time,” Stephen said.
“It melts now,” Charity blinked.
“I am…” Stephen groped for a word. “I should make a circuit. You are well?”
Maria’s lashes dipped, lifted. “I am… managing.”
That word landed; he felt it in his chest like a hand put there to steady him. It should have been permission to lift his head. Instead, he nodded again, formal to the point of foolishness. “Very good. I shall return.”
He stepped back. Maria’s expression did not change, but Charity’s confusion hardened into something protective.
“Your Grace,” Charity said sweetly, and waited just long enough to make the title a question.
Stephen heard the question. He also heard the answer he could not yet say:You look…No. Not here. Not in a room that would burn it for fuel. He bowed the correct inch and escaped into the nearer crowd.
He made it three paces before his better sense caught up and tapped his shoulder. Idiot. You could have met her eyes for the price of looking. You could have said, “The dress is perfect.” You could have said, “You are.”
He stopped beside a pillar and looked back. Maria had accepted the spoon from Charity and was listening to something her friend said. She laughed, small, quick. The knot of worry in his stomach loosened and then tightened again.
Go back, he told himself.
Not yet, the other, more cowardly part of him answered. You will only make it worse if you cannot look at her like a man whose wife looks like that.
He did not move.
CHAPTER 20
Charity waited until Stephen was out of earshot and then turned on Maria, gentle but frank. “What was that?” “I do not know,” Maria said softly. “He would not look at me.”
“Because you look like that,” Charity muttered, scandalized on Maria’s behalf.
“Do not start,” Maria said, flustered.
“Why can’t you simply accept that he is attracted to you?”
“Because the thought is absurd,” Maria whispered. “Why should he be?”
“Because you are his wife,” Charity stared.
“Ours was a marriage of convenience,” Maria said quickly.
“And?” Charity lifted a brow. “Do you imagine convenience bars the door against feeling? Half the marriages in this room began as arrangements and then wandered into affection when no one was looking.”
Maria shook her head. “That is a lovely story for a book.”
“It is a common story for life,” Charity countered. “He looks at you as if the room has started making sense. That is not convenient.”