Chapter 10 #2
“I am simply being factual,” she whispered defensively. “You needn’t flatter me for… well, for dancing with me. I know I look perfectly adequate.”
“Adequate,” he repeated, horrified. “My wife believes herself adequate.”
Hazel’s brows pulled together. “Are you… mocking me?”
“Yes,” he said. “And no. Rest assured, I am equally disappointed and personally wounded.”
A surprised laugh escaped her. He wanted to hear more of it, but instead, his voice took on a more serious note.
“I did not offer you a compliment out of politeness. You are radiant tonight… beautiful in every sense.”
She stared at him, stunned and silent, as though she had never once considered that her appearance might inspire sincerity in anyone, let alone her husband.
When she finally found her voice, it was soft. “I… did not expect you to notice.”
His jaw tightened. “I notice a great many things about you.”
The blush that colored her freckles was warm enough to thaw an entire winter.
But Hazel’s brief moment of soft bewilderment passed.
No, it vanished like mist burned away by sunlight.
Greyson watched, both intrigued and faintly irritated, as her spine straightened barely perceptibly and her eyes narrowed with that familiar determination.
Ah. There she is again, composed, stubborn and entirely certain she will reclaim control of the moment.
“I suppose,” she said lightly, “that if you insist on distracting me from my important work—”
“Important work,” he echoed. “At your own wedding ball.”
“Yes, well,” she continued breezily, “chaos does not schedule itself around ceremonial events.”
His mouth twitched. “How inconsiderate of it.”
“I know,” she sighed dramatically. “One would think the universe might give a woman a moment of peace.”
“I suspect,” he said, leaning just slightly closer, “that the universe avoids giving you peace because you would not know what to do with it.”
Her eyes flashed at him in a dare. “Are you implying I thrive on disorder, Your Grace?”
Greyson raised a brow. “I am implying nothing. I am stating that if everything around you grew suddenly calm, you would immediately become suspicious and prepare for battle.”
Hazel scoffed, though the corner of her mouth betrayed her. “I do not prepare for battle.”
“Mhm.”
“I do not.”
He met her gaze evenly. “My dear, you are bracing yourself as we speak.”
She very pointedly relaxed her shoulders. “What on earth are you talking about? I am entirely at ease.”
“Your pulse,” he murmured as his fingers slid down her wrist, gently pressing on the throbbing revelation, “says otherwise.”
Hazel nearly missed a step. “You cannot possibly know my pulse.”
Greyson tilted his head. “I am holding your hand, am I not?”
Her eyes widened and then, to his surprise, she rallied with startling swiftness.
“Well,” she said, regaining her footing with impressive boldness, “if my pulse is elevated, I assure you it is only because you startled me earlier.”
“I startled you,” he repeated flatly.
“Yes.”
“With what? A compliment?”
Her lips thinned. “It was unexpected.”
“Astonishing.”
“Unnecessary.”
“Entirely necessary.”
She glared at him. It was a soft glare, more flustered than furious, but she attempted it nonetheless. “You should not say such things if you do not expect me to question them.”
Greyson gave her a look that might have been called severe if not for the faint, unmistakable warmth beneath it. “If I tell you that you are beautiful, I expect you to accept it.”
“I did accept it.”
“You argued with it,” he corrected.
“I clarified—”
“Mhm.”
Hazel’s cheeks flushed again. “You are impossible.”
“And you,” he returned, “are exasperating.”
“Thank you,” she said sweetly, “I do try.”
He barely stopped himself from laughing. A sound escaped him anyway, akin to something he had forgotten how to produce. Hazel’s eyes widened at the unfamiliar noise. Apparently, she had not expected him to laugh either.
For a dangerous, breathless moment, they simply looked at each other, suspended between irritation and something far warmer. He should not want to pull her closer. She should not be smiling at him like that.
They both seemed to remember this at the same time.
Hazel cleared her throat, looking away as though the chandeliers had suddenly become riveting. “Regardless,” she said, “I am perfectly calm now. I appreciate your… attempt at distraction.”
“Attempt?” he echoed, lifting an amused eyebrow.
“Yes,” she said primly. “Though I will admit, it has been moderately effective.”
“Moderately.”
“Moderately,” she repeated, nodding as though delivering a grave assessment.
“Well then,” he murmured, leaning slightly closer, “perhaps I ought to try harder.”
Hazel’s breath caught. He felt it in the hand he held, but she recovered with admirable speed.
“You needn’t trouble yourself. I assure you, I am not so easily swayed.”
Greyson’s mouth curved in a slow, deliberate smile. “We shall see.”
Hazel’s answering glare was half challenge, half invitation, and entirely intoxicating.