Chapter 6 #2
She lifted her chin slightly, eyes narrowing. “And might I ask, Your Grace, how exactly you happened upon us this afternoon?”
Heath’s smirk did not waver. “Might you? Indeed. But whether my answer satisfies, that is another matter entirely.”
Blanche inhaled, leveling him with an expectant stare. “Then I shall insist upon satisfaction.”
Before Heath could reply, Lady Gooldwer intervened with a delighted laugh. “Oh, Blanche, must you interrogate the poor man so? He has simply graced us with his company—how fortunate we are!”
Blanche bit back a sigh, fingers tightening subtly around the book in her lap. The novel’s hero—the untouchable, unreadable duke—lingered in her thoughts, his features blurring and reshaping into the man now standing before her.
“Might I join your stroll?” Heath offered his arm, gaze steady, expectant.
Her pulse stuttered.
Lady Gooldwer beamed before Blanche could respond, taking Fanny’s arm swiftly. “Oh, what a splendid idea! You and Blanche surely have much to discuss.”
Fanny cast Blanche a knowing glance, but Blanche was too distracted by the weight of the book in her hands, by the warmth curling at the edges of her thoughts.
Swallowing her nerves, Blanche accepted.
She hesitated only a breath before looping her gloved fingers through the offered arm of the Duke. The fabric of his coat was smooth beneath her touch, finely tailored, impeccably fitted—a stark contrast to the quiet tension humming beneath her skin.
He did not press closer, nor did he tighten his hold, yet his presence alone seemed to command her awareness in a way she had never quite experienced.
Her gaze flickered briefly over the sharp lines of his profile, the calm confidence in his stride, and the effortless grace with which he moved. There was nothing hurried, nothing uncertain—only the quiet assurance of a man entirely accustomed to command.
And for the first time, she wondered—just for a fleeting moment—what it would feel like if the barrier of fabric between them were gone.
What would it be like if his warmth met mine?
The thought curled through her, delicate, unbidden, before she quickly cast it aside.
Yet her fingers remained where they were, lightly pressed to his arm, steady despite the errant thoughts that had dared to take root.
Mother thinks her prayers answered, Blanche mused. This will fuel endless gossip.
Yet Heath seemed unconcerned, his casual confidence steadying her. Studying his profile, she recalled her earlier fantasy—Heath’s lips trailing her body as she explored newfound passions.
I shouldn’t be imagining this. Not with him…
“Penny for your thoughts?” Heath inquired.
“Just wondering what rumors this stroll will spawn.”
“Do you relish being in the public eye?” Heath looked curious about it.
“Not at all. Though Mother clearly does.” They watched Lady Gooldwer bask in attention.
“You differ greatly.”
“Indeed.” Heath seemed untroubled by this as Blanche studied him anew.
My betrothed. Soon I’ll wed this man!
“Enjoying the view?” he teased.
“Adjusting to the idea,” she deflected.
“Of what?”
“Being your wife.”
“I eagerly await it,” he said in a tone that piqued her curiosity.
“Are you… excited to wed me, Your Grace?”
“In several respects, yes.” His smoldering look reminded her vividly of her literary heroes.
The Duke’s gaze burned with quiet intensity—a man who had spent too long in the shadows, now drawn to her warmth like the first touch of sunlight after a bitter winter. He watched her as though she were something rare, something undeniable, something he was not yet ready to lose.
“I wonder,” Heath murmured, leading her down a secluded tree-lined path. “Do you understand what’s expected of a bride on her wedding night?”
The question startled her. Fortunately, they’d moved beyond the earshot of others.
“Doesn’t every educated person know what occurs between spouses?”
“Has your mother explained it?”
“Of course. I know my duty is to provide heirs.”
“I speak of the act itself,” he said, his fingers tracing her gloved hand, sparking tingles even through silk.
Blanche suddenly understood—Heath was pushing boundaries she had no actual intention of resisting.
She shouldn’t want this to be anything more than a marriage of convenience. She shouldn’t want him… his eyes… the way he smells…. And yet…
“Mother has said little of… marital relations,” she admitted, voice softer than intended. “But I’ve read enough books to—”
“Hold on.” His gaze sharpened with amusement. “Are those the scandalous books your sister was referring to?”
Heat rose to her cheeks, though she lifted her chin, refusing to shrink beneath his scrutiny.
“I enjoy literature,” she hedged. Then, after a brief pause, she confessed, “Particularly romance. The stories where…”
Heath watched her, a slow smirk pulling at the edges of his lips, as though he already knew the ending of her sentence.
His stare unsettled her in ways she could not quite name.
She swallowed, willing composure back into her voice. “Where the hero proves himself worthy of his beloved.”
Heath hummed, thoughtful. “And do you believe such men exist?”
Blanche opened her mouth—then stopped.
Do I?
Her father had abandoned them. The ton’s men whispered sweet nothings while scheming behind pretty facades. And Heath—Heath was an enigma. He had proposed to her, pursued her, yet she still could not fathom his true intentions.
Still, she could not bring herself to answer honestly.
Instead, she changed course. “I believe the notion makes for a captivating story.”
His gaze lingered on her, unreadable, before flickering briefly past her shoulder.
Fanny and Lady Gooldwer had wandered some distance ahead, now engaged in lively conversation with passing acquaintances. They hardly noticed Blanche and Heath lingering behind.
“You continue to intrigue me, Lady Blanche.” His voice was low, amused.
They strolled along the path, the lively chatter of others drifting around them.
Then, as if drawn by instinct rather than intention, Heath veered slightly, guiding her toward a more secluded stretch of the park—a quiet alcove where the trees cast longer shadows, muffling the sounds beyond.
Blanche’s pulse faltered.
“A quieter part?” she echoed, wary.
“You enjoy romance, do you not? Let us indulge in the notion of a private stroll, then.”
Blanche hesitated—but only for a breath.
Excitement prickled beneath her nervousness, curling at the edges of her thoughts.
She was not simply speaking with the Duke of Woodrey. She was walking with her future husband.
His smirk deepened.
And with quiet deliberation, Heath led her away, toward the winding path where no curious eyes could interrupt.