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I could look like that,she was clearly thinking.I could marry a duke and skip through the world confidently. I could do it.

Stephen glanced back over his shoulder and saw Beatrice following him closely, unaware of the hungry, envious gazes swiveling her way.

I am jealous,Stephen admitted to himself with a juddering rush.I don’t want to share her.

“We can stay if you like,” he said, once they made it out of the crush of the ballroom and into the cool, empty foyer. “I suppose I will have to clench my jaw and allow other men to dance with you.”

Beatrice shot him a quick, searching look. He’d gone too far, spoken too freely. Like arealhusband.

“I don’t mind leaving,” she said, at last. “I can scarcely breathe in there, anyway.”

He gave a nod.

Reaching over the refreshments table and winking at a baffled-looking footman, Stephen picked up an entire bottle of champagne, took Beatrice’s hand, and they stepped out into the night.

The cool night air was delightful after the sticky heat of the ballroom. Tomorrow, the scandal sheets would have a field day. They’d write about Stephen and Beatrice’s unexpected arrival, her scandalous dress, her laughter, their single dance, and sudden departure, hand in hand. The ton would be confused—were they fond of each other or not?

“It always confuses them when people do not stay in their assigned boxes,” Stephen said aloud.

Beatrice shot him a quizzical look. “Whatareyou talking about?”

“It hardly matters.” Stephen popped the champagne bottle open, careful not to waste too much foam, and handed it to Beatrice. “Ladies first.”

She blinked at the bottle. “We didn’t pick up glasses.”

“Hm. A conundrum. Still, a clever lady like you can surely figure it out.”

Beatrice rolled her eyes at him, then lifted the bottle to her lips and drank deeply.

It was an image that would have delivered swift apoplexy to any member of the ton—a lady, walking in the dark, drinking from a bottle of champagne. The motion, too, was rather… well, it was suggestive, bringing certain images to Stephen’s mind, of Beatrice’s full lips wrapped around other things.

Stop it!

The stuff revolutions were made of.

She handed the bottle to him, and he took a long swig.

“Thank you for taking me out tonight,” she said abruptly. “I didn’t mean to be so unkind to you earlier, you know. I remember our agreement and our rules, but… well, it was rather hard to read all those pitying articles about me in the scandal sheets. As if I was some poor, little, neglected maiden, weeping and alone, rather than a grown woman of middling intellect, who’d entered into a marriage with her eyes open.”

“Middling intellect? You are too modest, my dear.”

She rolled her eyes at him, taking back the champagne bottle. “Would you mind if we walked a little before getting back in the carriage? The fresh night air is the first thing that’s eased my headache all day.”

“Hangover,” he corrected. “Andthatcertainly won’t help,” he added, nodding towards the champagne bottle.

She ignored him. Or tried to, at least.

“The stars are so beautiful,” she remarked, tilting her head back to avoid his stare. He wished she would meet his eyes. “I wish I could study astronomy.”

“It’s a fascinating field. For me, though, I think that what makes the stars beautiful is the people talking about them.”

Stephen wasn’t entirely sure what had made him say that, and his heart hammered at his own words.

What are you doing, man? What are you doing?

“I knew you loved astronomy,” Beatrice said, half to herself. “It’s a very singular pursuit, though. I assume that’s why you keep your observatory locked.”

He glanced sharply at her. “I do hope you haven’t gone in.”