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"I never said I didn’t wish you to dance with him," Lowen countered. "And couples don’t typically dance with one another."

"My parents do." She looked up at him, hopeful, her small smile almost infectious. This was a face that launched ships, but Lowen had never succumbed to such temptations like Paris. His unyielding attitude would have left the Iliad without a story.

“We are not your parents.”

Lowen watched as her face fell, her hand lifting the glass to her mouth without another word. They stood together for a moment, the silence stretching, before Lowen finally stepped aside, allowing Lord Auden to lead her back to the dance floor.

It felt strange, this desire to punish her for no wrongdoings of her own, especially when she was unaware of the possessiveness gnawing at him.

Lowen felt as though he were ill—whether in spirit or mind, he couldn’t say—but perhaps he always had been.

It had been years since he’d felt so uncertain about himself.

He knew this wasn’t how he should be behaving.

After all, he had agreed to marry Helena, accepting her reputation as part of the bargain, yet now he wanted her apologies for her past actions, even as he simultaneously longed for what she had given to others.

He wanted the brightness in her eyes, the soft pinkness in her cheeks—the very same she was giving to Lord Auden now.

Lowen turned his gaze away from the scene, as though he might summon a storm if he lingered too long in those dark thoughts.

Still, he could not help but watch Helena for the rest of the evening, though she was pointedly avoiding him.

He saw her conversing with a few women on the outskirts of the ton’s gathering—women he knew to be undesirable, to say the least. Mistresses, spinsters, social climbers—people his wife should not be entertaining in her newfound position.

It would be wise to nip any hopes they had of using Helena for their own gain.

“Apologies, my ladies,” Lowen said as congenially as possible. “Do you mind if I steal my duchess for a moment?”

“Heavens no, Your Grace!” the women cooed, curtsying as Lowen escorted Helena away.

He could tell his wife was displeased; the faint strain between her brows betrayed it, despite the polite smile she maintained as he approached.

“Are we going out to the lawn?” she asked, her curiosity piqued as they bypassed the dance floor. “The dowager countess mentioned there would be fireworks soon. I’d like to see them.”

Lowen didn’t particularly want to stay, but he would oblige her, if only to hide her away from the undesirable crowd and smooth the furrow in her brow.

At his agreement, Helena seemed to brighten, her fingers tightening around his arm as she followed him through the manor’s double doors. A crowd had already gathered on the freshly clipped grass, but Lowen, eager not to lose her attention again, led her farther away from the others.

Helena frowned. “Why are we so far from everyone?”

“Because we’re leaving after the fireworks, and if we mingle, we’ll be obligated to stay longer,” he replied, deliberately ignoring the pout tugging at her lips.

“I don’t wish to leave. I’m finally enjoying myself.”

Lowen didn’t miss the emphasis on finally. Her misery had been clear in the lackluster smiles she had offered the past few days. But here, she seemed more like herself. “There will be other balls to enjoy.”

“But I still have dances promised,” she protested.

“Make your apologies, and then we’ll leave.”

“You needn’t be jealous,” she sniffed. “I’m married to you, after all.”

Jealousy. How he hated that small, petulant emotion gnawing at him. “I’m not jealous,” the lie tasting bitter on his tongue.

She glanced at him from the corner of her eye, amused. “I only thought that since you’ve whisked me away twice now, it had something to do with a touch of jealousy.”

“Nonsense. You’re my wife, and I can whisk you away whenever I please.”

“You could always dance with me. You’re very skilled, you know.”

Lowen couldn’t help but feel pleased at the unexpected compliment, though his expression remained neutral. “It isn’t proper for a husband and wife to?—”

“To dance together,” Helena interrupted with a droll sigh, finishing his sentence. “Yes, I’ve heard. But then you mustn’t object when other men ask me to.”

Lowen gritted his teeth. If he argued further, there would be no doubt in her mind that he was jealous. “Of course I don’t object,” he lied again.

“Wonderful,” she chirped, tilting her head curiously. “So I can finish the rest of my dances?”

“No. We’re going home,” he reminded her firmly.

“Fine. But first, I must bid my new friends farewell.”

“New friends?” he echoed, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes. The group of women I was speaking with earlier, before you whisked me away.”

“Them?” Lowen sneered in disbelief. “Surely you can’t find more suitable company for someone of your status now?”

Helena shook her head in exasperation. “You’d like them if you only got to know them.”

The first burst of fireworks illuminated the night, abruptly ending their conversation.

Lowen had little interest in the display; he’d seen fireworks countless times before.

Instead, his attention shifted to his petite wife, her head tilted toward the sky.

The vibrant explosion of colors reflected in her eyes, bringing them to life, while the corners of her mouth curved into a dreamy smile.

It was the first time in a long while that he’d seen such a smile from her.