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Marianne glanced between them, torn. Linpool’s attention to Elizabeth unsettled her, but so did the fierce tension radiating from Dominic. That he had come so quickly, so abruptly, simply because of this man…

It thrilled her. Alarmed her. Confused her.

Dominic’s hand was still on her waist, and his silence felt louder than words.

“Linpool,” he uttered again, his voice low and sharp—a warning, no question about it.

The two men stood eye to eye. Dominic was rigid with fury, while Linpool appeared calm and unaffected.

But was he?

His smile remained, yet his eyes were colder now. Calculating. And in Dominic’s eyes burned something darker—challenge, fury, perhaps even jealousy.

Marianne’s heart sped up. Something unspoken but palpable hid between them, threading tension between civility and confrontation.

Some people in the ton had history—tangled, old stories that rarely surfaced but lingered in glances and clipped greetings.

Marianne, who had barely participated during her Seasons, was mostly unaware of such undercurrents. She had always been content to let herself fade into the background, to be overlooked, almost deliberately. It had once seemed easier to become a spinster than play her father’s game.

“You may not like me, Your Grace,” Linpool said smoothly, “but your Duchess is certainly captivating. I believe you’d do well not to stray too far from her side. I’m quite overwhelmed by how diverting her company is.”

Diverting? Hmm.

Marianne forced a polite smile, choosing the only acceptable response. “You’re too kind, my lord.”

Before the situation could devolve further, another person joined them—Lord Grisham. His cane sharply struck the stone path as he approached, the sound cutting through the garden’s calm like a blade.

Marianne tensed. She was acutely aware of where they stood: in the garden, surrounded by members of the ton.

Exposed. Observed. A petri dish of gossip.

She shouldn’t care. But something about this moment felt more precarious than usual.

No. She was imagining it. Linpool was just being friendly. A little too friendly, perhaps. Dominic was simply reacting to that.

And her father? He saw an opportunity. It was the same old game—titles, wealth, usefulness.

Lord Grisham looked as sharp as ever, though he was greying faster these days. His expression was impassive, his hair meticulously combed back. But his eyes darted from Linpool to Dominic to Elizabeth and back again. He was calculating, plotting.

Marianne knew that look all too well.

“Ah, my dear daughters,” he announced, his voice full of faux enthusiasm. “I see you’ve been enjoying Lord Linpool’s company. I’ve known the man for years—one of the most charming fellows I know.”

He clapped the Viscount on the back, then offered a civil nod to Dominic.

Marianne recognized the gesture for what it was: a calculated balance. Her father could not afford to offend the Duke of Oakmere, no matter how chummy he acted with Linpool.

“I’m glad you’ve joined us, Your Grace,” Linpool said, seemingly unbothered. “I was just telling your lovely wife how delightful our conversation had been.” He turned to Marianne. “Did you know, Your Grace, that I knew your husband when he was younger?”

The pressure around her waist increased. Dominic’s hand remained in place—unyielding, possessive. He vibrated with tension, and she could no longer bear the performance.

This gathering, this garden party, had become a battlefield of veiled insults and unspoken truths.

What is happening?

Elizabeth merely arched an eyebrow, her gaze flicking to the hand on her sister’s waist. Dominic didn’t seem to notice. His jaw was tense, his eyes trained on the Viscount.

History. There was history here.

Another mystery for Marianne to uncover, like the locked west wing.

“We should join the other ladies,” she blurted, lying through her teeth.

She had no desire to mingle with most of the women present, and Elizabeth detested confrontation even more than she did. Still, her sister caught on quickly and offered no objection.

“Oh, what a lovely idea,” Linpool said cheerfully. “They should see how gracious and charming you both are. If they feel jealous… well, let them.”

“I don’t care what they think,” Marianne replied, sincere this time.

There was a period in her life when she did care. But lately, she’d realized how little people’s opinions mattered. There was a strange advantage to having been raised by Lord Grisham: no one else could rattle them like he could.

Except her husband.

Dominic troubled her in an entirely different way.

Once they were finally out of earshot, Elizabeth released a sigh and said with a mischievous smile, “Do you not see it? The Duke is possessive of you, Marianne. Like a lion guarding his mate.”

“A lion?” Marianne laughed. “Lions have several mates, Lizzie.”

“Still,” Elizabeth said, amused, “he is like a lion. The way he looked at Linpool—he was ready to pounce.”

Marianne thought about the heat of his hand, the storm in his eyes. She caught Elizabeth watching her closely, as if trying to decipher something unspoken.

“I feel like he was threatened,” Elizabeth added softly. “Threatened enough to come closer to you. I have never seen him so… expressive . Is he always like that?”

“Why would he be threatened by Lord Linpool?” Marianne asked, though her pulse quickened. “He had no reason to be. We have a business arrangement. Apologies— he and Father had a business arrangement. Sometimes I forget I’m just a powerless woman in all of this.”

Elizabeth’s face clouded over. “Hmm. You may be right.” Her voice was quiet. Resigned.

Marianne hated to hear it. She had come to London to be with Elizabeth. Not for Linpool’s antics, and certainly not for Dominic’s dark, brooding jealousy.

And yet, for the first time in a long while, she found herself wondering what it meant to be wanted .

And what Dominic might be hiding behind that simmering silence.

Back in their London townhouse, Marianne finally found an opportunity to speak to her husband.

The evening had turned cold, and the shadows in the sitting room felt darker, heavier—like they were sinking into the corners.

Perhaps it was only her imagination. Or perhaps it was the fact that Dominic still seemed so tightly wound.

She sat near the hearth, slowly pulling off her gloves and setting them aside with care. Her skin welcomed the warmth of the fire. Dominic sat across from her—a surprise—but his thoughts were clearly elsewhere.

The room was quiet except for the crackle of the fire. The silence wrapped itself around her like a shroud. She wanted to rip it away, to cut through the tension that had begun to feel suffocating.

“Why were you cold to Lord Linpool?” she asked evenly, though exasperation prickled beneath her skin. She kept her voice low, controlled. If she raised it, she feared she might push him away completely. “You were nearly rude.”

He blinked as if startled by the question. “What do you mean?”

She tilted her head, watching him carefully. “You approached just as he joined us. You’d been engaged in other conversations all evening until he arrived. Then, you stepped so close to me that it bordered on inappropriate. Perhaps it was inappropriate.”

“I am your husband, Marianne,” Dominic said, his tone clipped.

His eyes widened slightly, as if the fact alone ought to end the discussion. It felt like a warning—but not one that scared her. She never feared him.

“Apparently, neither of us knows how to behave as spouses—in public or in private.”

Her words made him shift, his jaw twitching.

“Were you trying to be protective?” she asked more softly now. “Do you think he’s dangerous?”

“He’s a flirt. That much is obvious to everyone,” Dominic replied coldly. “But no, I wasn’t being protective.”

Their eyes met. There was a current between them she couldn’t name, a silent conversation she didn’t know how to translate. It left her both confused and—somehow—strangely aware.

She was losing her mind. That was the only explanation.

Her father had always been predictable. Even Victoria was easier to understand than the man seated across from her.

“I must be going mad,” she murmured. “Tell me I’m wrong. But I thought you looked jealous .”

Her heart thundered as the words slipped out. Her palms grew clammy. She had asked the question. Now, she had to hear the answer.

“I am not jealous,” Dominic insisted, his eyes flashing.

There was anger in his gaze, but something else too—something she couldn’t quite catch before it vanished.

“Very well,” she said lightly, trying to disguise her disappointment. “Then tell me, what was that about?”

Dominic leaned back, his shoulders sagging slightly as he stared up at the ceiling like it might hold the answers he didn’t want to give.

“I don’t trust him,” he muttered finally, the words clipped but honest.

She believed him. This time, she heard the truth in it.

“Why?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

He didn’t meet her eyes. His gaze remained fixed on some invisible memory playing above them, like a scene from a long-buried past.

“He wasn’t lying—he does know me from before. We were younger, back then. Not quite a decade apart. But even then, I knew what kind of man he was.”

“Because he flirts?” she asked. “That’s hardly a crime. Do you think I’m so easily swayed?”

“I never said that,” he pointed out.

“I’m not your little doe, Dominic. I can defend myself. I can warn Elizabeth if I think she is at risk.”

At that, something dark flickered in his expression.

“No. It’s you he’ll linger near. Something about you will keep him returning,” he said, his voice low. “I don’t like it .”

“And yet you’re not jealous?” she teased, trying to ease the tension between them.

Sometimes she felt that he was the frightened one and she had to step carefully, lest he retreat again.

“I am not jealous,” he growled.

But then he stood up abruptly, breaking the fragile moment. He paced the room, his hands on his hips, his head bowed.

“I don’t trust him,” he repeated. “And I have reason not to. I want you to believe me when I say that. I don’t like him being near you—using his charm on you.”

“Dominic,” she said firmly, “we may not have married for love, but I have honor. I agreed to this arrangement. I won’t betray it. I won’t betray you , no matter how flimsy the vows may seem to you.”

Her voice was quiet but charged. She meant what she had said. Her father had never taught her honor—he had taught her fear and manipulation. But she’d carved out her own values in defiance of him.

Dominic didn’t answer, but something in his posture changed. His jaw relaxed. His eyes, when he finally looked at her, had softened.

And still, he left the room.