Page 32 of The Wallflower’s Great Escape (The Wallflowers’ Revolt #1)

J ason cut into his lamb with undue precision, though he scarcely tasted it.

Across the table, Georgie sat perfectly still, her hands folded primly in her lap, her eyes on her plate, though she had barely touched a bite.

For once, he found himself at a loss for words.

For nights now, they had fallen into an easy rhythm.

Dinner, sometimes followed by a quiet game of chess or cards. Other times simply sitting in companionable silence, both of them reading by the fire, the air between them warmer than it had any right to be.

By the fourth evening, he realized he’d begun to look forward to it.

He’d found himself watching her mouth curve faintly when she took his rook. Noticing the way her lashes caught the candlelight when she looked down at her book. The quiet sound of her laugh when he muttered something sardonic about Parliament.

He’d begun to crave it.

He hadn’t tried to touch her again—not even a kiss.

He was waiting for a sign. From her. And not just a flutter of lashes paired with a coy smile, though she’d given him both on several occasions.

He wanted something unmistakable before he risked carrying her to his bed.

The waiting was agony, but he knew it mattered.

How he navigated these first weeks could shape the course of their entire marriage.

She was warming to him—he could feel it. But just when he dared to believe they’d crossed some invisible threshold…tonight happened.

Tonight, she was a stranger again. Her replies to his questions had been short and polite, without even a hint of warmth. Her eyes didn’t quite meet his.

She sat straighter in her chair than usual, her posture so rigid it made his own back ache just watching her.

Something was wrong. And he couldn’t for the life of him figure out what.

Had he offended her somehow? Had she simply decided she’d tolerated enough of him for one lifetime?

He pushed a bite of lamb around his plate, glancing up at her once more. “You didn’t care for the pheasant?” he asked finally, trying to keep his tone light.

She started slightly, as though she’d forgotten he was there. “It’s fine,” she said softly, her gaze still fixed somewhere over his shoulder.

He set his fork down and studied her in silence.

Her face was calm, expressionless, but her fingers curled tightly against her skirts under the table, and her jaw was just a shade too tense.

Something had changed.

He knew it in his gut.