She raised her eyes to his.
“Not at them. At me.” His voice was low and meant for her ears only. “This is for Evie. Every smile, every dance, every moment we endure builds her protection.”
“They’re all staring.”
“Let them.” He spun her through a turn. His movements were confident and controlled. “You’re beautiful, we’re dancing well, and our daughter is safe at home. Nothing else matters.”
Their eyes met and held. The music swelled around them, and for a moment, the ballroom faded. There was only Owen’s warmhand on her waist, his fingers entwined with hers, and the steady strength of his frame guiding her through the dance.
He was right. When she focused on him instead of the crowd, everything became easier. Their bodies found the rhythm naturally, moving together as if they’d done this a thousand times instead of just once at their wedding.
“Better?” he asked softly.
“Yes.”
And it was true.
In his arms, with his gray eyes steady on hers, she felt anchored. Safe, even.
The music ended too soon. Reality crashed back as they broke apart and the ton closed in like hungry wolves. A cluster of matrons descended on them first.
“Your Grace, how wonderful to see you restored to health!” Lady Ashford gushed. “Though you do look a trifle thin. Difficult birth, wasn’t it?”
“All births have their challenges,” Iris replied carefully.
“Indeed. I nearly died with my third. Was bedridden for months.” Lady Ashford’s eyes gleamed. “Is that why we didn’t see you at all during your confinement? Complete bed rest?”
“My wife’s health is not a topic for public discussion,” Owen said firmly.
“Of course not! I only meant?—”
“Carridan! There you are!” Felix’s voice cut through the awkwardness. He appeared with Grace and Harrison in tow, all smiles and charm. “Ladies, you’ll excuse us? I must steal these two away. Urgent matter of whether Lord Brentwell owes me five pounds or ten from our last wager.”
He whisked them away before anyone could protest.
Grace looped her arm through Iris’s as they moved toward the refreshments table. “Vultures,” she muttered. “I wanted to throw something at Lady Ashford.”
“Violence later,” Harrison said mildly. “Wine first.”
They found a relatively quiet corner where Iris could catch her breath.
Owen, Felix, and Harrison fell into conversation about some investment opportunity, leaving the ladies to themselves.
“How are you really?” Grace sipped her champagne, studying Iris over the rim of her flute. “That dance was certainly…well, the attraction between you looked anything but platonic.”
Heat flooded Iris’s cheeks. “It was just a dance.”
“Mm-hmm. The way you two looked at each other nearly set the curtains on fire.”
“Grace!”
“What? I’m simply observing. You’re attracted to your husband. That’s good, isn’t it?”
Iris glanced at Owen, who was deep in conversation with Harrison. Even now, surrounded by people, he maintained that careful distance and perfect control.
“I don’t know what good it does,” she admitted. “He’s still a mystery to me. Sometimes, I think I see glimpses of the man he truly is, but then he retreats behind those walls again.”
“Walls can come down.”
