Amelia sat in Claude's study, watching him with narrowed eyes.
Claude, for his part, was doing his best to ignore her.
Unfortunately for him, Amelia was not easily ignored.
"So," she said, stretching the word out. "Is this going to become a regular thing?"
Claude glanced up from the document he was pretending to read. "Is what going to become a regular thing?"
She gestured vaguely. "Your mistresses showing up on our doorstep, begging for protection."
Claude exhaled, rubbing his temples. "Clara was not my mistress."
Amelia raised an eyebrow. "No?"
"No."
"But she wanted to be."
Claude hesitated. "Once. A long time ago."
Amelia hummed, unconvinced. "And how many others have there been?"
Claude sighed. "Are we really having this conversation?"
She tilted her head. "That depends. Do you plan on inviting all your former lovers to stay with us? Because if so, I'd like to request advance notice."
Claude shot her a flat look. "You're being dramatic."
"And you're avoiding the question."
He leaned back in his chair, studying her. "Why does it bother you?"
Amelia scoffed. "It doesn't."
Claude smirked. "Then why are you still talking about it?"
She huffed, crossing her arms. "Because I would rather not wake up one morning and find another one of your past lovers sitting at my breakfast table."
Claude chuckled, shaking his head. "You have a sharp tongue, wife."
Amelia smiled sweetly. "It's one of my many charms."
Before Claude could respond, there was a knock at the door. A footman stepped inside, bowing.
"Your Grace, a letter from the Marchioness of Ashford."
Claude took the letter, scanning it briefly before handing it to Amelia.
She read it quickly.
"A ball?" she mused. "How grand."
Claude grunted. "Pointless."
Amelia ignored him. "It says we are both invited." She smirked. "Do you dance, husband?"
Claude leaned back in his chair, smirking. "Do you?"
She grinned. "I suppose we shall find out."
—
The night of the ball arrived in a flurry of silk and candlelight.
Amelia stepped into the grand hall, her golden gown shimmering in the light of the chandeliers. She felt the weight of a hundred eyes upon her, but she had long grown used to the scrutiny.
What she wasn't used to, however, was the way Claude was looking at her.
His gaze swept over her, dark and unreadable. "You look…" He trailed off, exhaling sharply. "You'll cause a scandal in that dress."
Amelia smirked. "Then I shall consider the evening a success."
Claude shook his head, offering his arm. "Come. Let's get this over with."
The ball was lively, filled with the chatter of nobles and the clinking of crystal glasses.
As expected, Amelia quickly became the center of attention.
Men swarmed around her, eager to dance, eager to talk. She humored them, smiling as she let herself be swept into the night's festivities.
Claude, however, was not nearly as amused.
He watched from the sidelines, his jaw tightening each time another man took Amelia's hand. He clenched his glass so tightly that a lesser man would have shattered it.
"You look like you're plotting murder," a voice drawled beside him.
Claude turned to see the Duke of Ashford smirking at him.
"Not murder," Claude muttered. "Just… a minor injury."
Ashford laughed. "Jealousy does not suit you, Everthorne."
Claude scoffed. "I am not jealous."
Ashford raised an eyebrow. "Then why do you look like you're ready to throw Lord Pembroke off the balcony?"
Claude glowered. "He is standing too close."
"He's dancing with her."
"Exactly."
Ashford chuckled. "Well, if you wish to reclaim your wife, I'd suggest you act quickly."
Claude didn't need further encouragement.
He crossed the ballroom in long strides, cutting in before Amelia could protest.
"Your Grace," Lord Pembroke said in surprise.
Claude smiled, all teeth. "My turn."
Pembroke hesitated, but one look at Claude's expression had him bowing and retreating.
Amelia arched an eyebrow. "Jealous?"
Claude pulled her close. "Not at all."
She smirked. "Liar."
Claude didn't argue.
The music swelled around them as they moved, his grip firm but gentle. Amelia felt her heart stutter at the intensity in his gaze.
"You enjoyed the attention," he murmured.
She grinned. "Immensely."
Claude's hold tightened slightly. "Perhaps I should remind you who you belong to."
Amelia's breath caught. "Is that so?"
Claude's eyes darkened. "Yes."
—
The carriage ride home was thick with tension.
Claude sat beside her, silent and brooding. Amelia could feel the heat of him, his presence filling the small space.
When they arrived at the manor, he finally broke the silence.
"We need to talk."
Amelia raised an eyebrow. "About?"
"Clara."
Amelia sighed. "What about her?"
Claude exhaled slowly. "She will try to spread rumors about us. About our marriage."
Amelia rolled her eyes. "Let her. Who cares what she says?"
Claude's jaw tensed. "I care."
Amelia frowned. "Why?"
He turned to her then, his gaze burning. "Because I will not have anyone questioning what is already mine."
Amelia swallowed. "Claude—"
"Come here."
She hesitated, her heart hammering. "Why?"
His lips curled into something almost dangerous. "So I can make sure Clara has nothing to gossip about."
Amelia's breath hitched.
She knew what he was asking.
What he was demanding.
She should have pushed him away.
Should have resisted.
But she didn't.
Instead, she leaned in, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Then do it."