19. Whispers in the Dance

The music swirled around them, slow and hypnotic, as Tarquin drew Charlotte closer. His arm around her waist, subtle but firm. She swayed with him, distracted by the heavy weight of fatigue.

“Your grace,” Tarquin murmured, his voice a low caress, “you are the most enchanting woman here.” Charlotte, too weary to resist, gave a soft, distracted smile, her thoughts elsewhere. “I’m certain the candlelight works wonders.”

“No, you shine, even in your weariness.” He tightened his hold, pulling her still closer, though not enough to raise suspicion. “I wonder if you feel it too… the connection between us.”

She paused, not quite registering the weight of his words, her voice soft and distant. “I… I’m not certain, my lord.”

The slip was small—so faint that she barely noticed it herself—but her words carried far more weight than she realized. “My lord…”