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She looked down at her plate and determined that her appetite had made a quiet exit. “Shall we play in the library?”

Ethan clapped his hands in delight. “Yes!”

He scrambled out of his chair, running around the table to wait for Gwen with the exuberance only a child could muster.

Aidan leaned closer, speaking in a low voice near her ear. “You are part of the family now. Ethan will expect a game in all future encounters.”

His voice curled through her, warm and steady, like the brush of velvet gloves across her skin. Gwen nodded, acknowledging both the words and the quiet thrill they brought. “I do not mind.”

Once she had risen, she took hold of Ethan’s tiny hand, and together, they walked to the library, his fingers tucked trustingly into her palm. Gwen contemplated what it would be like to have a little one of her own to care for, so lively and bright, and then realized in mild disbelief that it had become a genuine possibility.

Huzzah! I am married!

The thought rang in her chest with soft wonder.

Several hours later, their party of guests began to depart. Gwen and Aidan stood with her father in the front hall, bidding them farewell as the carriages rolled away from the house. His sister and her husband were the last to leave, Lily chattering in a nervous manner before embracing Gwen with an awkward sincerity that Gwen found endearing.

Once the door closed, the three of them stood in silence until her father announced that he would be in his study and excused himself, leaving them alone.

Gwen remained motionless, watching Aidan with pensive anticipation. Would he kiss her now that they were alone? Would he draw near and claim this new bond between them?

Aidan blew out a breath, then turned to smile at her, though it seemed somewhat uncertain around the edges. “I … have a meeting at my club … and I shall return later.”

Disappointment rose like mist from the floor, cool and sudden. She had expected something different. His voice, though calm, carried the ring of evasion, as though he needed to flee.

Was he unhappy about their marriage, tied as it was to scandal and suspicion? He had seemed committed, even eager. But now he appeared desperate to be away, and her heart gave a quiet thud of concern.

“Um … I shall see that the servants have unpacked your things and … await your return.”

Aidan nodded, not quite meeting her gaze, then bowed. The gesture was polite, respectful, but painfully formal. It did not suit the intimacy of the day they had just shared. Without further word, he turned and slipped out the front door with unexpected haste.

How was he to reach his club? There had been no carriage waiting. Would he catch a hackney?

Gwen held her arms stiffly at her sides and shook out her hands, an effort to dispel the anxious tension building within her. Was her groom regretting their vows? She had not thought so earlier. But now? Now she did not know what to believe. And it was far too late to change course.

Aidan had walked several miles through London streets, attempting to clear his thoughts. It had not worked. His mind circled like a restless horse, unable to outrun the anxiety coiled in his chest. He could not stop thinking about this evening, about what was expected of him as a husband.

The mechanics were no mystery. But that knowledge did little to ease his turmoil.

Seated alone at a back table in his club, Aidan stared down at the untouched brandy he had ordered. Around him, the murmur of deep conversation and the clink of fine crystal glasses filled the air, mingling with the rich scent of cigars and polished wood. Other gentlemen indulged in French spirits and jocular debate, but Aidan remained apart.

Like the rest of the Abbotts, he did not drink spirits, an enduring habit formed out of respect for his cousin Sophia and the vow she had made long ago. On occasion, he would order a brandy to avoid distressing the club’s servers, who hovered uncertainly when he remained unserved.

He considered the glass now. Perhaps one swallow would soothe him and settle his nerves?

Not that tonight’s duties were unwelcome. Quite the opposite. He had imagined Gwen—dreamed of her, truthfully—since that night on the terrace when her eyes had met his. But imagination was a far cry from reality, and Gwen was an innocent. She deserved more than awkward uncertainty or the ill-timed clumsiness of a man overthinking every step.

What if he disappointed her?

“Little Breeches.”

Aidan grunted under his breath. Of course. He had managed to find the one club in London where he might stumble across Lord Trafford.

Looking up, Aidan set his jaw and forced a passable smile, though irritation thrummed beneath it.

Trafford approached with his usual theatrical flair, dressed in a bronze jacquard coat so bright it threatened to dazzle the chandeliers. Beneath it, an ebony waistcoat was embroidered in a pattern that seemed to shimmer whenever he moved.

Aidan could not help noting, grimly, that whatever allowance the Earl of Stirling granted his son was clearly too generous, if one judged by the foppish excess of his attire.