“Thank you, my lord,” Lady Fitzwilliam said after a moment, since it was, in truth, the only polite thing she could have said. Jeremy was still staring at James as though he were a particularly tricky puzzle that he was attempting to work out. James shot him a speaking glance—or, rather, he very much hoped it was a speaking glance. And he very much hoped that the message it spoke was, I’ll explain later, please don’t make a fuss, and not, Please make a scene here in the middle of Hyde Park.

Whatever message Jeremy took from said glance, it was enough to keep him silent. This in and of itself was quite an achievement. James felt rather pleased with himself.

And, feeling pleased with himself, he decided to test his luck.

“In fact,” he proclaimed, “you should dine with us. Next week.”

There was, of course, nothing so very improper about a dinner invitation—and yet, James did his best to make it so. He’d inched his horse forward as he spoke, making it so that Violet’s view of Lady Fitzwilliam was blocked slightly by his shoulder. And his voice had dropped a register as he murmured the invitation, making it all seem rather more . . . intimate than it should have.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lady Wheezle ride past in the company of a groom and turn her head to stare at their little tableau.

“I beg your pardon?” Lady Fitzwilliam asked, clearly perplexed by whatever undercurrents she detected between himself and Violet as he made this invitation.

“Dine with us,” he repeated, flashing her the winning smile that had served him so well in his bachelor days, on the select occasions he had chosen to deploy it. “We could celebrate your reentry into society.”

“When have you ever given a deuce for society?” Jeremy asked grumpily, his hands twitching on the reins he held. James was certain that, were they not in a public park, Jeremy would have reached across to lay an entirely inappropriate hand on some part of Lady Fitzwilliam’s person, like an animal marking its territory. However, since they were in a public park, he contented himself with repeated fist-clenching.

“Darling,” Violet cut in, and never had the word darling sounded more menacing, “I believe you’re forgetting the state of my health.”

“I assure you I wasn’t,” he said, turning to his wife. “After all, was it not you who insisted that we ride in the park this afternoon?” He blinked innocently at her.

Her eyes narrowed.

“I can’t say how I shall be feeling next week,” she said, and James nearly laughed aloud at the look on her face, which rather resembled that of someone who had just been served an extremely unpleasant dish by one she didn’t wish to offend.

“If Lady James is unwell—” Lady Fitzwilliam started to say, but James and Violet both ignored her.

“Then let us assume you shall be perfectly well,” James said, his eyes never once leaving his wife’s face.

“But I can’t say for certain that I shall be perfectly well.”

James was dimly aware that Jeremy and Lady Fitzwilliam were watching this exchange with great interest, their heads bobbing back and forth as though they were spectators at a duel.

“Well then, let us choose to be optimistic.” He gave her a thin smile.

“Funny,” Violet said, “I’ve never known optimism to be a trait that you possessed in great abundance.”

“Meaning you should be doubly glad that I am attempting to turn over a new leaf.” He inched his mount closer to her as they spoke, and they were now in such proximity that he could have reached out and knocked his knee against hers. He’d meant only to intimidate her, but he realized belatedly that this might have been a mistake—this close, he could smell her skin, could practically feel the warmth radiating from her. Her cheeks were flushed—whether from anger or the exercise of their ride, he wasn’t certain—and she looked so much the picture of health that he had to fight back the urge to laugh. She looked . . .

Radiant.

Yes, radiant. Her hair curled around her face, and her eyes sparked in that familiar way they did whenever he was arguing with her.

And in that moment, he wanted to kiss her so desperately that he nearly forgot that they were in the middle of Hyde Park, with Jeremy and Lady Fitzwilliam watching from a few paces away. His eyes caught hers and held, and the color of her cheeks deepened further under the intensity of his gaze. She bit her lip—he’d nearly forgotten that old habit of hers—but did not break their eye contact.

And James found that he was incapable of doing so as well.

She was infuriating, and he was still determined to best her at whatever this game was that they were playing—but he also wanted her more than he’d ever wanted any woman in his life.

Still. After five years. And there was no point in lying to himself about this fact any longer.

He wanted her, and he did not know how to have her. Christ, what a mess.

It was impossible to say how long this stalemate would have continued had Lady Fitzwilliam not broken the silence.

“I am certain that I wouldn’t wish to impose if Lady James is feeling unwell.”

“Lady James was just telling me this morning how improved she is,” James said smoothly, wrenching his gaze away from his wife with great difficulty to refocus on Lady Fitzwilliam. Violet elbowed him in the ribs, which he ignored. “But regardless, Soph—Lady Fitzwilliam,” he amended hastily, as though he hadn’t intended to nearly address her by her Christian name, “my offer stands—please do call upon us if you should need any assistance of any sort.” He urged his horse closer to Lady Fitzwilliam’s, reaching up to take her hand in his own.