“Was not my idea. I just wanted to keep my appearances brief, and it’s easiest to leave after the supper set. But the whole thing mushroomed, and …”

She laughed softly, shaking her head. “All that gossip and rumor. All that speculation. For nothing.”

“Not for nothing.” He scratched his neck, and her hand slid from his shoulder. “I don’t mind the gossip. I’ve never given a damn what people think of me. It’s amusing—and sometimes useful—to be feared.”

Or at least it had been, until talk of murder was added to the mix, and he’d lost the trust of his wife before he’d any real opportunity to earn it.

“Spencer?” She took one of his hands in hers. “As we are baring our secrets, I feel I should confess something. I may have been responsible for starting a most pernicious rumor about you. Worse than any other.”

“Oh, really?” he asked, intrigued.

“Yes.” Biting her lip, she gave him a doleful look. “I may have told a group of impressionable young ladies that by the light of the full moon, you transform into a ravening hedgehog.”

He struggled to maintain a reproachful silence.

She continued, “Well, if it helps, I do regret it now.”

“Do you?”

“Oh, yes. It was an insult to hedgehogs everywhere.”

A throaty laugh shook free from his chest, and it felt damned good. He squeezed her hand in silent thanks.

“So …” she said, “this has been the case all your life?”

He nodded. “For as long as I recall.”

“And it’s not just ballrooms?”

“No.” He only wished it were so simple. “Anywhere with too many people and not enough space. Arenas. The theater.” He gave her a meaningful look. “Weddings. Musicales.”

“Oh.” Her face softened. “And schoolrooms? Those, too?”

He gave a tense shrug. Damn, but it galled him to realize how much he’d sacrificed over the years. It hurt worse that she’d realized it, too. “I know, I know. Everyone else seems to manage those settings with ease. That only makes it more irritating. I don’t know what the devil is wrong with me. I’ve spent my whole life feeling like … like a fish with no talent for swimming.”

Her fingers went to his temple, feathering through his hair. “Oh, Spencer …”

“No.” He batted her hand away. “Amelia, don’t. For God’s sake, don’t pity me. I can bear anything but that. It’s an annoyance, I’ll grant you, but not a deprivation. In the absence of attending frivolous parties, I’ve mastered some very useful talents. Cards. Horsemanship.”

“You’ve read a great many books.”

“Yes. That, too. I’m happy with my life as it is.”

“Are you?” She looked doubtful.

“Yes,” he told her honestly. Because at this particular moment of his life, he was. Things had been strained between them, to put it mildly, since Jack’s visit. He’d almost forgotten how much he enjoyed simply talking with her. He’d forgotten how good it felt to laugh. She had a way of dragging his demons out of the shadows and … not ignoring them, or making them over into gleeful cherubs … but simply tweaking their ears. Looking them in the eye with that oh-so-Amelia combination of good sense and dry humor.

“Yes, I’m happy,” he repeated. “I’m happy with my life as it is. Right now.”

Footsteps crunched on gravel nearby.

“I think someone’s coming,” she whispered. “Perhaps we should—”

He kissed her. Firmly at first—until the shock wore off and she realized that she was being kissed. And then sweetly, tenderly—because she deserved his care. Holding her chin between the pads of his thumb and second finger, he urged her close. He explored her mouth with his lips and tongue, patiently coaxing her to open for him. Wooing her into full participation. Because she was worth that effort, too. This was a woman who ought to have been courted by a legion of suitors. How was it she’d remained unmarried all those years, standing on the fringes of ballrooms? How was it he’d never picked her out from the crowd himself and asked her to dance?

God damn, he was a fool. But a very lucky one.

All too soon, she pulled back. “I think they’re gone.” She flashed a look over her shoulder, and her cheeks turned a pretty shade of pink. “Quick thinking, that. You really are brilliant at disguising this problem. Honeymooners are forgiven all manner of rude behavior.”

“Well, then there’s the solution. We’ll spend the rest of our lives on permanent honeymoon.”

She laughed, as though it were a ridiculous notion. He wished it weren’t.

“Honestly, Spencer. I can’t help but wonder … Surely something can be done. Have you tried—?”

“Yes.”

“But I didn’t finish my …”

“It doesn’t matter. If there’s something you can think of to try, I’ve tried it. Nothing has worked. This is just part of who I am, Amelia. I reconciled myself to it long ago.”

“Oh.” Her chin ducked in disappointment. “I see.”

Frustrated, Spencer rubbed his face with his palm. Of course, this was now—not some long-ago time. He was married. He had a ward. And as much as he might have reconciled himself to a life without social events, was it fair of him to ask Amelia to reconcile herself to it, too? Hospitality and friendship … those things were part of who she was. Not to mention the obligations they would have for Claudia’s season. A bitter taste filled his mouth, making him grimace.

“Is there nothing I can do for you?” she asked.

“No, no. Just leave me be.”

“I could send for—”

“Leave me be,” he said, with too much force. They both cringed. He knew he was only alienating her further, because she lived to be helpful. But in this case, there was nothing she could do. He took a breath and calmed his voice. “When this happens, all I need is to be let alone.”

“Very well.” She rose to her feet. “I’ll go. Stay here as long as you wish, and I’ll make excuses with our hosts.”

With that, she hurried back toward the entrance of the house. Spencer sighed, feeling a weight of guilt settle about his shoulders. In the past few minutes, he’d felt closer to Amelia than he had in weeks, but this damned condition of his was the brick wall he’d spent a lifetime banging his head against. And no matter what he said, or what she did, they would always remain on opposite sides of it. She needed society to make her life complete; he only felt whole in relative solitude.

Had he really tried everything? Not truthfully. In his youth, he’d attempted to overcome the damned problem through any number of strategies—most of which involved drinking and plain force of will—but he’d always been motivated by his own selfish needs and desires. The wish to attend school. The desire to chase girls. Sheer frustration with his ineptitude.

But there was one thing he hadn’t yet tried. He hadn’t tried conquering it for Amelia.

At the very least, he owed it to her to try.

“Are you quite certain?” Amelia studied her husband’s expression for any trace of reluctance.

He leaned against the wall, crossing one ankle over the other. “For the fifth time, Amelia. I’m quite certain.”

“You truly don’t mind?”

“I don’t mind.”

She tugged on her gloves. “You know we don’t have to go down at all.”

“I know it.”

“I would suggest we wait until after the dancing’s started, but I suspect they’ll be waiting on us to begin it. We’ll only stay for a dance or two. The moment you want to leave, just tell me. You don’t even have to say a word. We’ll have some sort of signal. Touch the top button of your waistcoat, perhaps.”

“A signal?” He arched a brow. “What are we, spies for the Crown? Can’t I just bodily remove you from the hall? It worked well enough last time.”

She threw him a disapproving look. Which was difficult, because there was simply nothing about his appearance to inspire her disapproval. Even swathed in silk and pearls, Amelia felt unequal to his simple, black-and-white-attired elegance. He looked splendid.

“Don’t give me that look. I think you rather enjoyed it.” His eyes darkened. “I know I did.”

She blushed. Well, she had rather enjoyed it, truth be told. “A discreet signal will do for tonight. Save the bodily lifting for later, in private.”

They exchanged smiles, and a giddy flutter rose in her belly.

Something had changed, since the garden that afternoon. He’d opened himself to her, revealing his vulnerabilities as he hadn’t done since that conversation in the stables. He was a man who’d spent his life actively wishing to be misunderstood, but he’d bared a piece of his true self to her. And now, each time their eyes met, it was as though a silent message passed between them—sometimes a joke, sometimes an observation, other times a carnal suggestion. They were behaving like a couple, instead of two individuals who happened to be married.

His sudden openness made Amelia imprudently hopeful. Her foolish optimism was only increased by the fact that she knew he was making a great sacrifice, attending this party with her. She worried her heart was in serious peril, but she couldn’t bring herself to erect the barriers again. She could only hope for a change in his views. Once they arrived at Briarbank, he would see what her home and family meant to her—how they’d molded her into the person she was, much as his own past had formed him. Perhaps then he would understand how it hurt her to be separated from Jack.

As Spencer looked her up and down, his appreciative expression turned to a frown.

Self-conscious, she put a hand to her throat. “Is there something wrong?”

“No, nothing.” But as he stared at her, the little furrow of concentration between his eyebrows deepened. The expression was one of bemusement, as though he’d expected a different image from the one his eyes beheld.

“Does the gown look well?” She twisted a little, hoping he’d praise the dress at least and send her downstairs with a smidge more confidence.

“Quite,” he said thoughtfully. “But then, blue always looks well on you.”

Well, that seemed to be all the reassurance she would receive.

She took one last fretful glance at her reflection in the mirror and then met Spencer at the door. Before they left the room, Amelia paused a moment to smooth his lapels and waistcoat with her gloved hands.

Their gazes met. She kept her hands flat against his chest. It would have been the perfect moment for a kiss … if he wanted to kiss her. In the garden earlier, he’d embraced her so sweetly. But perhaps that had just been one more tactical move in a lifelong campaign of evasion and disguise.

After staring into her eyes a long moment, he reached to open the door. “Shall we?”

As balls went, this was a much more forgiving assembly than a London rout. The country setting not only afforded more spacious rooms, but also kept the guests to a reasonable number.

Still, as they entered the Granthams’ modest hall, Amelia felt her husband’s arm tense against hers. She had the urge to murmur something encouraging, or give him a soothing touch—but she checked the impulse, knowing it would only add to his annoyance. The last thing he would want was to be fussed over. He just wanted to be let alone.

And of course, they were instantly beset. Fortunately, she’d become acquainted with several of the guests earlier that day. She made quick introductions, and once Spencer had made his typically gruff acknowledgments, she took over the burden of making conversation. They made their circuit of the entire room this way, moving from small group to small group. Spencer made his terse, barely civil greetings, and Amelia gladly did the rest. She inquired after distant relatives’ health, exchanged sympathies with those who’d known Leo, deflected impertinent questions about their hasty marriage, and accepted well-intentioned wishes of joy with equal grace. By pushing herself to the forefront, she was able to spare Spencer an undue burden of curiosity.