Her glare was truly potent. “Basset, I will not have anybody thinking my marriage is lacking in any respect. We must be envied. I must be envied. Do you understand?”

He stared at her, waiting for some hint of laughter or amusement to prove her somehow more sensible than her statement implied. But there was no laughter, no teasing, no indication of any notion regarding how ridiculous she sounded. On the contrary, he could now see the anxieties she had previously mentioned swimming in the rich blue color of her eyes.

She needed him to cooperate for her plan to work, and she evidently feared his response.

But he did not wish for his marriage to be a topic of discussion among the general public, in one way or another, so if being overly attentive to her would keep her happy as his wife and prevent gossip, he had no reluctance in doing so.

Still, he could not make such a thing easy for her.

He raised a brow at her. “So I am to adore you publicly, then?”

Adelaide’s eyes narrowed, her jaw tightening in a way he knew well, and it bolstered him. “You are to act as though you privately adore me, but restrain yourself for the sake of appearances, yet do not quite manage to hide your feelings.”

He did not need to act in appearing befuddled by that. “Care to write all that down for me? I may forget the specifics.”

Now Adelaide rolled her eyes, shaking her head. “Just pretend you like me a great deal, all right? I will do you the same courtesy, though I shall probably flirt with your neighbors in an attempt to be agreeable. Do not go to the extreme of claiming jealousy.”

“I shall do my best.” Harrison smiled a little, something about his appearance-obsessed wife amusing him in spite of the insipid nature of it all. “And may I say, Lady Basset, in all sincerity, that you look beautiful this evening. It will be lovely to have you sitting across from me at dinner as the hostess of Trevadden.”

To his surprise, her cheeks flushed a pale pink, beyond the natural rosiness of her complexion, and her smile was small, like the woman he knew in only their most private moments rather than the grand figure she presented to the world.

Which was the true Adelaide? he wondered. Or was she both at once?

“Thank you, Basset,” Adelaide murmured, the smile spreading just enough to blind him with its beauty. “I’ll not insist that you dance with me this evening, but I would very much like to. If you can bear dancing.”

Was that a shy request at the hands of his wife? Not a demand, but a request?