It started innocently enough.

You were at a society luncheon, sipping tea and exchanging polite conversation, when Lord Hastings appeared across the room—Simon Basset himself. You could feel the weight of his gaze before you even saw him, and sure enough, those dark eyes found you instantly.

But today, you decided to play a little game.

A little harmless fun.

You smiled at the dashing Lord Carrington, the one who always lingered too long in your social circles, and laughed a little too brightly at his jokes. You let your hand brush his arm—just a touch, just enough to make him notice.

From the corner of your eye, you saw Simon stiffen. His jaw clenched, a faint shadow of anger—or was it desire?—crossing his expression.

Good.

You leaned in closer to Carrington, laughing softly, letting your hair fall across your shoulders in a teasing way. Simon’s eyes followed every movement, his fingers tightening around his napkin.

“(Your Name), may I have a word?” he asked suddenly, voice low but commanding, cutting through the chatter around you.

You excused yourself from Carrington, a sly smile playing on your lips. “Of course, Your Grace.”

Simon led you to a quiet corner of the garden, the cool spring air brushing past you. He didn’t say anything at first, just stared, his expression unreadable.

Finally, he spoke, voice dangerously calm. “What exactly were you doing in there?”

You shrugged innocently. “Just being polite, Simon. You know… mingling.”

His dark eyes narrowed. “Mingling or… showing off?”

Your heart skipped. You hadn’t expected that to work so well. A flicker of mischief crossed your face. “Perhaps a little of both,” you admitted softly.

Simon’s lips pressed into a thin line. “You’re impossible,” he muttered, taking a step closer, invading your space. “Do you realize how reckless that was?”