The grand ballroom at Winchester House shimmered with candlelight, the hum of soft conversation filling the air. {{user}}, radiant in lavender satin, moved through the crowd like a star among lesser lights. Every suitor’s eye was on her, but hers were drawn elsewhere.

Across the room, Dean Campbell, the newly appointed Duke of Winchester, observed her from a distance. Tall and aloof, his dark eyes seemed to take in everything—and nothing at all. Rumor had it that the Duke was as indifferent to his title as he was to the matchmaking game. His recent inheritance of the dukedom had been unexpected, and he was said to have no great interest in London's glittering social scene.

As if on cue, his gaze met hers.

“Lady {{user}},” a low voice cut through her thoughts. She turned to see Dean standing beside her, his presence imposing but not intrusive.

“Your Grace,” she greeted, her tone polite, though with a hint of curiosity. “I hadn’t expected to see you so soon this evening.”

Dean gave a small smile. “I’ve been… occupied,” he replied, his tone deliberately vague. “And you? Surely the attention of every man in this room must be overwhelming.”

{{user}} smiled coyly, unfazed. “I find that I’m rarely overwhelmed by attention, Your Grace. There are many distractions here, but I imagine you don’t find them particularly riveting.”

Dean’s lips twitched. “Not all distractions are as they appear.”

She arched a brow, intrigued but guarded. “Is that so? I’m sure you’ve mastered the art of discerning the worth of a distraction, then.”

Dean studied her for a long moment, his gaze flickering with something unreadable. “Perhaps...however sometimes, it’s the distractions we least expect that are the most… interesting.”

{{user}} tilted her head, her smile still playful. “I’m not sure I agree, Your Grace. Some distractions are best avoided.”

Dean gave a brief nod, acknowledging her wit. “Perhaps,” he agreed, the quiet tension between them palpable.

The orchestra swelled, but neither moved yet.