As much as she didn’t want to get into this again, the odd mood that had come over them made her grasp it readily. Anything to distract her from her body’s completely unexpected reaction. “Yes, coincidences,” she said in what she thought was an impressively businesslike manner. “You have managed to seek Miss Gladstow out every day for the past fortnight.”
“Yes? And?”
“Does that not seem suspect, sir?”
He shrugged. “What is so suspect about it? Being from the country, of course, you may think London is an endless pit of humanity. But I have lived here since I came of age and I can assure you, our circle in society is not all that large. You are bound to run into all manner of people time and again when you are invited to the same events.”
Which, she reluctantly—if silently—acknowledged, was too true. She could attest to the fact that she had seen the same people over and over again in the past weeks.
“I see you agree with me,” he murmured.
She scowled at him. “I never said I agree with you.”
“That frustrated little line between your brows tells me otherwise.”
“Line? What line?” She reached up, smoothing her fingers over the small divot she found between her brows. Which, of course, only made her scowl deepen. “If I am frowning, it is because you are being utterly absurd.”
“Iam absurd?”
“Certainly.”
“Pray, how am I being absurd?”
But, to her consternation, an answer didn’t readily come to her. For he swung his piercing gaze down to her again and she completely forgot what they were talking about.
She might have stayed that way for an eternity, held captive by his eyes, stumbling blindly down the path. If Miss Gladstow didn’t in that moment approach.
“Miss Merriweather, I do believe we need to return home immediately,” she said. Her voice was tight, and there were unshed tears in the girl’s eyes.
Rosalind released Sir Tristan immediately, reaching out to grab hold of the other girl’s hands. “My dear, are you unwell? Where is Mr. Marlow?”
Miss Gladstow did not meet her eyes. “He has left. And it grows late. Mama will be wanting us to ready ourselves for the evening’s entertainments.”
“Of course.” She turned to Sir Tristan. “Until tonight.”
He inclined his head. “I look forward to it Miss Merriweather, Miss Gladstow.”
The two women hurried off, leaving him far behind. Rosalind found, however, that she could not leave her strange reaction to him, no matter how far she walked.
