She tried to keep the pride from her voice. It slipped in anyway. It was foolish to feel pride for keeping silent about a matter that should never have been hers to discuss.
Arabella leaned closer. “You are certain you are safe? Greystone is said to be all ice and iron in public, but there are whispers about what lies beneath. They say his father was a brute. They say there is a beast inside him that he keeps muzzled only by rules and numbers.”
Eleanor shot her a look. “Do not repeat every piece of gossip you overhear. The late Duke was harsh; that much is true. It does not necessarily mean that his son is cruel.”
Gwen pretended to focus on a rose petal.
The rumor had teeth, but she had felt none of them last night. She had felt a kind of controlled heat that was more alarming than violence because it required cooperation.
One cannot be forced to play a game. One can beluredinto a tournament.
“It is all nonsense,” she said, her tone a shade too brisk.
Arabella, who knew her too well, made a soft sound. “If you are in trouble, you will tell us. You will not try to manage it alone.”
“I amalwaysin trouble,” Gwen drawled. “I find it charming.”
“Charming,” Eleanor said dryly, “is not the word that comes to mind.”
Gwen would have laughed again to ease their worries, but she did not get the chance. The sensation of being watched skittered across her skin like a draft before rain. She looked up despite herself.
Across the lawn stood the Duke of Greystone.
Daylight suited him no better than shadow. It made him more precise. He was speaking to no one at that moment. He was looking at her with a composure that hid intent.
The pavilion’s musicians struck a chord. The hum of chatter rose, fell, gathered itself into the rhythm of a country dance. Still, the Duke did not tear his gaze away.
Her heart did a graceless somersault. Heat rose beneath her stays before she could stop it. The way he was watching her felt far too intimate for daylight, and her whole body prickled with an untrained, startled awareness.
“Do not look,” Arabella whispered. “He is looking. Donotlook.”
“I am not looking,” Gwen said in the tone of a woman who is certainly looking.
Eleanor’s lips curled into a prudent line. “If he approaches, we will be stone. If he speaks, we will be deaf.”
“He is coming,” Arabella squeaked.
Gwen wished very much for a breeze. Her gloves stuck to her fingers. The sun found the nape of her neck and warmed it to a fragile heat.
She had not expected to see the Duke again so soon. She had hoped for a day to gather herself, to arrange bravery in layers like petticoats. Instead, fate had thrust her upon the lawn in a gown that suddenly felt either too plain or too bold. She could not decide which.
Do not be foolish, Gwendoline. Smile and say nothing. Remember that you bartered with him. Remember why.
The Duke began to walk toward them with the untroubled stride of a man whom no one dared to stop. The crowd parted for himautomatically. The musicians caught the light and turned it into sound.
Gwen placed her hand on her waist, where her card was tucked. She herself had written the same name on it four times. She had invented it for courage.Sir Thomas Nobody.
She felt like a child now. The Duke would see it like ink on a white shirt.
“Breathe,” Eleanor murmured.
Gwen breathed. It did little good.
Victor crossed the lawn as if he were approaching an ordinary problem. It was not ordinary. He had not planned to speak to her in public again before he held both her name and her first promise in his hand.
Yet here she stood, with two little sentries at her sides, one pink and bright, one grey and steady. She looked as if sleep had only nodded to her door in passing.
He found he disliked the idea of anyone other than himself keeping her awake.
