“You can,” he said. “And you will.”
Gwen’s spine stiffened. “I beg your pardon, Your Grace, but I do not answer to you.”
He held her gaze for a long moment. The music shifted behind them, violins swelling in a waltz that felt too intimate for the tension between them.
His jaw flexed. “Then answer to yourself. But come.”
She looked away before her resolve cracked. She did not trust herself to meet his gaze again. Her feelings were too raw, her heart too fragile.
She had spent the morning chastising herself for caring, the afternoon berating herself for being foolish, and the evening battling the humiliating warmth that spread through her whenever she thought of his hands on her.
She would not be her mother. She would not hand her heart to a man who could crush it carelessly.
“Your Grace,” she said, her voice thin with strain, “my mother and I will leave London soon. There is little point in continuing this arrangement.”
“You have not left yet,” he pointed out.
“Perhaps I should,” she bit out.
His eyes darkened, not with anger, but with something far more dangerous. “Meet me tonight,” he repeated.
She shook her head.
“Gwendoline.”
And just like that, she had forgotten how to breathe. Her name was spoken so softly yet firmly.
She bobbed a quick curtsy. “Good evening, Your Grace.”
With that, she slipped into the crowd before he could reach for her again. But she felt him there long after. Watching her.
She found Arabella and Eleanor near the refreshments table, her breathing ragged. She tried to pretend nothing was amiss, but Arabella’s eyes widened immediately.
“I saw him approach,” Arabella whispered. “You look like a woman fleeing a duel.”
“I am,” Gwen murmured. “Only the duel is with myself.”
Eleanor gave her a long, pointed look. “Well, that is rarely a winning match.”
Gwen ignored the sting of the truth. She smoothed her gloves, slowed her breathing, and said, “I need your help.”
Arabella stiffened. “Gwen.”
Eleanor set down her teacup. “Tell us.”
“I spoke to my mother last night,” Gwen began, the words tasting bitter on her tongue. “She will not come with me. She refuses to leave Howard.”
Arabella gasped softly. “Oh no.”
Eleanor’s face tightened. “I suspected as much.”
Gwen nodded. “She believes it is her duty to remain. She believes he loves her.”
Arabella placed a gentle hand on her arm. “She is frightened.”
“She isresigned,” Gwen corrected.
They fell silent, the music drifting over them like a veil.
