"Your brother looks at everyone that way. It is his natural expression."
"It is not." Rosanne stopped walking, turning to face Lillian with an intensity that was almost startling. "I have known Daniel my entire life. I have seen him at balls, at dinners, at every manner of social gathering. He does not look at other women the way he looks at you."
"Rosanne..."
"Hewatchesyou, Lillian. When you enter a room, his attention goes to you and stays there. When you laugh, he leans toward the sound without seeming to realise he is doing it. When you leave, he..." She broke off, shaking her head. "He is not subtle. For a man who prides himself on his control, he is remarkably transparent when it comes to you."
Lillian did not know what to say. She had noticed, of course, but she had told herself it meant nothing. That the duke was simply unused to her presence in his household, that his attention was watchfulness rather than interest, that whatever awareness seemed to crackle between them was merely her imagination.
But Rosanne was confirming what Lillian had been afraid to believe.
"Even if what you say is true," she said slowly, "it does not change the reality of our situation. Your brother is a duke. I am a country gentleman's daughter of modest means. Whatever he might feel, if he feels anything at all, is irrelevant."
"Why?"
"Because he would never act on it. Because society would never accept it. Because..."
"Because you are afraid."
The words landed with unexpected force. Lillian stared at Rosanne, startled by the perception behind the gentle accusation.
"I am not afraid."
"You are. You are afraid to hope for something that seems impossible, because hoping for impossible things only leads to disappointment." Rosanne's expression softened. "I understand that fear, Lillian. I live with it every day. But I have learned, from you, in fact, that survival is possible even when the worst happens. That life continues even when our hopes are dashed."
"This is not the same."
"Is it not?" Rosanne resumed walking, and Lillian fell into step beside her, her thoughts churning. "My brother is not happy, Lillian. He has not been happy for as long as I can remember. He keeps himself locked away in his control and his duty and his endless estate business, and he tells himself that this is enough. But it is not. Anyone with eyes can see it is not."
"And you believe I could make him happy?"
"I believe you already have. More than you know."
Lillian opened her mouth to respond, to protest, to deflect, to retreat behind the same practical resignation that had governed her life for so long, when the sound of hoof-beats broke through the quiet morning.
She looked up.
A cart was coming around the bend ahead—moving too fast, the horse's hooves pounding against the hard-packed road with a rhythm that spoke of panic rather than purpose. A man was hauling on the reins, his face white with strain, but the horse was beyond his control.
"Move!" Lillian grabbed Rosanne's arm and pulled her toward the hedgerow. "Move, now!"
They stumbled off the road, Rosanne's foot catching on a root as they scrambled for safety. Lillian shoved her toward the relative protection of the hedge and turned back.
The horse was rearing. The cart was swinging. The world was a chaos of movement and sound and the terrible certainty that she was not going to get out of the way in time.
And then...
Arms around her waist. The ground rushing past. The impact of a body against hers, bearing her sideways and down, rolling them both into the ditch at the side of the road as the cart careened past in a thunderous blur of wood and iron and terrified animal.
Lillian lay in the mud, gasping for breath, her heart pounding so hard she could feel it in her throat.
Someone was on top of her. Someone solid and heavy and warm, his arms still locked around her waist, his breath harsh against her hair.
"Are you hurt?" The voice was rough, ragged, barely recognizable. "Lillian, are you hurt?"
Lillian.
She knew that voice. She knew the arms that held her, the broad shoulders that blocked out the sky, the familiar scent of sandalwood and leather that surrounded her.
