I paused at the top of the stairs, waiting for the steward to announce me. It was then that she looked up.
And saw me.
The change was immediate and unmistakable. A heartbeat earlier, she had been laughing freely. Now her expression shuttered, the warmth folding inward until only smooth composure remained. She straightened, not stiffly, but deliberately, as though bracing herself, and inclined her head in the barest acknowledgment of my presence.
No smile followed.
Not even the suggestion of one.
I stood there, momentarily at a loss. The last time we had spoken, there had been no such distance between us. Whatever had altered her manner had done so without my knowledge—and with a finality that left me profoundly unsettled.
I crossed the ballroom and bowed over her hand. Beneath my fingertips, I felt the faint flutter of her pulse, yet her expression remained guarded, as though she had drawn a veil between us.
Perhaps she meant to keep gossip at bay.
But I had not come without purpose. There were things I had to hear—and things she ought to know. “We need to talk,” I said quietly.
“Not here in the open,” she murmured, her gaze already flicking past me to the surrounding crowd.
I did not argue the point. Instead, I turned to her brother, already composing the excuse. It was a flimsy one, but it would serve—provided he took the hint. “Rosehaven, I wonder if I might have a word in private. It concerns a proposal I recently submitted to the House of Lords. Do you have a moment?”
“Well, er?—”
He had not taken it.
Before I could attempt a rescue, Claire stepped in with practiced ease. “Why don’t we all escape for a moment?” she said lightly. “The air in here is stifling, and Rosalynd has scarcely had a chance to breathe.”
Relief crossed Cosmos’s face as he seized upon the suggestion. “Yes. Of course.”
“There is a corridor that runs alongside the ballroom,” I said, grateful for the opening. “It should be quieter.”
“That will do nicely,” Claire agreed at once.
With the matter settled, the four of us moved together toward the quieter hallway that ran alongside the ballroom. By the time we reached it, the music had softened behind us, and the corridor lay empty of guests.
I reached for Rosalynd’s hand. She did not withdraw it.
“Come,” I said quietly. “I know of a private room.”
“Steele—” Cosmos began, concern sharpening his tone. “That is not quite?—”
“It is fine, Cosmos,” Rosalynd said, cutting in before he could finish. Her voice was calm, decisive. “The duke and I need to have a word.”
I inclined my head. “Nothing improper, I assure you, Rosehaven.”
Claire slipped her hand through Cosmos’s arm with an ease born of long practice. “Lady Marwood’s garden is quitemagnificent this time of year. I am told she has acquired several rare specimens.”
“Did she really?” Cosmos asked at once. Mention flowers or plants, and his attention was easily secured.
“Indeed.” Claire drew him toward the door that I knew led into the garden, leaving Rosalynd and me in the quiet of the hallway.
In no time at all, I found the small music room that Lady Marwood used for intimate recitals. A single lamp burned low inside, its light warm against the polished wood and pale upholstery. A pianoforte stood near the far wall, while a half-dozen carved chairs flanked a small settee meant for listeners. The room felt quiet, expectant, as though waiting for the next notes to be played. As I closed the door behind us, the faint hum of the ballroom faded away.
Rosalynd released my hand at once and crossed to the window overlooking the garden. The space she put between us was deliberate, a quiet line drawn across the carpet.
“Have I offended you, Rosalynd?”
She did not turn. “We may not have much time, Steele. Our absence from the ballroom will be noticed.” Her gaze remained fixed on the darkness beyond the glass. “We should confine ourselves to the matter at hand.”
