“Christopher…”
He shook his head and cleared the darkness, smiling once again. It was a forced, fake smile, so she knew that whatever he was about to say would be more of the same that she had seen tonight. Not the real him.
“Shall we dance?” he asked her.
“Excuse me?”
“Dance,” he said, flashing his smile. He indicated across the room where there was a dancefloor. “It has been a while, I admit, but I think I am in the mood.”
Rose noticed immediately that they were being watched. Just as she noticed the way that he pitched his voice so that he could be heard.
She sighed inwardly, knowing once again that he was not asking her to dance because he wanted to, but because he thought that he should.
There had been a moment there… brief but noticeable… where her husband had dropped the mask and spoken to her honestly and earnestly and with a realness that was greatly missing from this night. And in that singular moment, Rose had come to realize that the man she had married was someone whom she might just like.
Sadly, that man was hidden again, and she doubted very much that she would be seeing him anytime soon. Not because he was not real, but because the Duke seemed terrified to let him out.
But he is there, I know he is. I just need to be patient or find a way of luring him back out.
“I would love to dance,” she said.
Christopher took her hand and led her to the dancefloor, and, to the eyes of those watching on, they were the perfect couple. But in Rose’s mind, she knew they were far from it.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“Isee you there,” Rose said with a smirk.
Christopher’s eyes widened, and he looked down quickly, as if doing so might hide the fact that he had been looking right at Rose when she’d called him out.
He then cleared his throat and focused on the work that he was supposed to be doing, annoyed with himself for letting his mind wander.
For a few moments, too, he and Rose continued in silence. The scratching of quills on parchment. Steady breathing. The creaking of their chairs as they shifted positions. Christopher was doing his best to avoid thinking about Rose, to continue as if she was not there, but the longer that the silence stretched, the greater the urge to look at her again.
He did so carefully. A quick glance, just his eyes, knowing that she, at least, was not paying him attention. She was bent overthe desk, focused fully on what she was doing, and that allowed Christopher to glance a second time, holding it now, unable to bring himself to look away.
I don’t understand why I can’t stop looking at her. And it’s not just that I want to check on what she is doing, but that I want her to see me too. It should not be this way. I should not care. And yet, for some reason, I do.
Christopher liked the way she pushed her lips together as she worked. He liked the lines that formed on her brow as she concentrated. And he loved the way that her eyes lit up when she solved a problem.
What he did not like was the loose thread sticking out of the shoulder of her dress. It seemed to mock him, laugh in his face, and bait him into the distraction. He wanted to reach out and yank it free or perhaps smooth it down. And as this battle raged in his head, he dropped the façade of subtlety, now looking at her directly.
“Something the matter?” Rose asked without looking.
“Wh – what?” he stammered.
She laughed. “Staring at me in that way. Should I be worried?”
“I am not staring at you,” Christopher assured her.
“It sure feels like it.”
“Tell yourself what you want, but it’s that thread on your shoulder that I can’t stop staring at.” He half-reached for it but stopped himself. “If you could just… remove it, thank you.”
Rose finally stopped what she was doing and looked up. When she saw the expression on his face, one of extreme discomfort, she frowned. “You’re being serious?”
“I am.”
She glanced at the thread, went to remove it, but then stopped. A smile was quick to twist over her lips, and she flashed her eyes with wickedness. “No, I don’t think I will.”
