“You’re here,” he breathed.
She had no opportunity to respond when his friend shouldered his way in between them and smiled at her. It was a rather dazzling smile at that—she could see why every woman in the room cooed over Roseford. She felt no desire to do so, even if she recognized his charisma and charm.
“You are, indeed, Miss Swan,” he said.
She froze. That was her secret name. The one she gave to gain entry into the club each time she arrived. He shouldn’t have known it.
“Y-your Grace,” she said.
He laughed and elbowed Matthew. “I am. The Duke of Roseford, at your service, most especially if you bore of this one. So, you know my name. But finding out yours has been quite difficult.”
She swallowed. He’d been trying to find out her name? She glanced at Matthew, whose jaw was set hard and eyes were narrowed at Roseford.
“Enough, Robert,” he growled. “If the lady wishes to remain anonymous, that is her right.”
“Ah yes,” Robert drawled, and winked at her. “The eroticism of anonymity. I wouldn’t dare disrupt that.” He smiled. “I suppose I’m only curious to know more about the lady who has brought my friend back from the dead.”
Isabel jolted at that choice of words, dark considering what her uncle suspected of him. When she jerked her face to Tyndale, she found his lips thin and white, his irritation at the relentless teasing of his friend clear. But beneath that was something else. Something deeper.
But she couldn’t yet tell what it was. She didn’t know him well enough to read what he fought to conceal. Guilt? Heartbreak? Anger?
“Go away,Your Grace,” he ground out.
Robert laughed as he tipped his head to her in mock salute and then glided into the crowd and left them alone.
“I’m sorry about him,” Tyndale murmured. “He’s…well, he’s Roseford. He means no harm.”
“Is he really trying to uncover my true identity?” she asked, wishing her voice didn’t tremble so.
He turned his face and sighed. She could tell the answer already. “I wasn’t certain you would return. And I wanted to know why you ran away when you recognized me.”
She caught her breath. “Youasked him to find out who I was?”
“Robert has avenues to investigate that I do not,” he said. “So yes, I did ask him to try.”
“Does he know? Doyouknow?” Her heart throbbed at the idea and the questions about what he would do now if he did realize who she was. What relationship she had to the woman he had been prepared to marry.
His forehead wrinkled. “Why are you so afraid? Why were you so afraid the last time we were together? How do you know me? Or more importantly, how do I know you?”
She moved to turn away, but he caught her arm. Her skin practically hissed as his fingers closed over her bare flesh. She slowly lifted her gaze to his and found him focused very intently on her mouth, despite the adversarial bent of the conversation between them. She licked her lips and felt the shudder move through him in response.
There was something powerful about it, the fact that she could move him physically, even if his pursuit was still abjectly terrifying.
“Wh-why would you think I knew you?” she asked, trying to keep her tone light.
“Don’t lie,” he whispered. “When you saw me without my mask, your reaction was immediate and powerful. Visceral. You ran away without so much as a look back. I know you know who I am.”
“I—” she began, but could say no more.
He leaned in closer. His breath stirred her skin and she wanted so desperately to lean into it, intohim, once more. Her mind was spinning and her body singing for her to melt against him. Surrender herself in every way she could think of.
“Say it,” he demanded.
“Please don’t—”
“Say it. Say who I am,” he repeated, his gray eyes growing more intense than ever.
“Tyndale,” she heard her voice say. “The Duke of Tyndale.Matthew.”
