Now she entered the park, a serene expression on that lovely face, and something came over him. Something foolish. He stepped out where she could see him and called out, “Your Grace?”
She stopped in the path and turned toward his voice. He saw color enter her cheeks as she saw him, but then she stepped toward him. “Goodness, Mr. Desmond, what a surprise!”
He smiled as he met her on the path, a hand outstretched to shake hers. When she touched him, a flutter of electric heat seemed to follow. “Your Grace,” he said. “What are you doing here?”
“I-I live just there,” she said, motioning to the colorful row of houses beyond the park. “On Kent’s Row.”
“Ah,” he said. “And I was calling on a friend on the other side of the park and thought to take a walk before I went on my way. What a wonderful surprise. Would you…would you like to walk together? Or is that too presumptuous in an acquaintance so young as ours?”
That blush on her cheeks deepened and she dipped her head. “Er, no. Not at all. I would very much enjoy a walk together. Please, lead the way.”
He did so, stepping onto the path as she fell in beside him. For a few moments the air between them was silent. Too silent. He cleared his throat. “Kent’s Row. Why have I heard of that name before?” he asked, pretending he didn’t already know everything about the place.
A slight smile tilted her lips. “Perhaps because it is a place to put duchesses out to pasture?”
He blinked at her forthright response. “Goodness, that sounds dire! Certainly that cannot be true.”
“And yet it is,” she said with a laugh. “My neighbors are lovely, but mostly they are much older dowagers whose sons and even grandsons have taken over the titles their husbands once held.”
“I see. You must be lonely there, without neighbors your age to meet with.” He glanced at her from the corner of his eye, watching to see if there anything in her face hinting that she kept some kind of secret male company.
But she shook her head and didn’t look reserved on the subject. “Not at all. The older ladies are fine company. And my neighbors on either side are Valaria—she is the Duchess of Gooding and still in mourning—and of course Bernadette, the Duchess of Tunbridge, who you met at the ball a few days ago. We’re all young widows.”
“And all chose such a place to reside,” he said. “Not that it is any of my business, it just seems peculiar that such a vivacious person would lock herself away thus.”
Flora turned toward him. “And how have you determined I am vivacious?” she said with a playful smile. “Was it my scintillating conversation about your friendship with Lightmorrow at the ball?”
“You were a charming, albeit brief, companion. But one couldn’t look at you and not see your sparkle, Your Grace.”
The teasing in her demeanor changed and she shifted as if his compliment made her uncomfortable. She stepped back. “That is kindly said.” She stared off toward the row of homes behind them and let out her breath in the slightest of sighs. “I cannot speak for my friends, or I will not at any rate, but I definitely wasn’t forced into my life on the Row. I simply did not think I’d ever live as anything but a staid dowager ever again. So why not retire to a place where I could easily be just that?”
He wrinkled his brow at that, yet again, direct answer. A staid dowager didn’t sound like the kind of woman who was harboring a secret lover or undercover life as her stepchildren had implied.
“And so you…embroider?” he asked.
She laughed. “Oh, your tone makes that sound so grandmotherly. I’ll have you know I have a great deal of talent when it comes to embroidery!”
“I would not doubt it,” he said, raising his hands in playful surrender.
“Besides, some of the best parties are held by staid dowagers, aren’t they? I do not wish to brag, but I am well known for my entertaining fetes amongst my friends.” She folded her arms and then her expression faltered a bit. “Perhaps…perhaps you would like to join us in a few days’ time.”
He blinked. “You’re inviting me to a party?”
“A gathering of friends. You already know Lightmorrow, and I saw you talking to Callum…er, Blackvale at Lightmorrow’s ball, so I think you must know him, as well. You all went to school together, yes?”
There was a brief sour reaction in his chest to the lady’s use of Blackvale’s first name. He couldn’t imagine her matching well with serious Blackvale, who he did know a bit from childhood, though not as well as Lightmorrow. But the two dukes were friends—one could not be acquainted with one without the other, it seemed. He liked Blackvale, though he’d found the man to be distracted and a little secretive at the party a few days ago. Lightmorrow had teased him about secret assignations.
And Roarke’s heart sank. Had he stumbled across the truth about Flora? Was she covertly meeting with Blackvale?
“I would very much like to attend,” he said, a little more flatly than he might have said prior to this question about her association with his friend. “You may get my direction from Lightmorrow, if you like, and send me the details.”
“I shall do so,” she said.
She looked as though she might say more, and he stepped away to prevent it, now feeling uncertain again and not liking that his mood was so tied to a lady he didn’t even know and was acting covertly against.
“And now I shall leave you to your walk,” he said, breaking eye contact. “I look forward to seeing you in a few days.”
With that he tipped his head and strode away, hearing her soft, confusion-laced “Good afternoon” echo behind him on the breeze. He shook his head as he exited the park and forced himself not to look back at her. If he was going to act on his awful cousins’ behalf, he needed to get his head straight. He most definitely didn’t need to get the fact that he found this woman wildly attractive become intermixed with whatever distasteful investigation he was conducting. That was the way to heartache.
