Rose dropped her head in her hands, groaning. She pushed to her feet, then checked her hair in a large mirror near the door. Heavens, she was a mess. She adjusted a couple of pins to no avail just as the door burst open without ceremony.
Her brother, the Duke of Ryleigh, filled the threshold, cold air infiltrating from the foyer. He hadn’t even removed his gloves. That never boded well. His greatcoat was unbuttoned, and his expression resembled a thundercloud. Rebecca swept in behind him in a soft hush of dove-gray wool, her cheeks flushed from the morning, her eyes already apologizing.
“Rose,” Sebastian said. Her name sounded like an indictment.
“Good morning to you as well, Seb.” She smoothed her hands over her wool frock, thankful she’d dressed before succumbing to sleep after wearing out the carpets with her pacing in trying to come up with some kind—any kind—of solution to locating Viola. She willed a steadiness into her limbs.
Sebastian advanced two steps, his jaw clenched. “What the devil are you about? Half of London has been in my ear since you disappeared last night. And do you know whohasn’tbeen in my ear?” He was practically shouting—for Sebastian anyway. He swiveled his head to Rebecca. “Mywife!”
Rebecca slipped a hand through Sebastian’s arm. “Now, darling—”
He scowled at the duchess, shaking off her hold, turning back to Rose. From the corner of her eye, Rose winced as Rebecca lifted her shoulders, her expression speaking loudly as if shouting,I tried.
Sebastian, however, was not known for picking up the subtle clues around him. “Why didn’t you tell me you and Whitmore were engaged? I suppose it doesn’t matter much at this point. Not after the spectacle of that waltz the two of you put on before one and all.” His words cracked, then softened. “Is this truly what you want? To marry a merchant?”
Instinct had Rose opening her mouth to…to what? Deny it? Admit it? She wasn’t prepared for questions of this magnitude. If she didn’t marry Emerson, it would be tantamount to pushing him from her life. A man who would never humiliate her. He’d already proven he would protect her—in fact, alreadyhadprotected her. He kissed her as if she meant more to him than all the bolts of material stacked to the rafters in his entire warehouse.
Sebastian gripped her hands. “Darling, you leapt into disaster with Stanford out of sheer stubbornness. Is that what you are doing now? Because you need not wed the man if you don’t wish. I can put a stop to Lady Ingleby’s malicious chatter like that,” he said snapping his fingers.
“Oh, Seb,” she cried, hurling herself in his arms. “Yes. Yes, I wish to marry him. He is nothing like Stanford. Emerson is good, if a bit gruff. But he’s kind. So very kind.”
Sebastian’s arms tightened around her then loosened, allowing her to step back.
Rebecca gasped, and Rose’s gazed darted to her, then followed her eyes past Sebastian’s shoulders.
Emerson stood in the door, crushing a beaver hat in his hand, and by the look on his face, he’d heard her clumsy declaration.
Slowly, her brother turned, and Rose held her breath. “Perhaps we should shut the door,” Seb said, not taking his eyes from Emerson. Her brother was large in the elegant, refined way of a noble.
Yet Emerson nearly dwarfed Sebastian in his magnificence and his size. The realization hit her in an instant:She loved him.A lightheaded sensation left her dizzy and clutching air, sending her knees buckling beneath her.
“Rose!”
She was swept off her feet and inundated by the wholly masculine scent of bergamot and power of this wonderful man. Gently, he set her on the settee and planted himself beside her without a single wince. “Your side,” she whispered.
He gave a short shake of his head. “Tell me. What is it?”
Rose looked into the depths of worry creasing his brows. “I’m fine.”
“I ordered tea,” Rebecca said, jarring Rose’s attention from Emerson.
“Er, thank you.”
Rebecca and Sebastian lowered on another settee just across.The duelist and his second. A bout of mad laughter tickled her throat. She swallowed it back.
Her brother was the ultimate politician, and he let a long silence grow awkward. Thankfully, her sister-in-law was not cut of that same cloth. “We understand congratulations are in order, Mr. Whitmore,” she said, smiling.
“Thank you, Your Grace,” he said, not taking his eyes from Rose. Her hand somehow ended up in his, and he squeezed.
Oh, dear. He’d spoken to Lady Kimpton, she was certain of it. But she could read nothing from him. The look in his eyes was indiscernible.
“How is Miss Lockhart this morning?” he asked her.
Rose pulled herself together. She swallowed hard and lifted her eyes to his. “She’s gone.” The words spilled from her on a harsh, furious breath. “I must find her, of course.”
Rebecca’s breath caught. “What do you mean ‘she’s gone’? I thought Miss Lockhart had settled comfortably at Hope House.”
Emerson grabbed her fist with his large hand—a touch that seemed to brand her.Gentle, kind. They were the words she used to describe him to her brother. She set her other hand atop his and squeezed. “No. Yesterday morning, I gave her all the money from my coin purse and informed her she was not welcome to stay if she treated the others so horribly. When I returned home last night from the subscription ball, she was on my doorstep.” Her vision shimmered her view with sudden tears.
