CHAPTER24
Lord Dunwitty made a number of heroic attempts to engage Rose in conversation, but alas, love being what it was, her thoughts kept drifting back to the magical dance she’d just shared with Max. By the time they’d made it halfway through the quadrille, the viscount had given up and fallen silent.
If she’d been attending as she should have done, she might have realized sooner that he’d been easing her closer to the edge of the knot of swirling couples well before he grasped her hand and led her toward the entrance to the ballroom.
As it was, they were nearly out the door before she noticed. “Where are we going?” She stopped in the middle of the corridor and tried to tug her hand free from his grasp. “Lord Dunwitty! I insist you release me this—”
“Not just yet, Miss St. Claire. I wish to have a private word with you.”
He hurried her down the corridor and into the portrait gallery at the end of the hallway. Once they were out of sight of the ballroom he loosened his grip, and she snatched her hand away. “How dare you? I believed you to be a gentleman, Lord Dunwitty. Was I mistaken?”
“No. I—I beg your pardon, Miss St. Claire. I mean you no harm, but I must have a word with you, away from the ballroom. It won’t do if we’re overheard.”
A refusal hung on the tip of her tongue, but his tight lips and lowered brows made her pause. He’d never been anything other than cheerful and easygoing throughout the entire house party, but now he looked troubled.
“Very well, my lord, if you must.” Still, she backed away from him, prepared to flee if he made another move to touch her, and crossed her arms over her chest to hide her trembling hands. “I’m listening.”
He opened his mouth, then closed it again. Finally, he let out a sigh. “This is rather awkward.”
“Perhaps you’d better get it over with, then.” There was some chance they’d been seen leaving the ballroom together, and she couldn’t linger here with him for much longer without it resulting in a storm of gossip.
“Very well. I’ve agonized over whether or not to tell you this, but after your dance with the Duke of Grantham, it’s become apparent to me that—forgive me, Miss St. Claire—but it appears as if your heart is vulnerable to him.”
She stared at him, heat mounting in her cheeks. What in the world did hemean, speaking to her of such a thing? “The state of my heart, Lord Dunwitty, is not your—”
“It’s not my concern. Yes, I know, and I assure you, this conversation brings me no pleasure, but you’re a lovely, kind young lady, Miss St. Claire, and I esteem you too much to leave Grantham Lodge without making you aware of who the Duke of Grantham is. You deserve to know the truth about his machinations.”
“Machinations?” If ever there was a word to make her belly twist with dread, it was that one. “I don’t understand.”
“No. How could you?” Lord Dunwitty dragged a hand through his hair, then drew in a breath, and met her eyes. “I believe you and the duke share a property in Fairford? Your late father’s home, if I understand correctly.”
“We do, yes. Hammond Court.” But what could Hammond Court have to do with this?
It was a silly question, wasn’t it? Hammond Court was the only reason Max had come to Fairford in the first place. From the start, he’d vowed to take it away from her, by fair means, or foul. From the beginning, it had been the one thing that stood between them.
Was she really such a fool as to believe a few kisses, some sweet words, and one dance meant it no longer mattered? Suddenly, she wanted nothing more than to slap her hands over her ears, to shut out whatever it was Lord Dunwitty was going to tell her.
But it was already too late for that. Even now, he was opening his mouth, and the words were tumbling out. “Hammond Court, yes. The duke is eager to get his hands on the property, I believe?”
“Yes, he—yes. It belonged to his family at one time. It’s part of his legacy.”
Lord Dunwitty regarded her in silence for a moment, his brown eyes filled with something that looked very much like . . .
Pity.
Dear God. Whatever he was about to tell her, it was going to be terrible.
So terrible, it would break her heart into a thousand pieces.
“The duke brought me here to Grantham Lodge for a purpose, Miss St. Claire. My uncle had some unfortunate luck with a business venture of his, and he owes the duke a large sum of money. Until a recent change in my circumstances, there was no hope of his paying it.”
“Your uncle’s financial difficulties aren’t my concern, my lord.”
“Please, Miss St. Claire, let me finish.”
Could he not see that she didn’t want to hear anything more? Couldn’t he tell her heart was floundering, sinking? But there was little she could do now but listen, so she gave him a reluctant nod. “Very well.”
“The duke summoned me to Fairford to do him a service. In exchange, he pledged to forgive my uncle’s debt. I didn’t hesitate at the time, but now I wish to God I had.”
