“Bennett-Jones,” William said in surprise, pausing on the bottom step. “You’re finally back.”
“I am,” David acknowledged. He turned his gaze onto Rose, determined to secure the supper dance before he lost his nerve. “Lady Rose, it’s very good to see you again,” he said as he reached for her gloved hand. Although he recognized her immediately, there were differences in her appearance. She had matured into a lovely young woman.
“Mr. Bennett-Jones,” she said as she dipped a curtsy. “I trust your trip went well?”
“I feared I was gone too long.”
“I should say so,” she replied on a huff.
“Please don’t hold it against me, my lady,” he said in a quiet voice. “I should hate to learn I have lost your good opinion.”
She lifted a shoulder and dropped it in an exaggerated shrug. “Three years, two months and ten days is far too long to be away from civilized society, Mr. Bennett-Jones,” she stated, her gaze darting about as if she was looking for someone.
Disappointment settled over David like a wet blanket. Apparently, he had missed his opportunity with the duke’s daughter.
Then it hit him.
Three years, two months and ten days.
She had kept track of his absence. “That’s rather specific,” he countered. “Accurate, too,” he added as he brows lifted.
Pretending nonchalance, Rose merely shrugged again, which only drew his attention to the expanse of milky white skin that showed above her neckline. To the hint of décolletage created by a pair of breasts he had thought smaller when he last saw her.
His gaze drifted back up to discover her jawline was more defined, her cheekbones more evident. The eyes that had one time regarded him with mischief—they had occasionally played together as children—were now regarding him with an unspoken challenge.
“You missed me,” David murmured in surprise.
About to deny his claim, Rose lifted her chin and thought better of what she was about to say. “Maybe.”
“May I have the honor of dancing the second waltz with you?” He reached for her dance card and the pencil that hung from it.
Her eyes rounding, Rose paused a moment before she removed the card from her wrist. “It’s the supper dance,” she said as if in warning.
“I am well aware,” he replied as he wrote his name on the card, grinning at seeing how she had written Ertugrul’s name—Airtoorool. “Where will I find you?”
She glanced toward the line of potted palms. “I’ll probably be standing over there with Fred.”
At the mention of Fred, David blinked. “Fred?” he repeated.
“Your sister’s palm tree,” she replied as she rolled her eyes. “There’s always one she seems to favor at these balls.”
David’s chuckle turned into a full-throated laugh.
“It’s not that funny,” Rose said, flipping open her fan as if to hide behind it.
“Probably not,” he agreed. “But I know someone who will be very relieved to learn it’s merely a potted plant and not some bloke over six feet tall.”
Rose grinned despite her attempt at remaining annoyed. “At least plants don’t tend to disappoint, Mr. Bennett-Jones.”
“David, please,” he replied. “And I shall do everything in my power to ensure you are never disappointed in me.” Before she could respond, he bowed and took her hand in his once more. “I look forward to our dance.”
She curtsied and hurried off.
Expecting Ertugrul to have paid witness to the exchange, David turned and discovered the sultan’s son was no longer nearby. A quick glance around, and he found him surrounded by a curious assortment of aristocrats, including James, Duke of Ariley, and his wife, bravely introducing himself.
Since he wished to speak with the duke, David joined the men and Lady Ariley.
“Ah, Bennett-Jones,” Ariley said as David bowed. “It’s good to see you’re safely back in London.”
