“On what?” Ertugrul asked, his dark brows furrowing.
“Your motivation, I suppose.”
He glanced about, noting how the other couples movements had slowed now that the music was fading. “Hope for a friend, is all,” he said in a quiet voice.
“A friend?” she repeated in surprise.
Ertugrul was about to mention David’s name, but a young man had approached and was bowing to them.
“Pardon, sir, but I’m here to collect Lady Rose for the next dance.”
The sober manner of the man had Ertugrul thinking he was used to getting his way. “Of course, my lord,” he said with a nod.
Rose dipped a deep curtsy to Ertugrul’s bow. “Thank you for the dance,” she said before turning to Mark Fitzsimmons. “How do, Lord Chamberlain?” She took his proffered arm and gave Ertugrul an apologetic glance before she was whisked off to start the cotillion.
