“Stop fidgeting,” LadyEllinwood barked as Rosemary bounced lightly on her heels when she heard the sound of an approaching carriage. “A duchess does not fidget.”
“I am not a duchess yet.” Belly fluttering with excitement, Rosemary pressed her face to the window as a magnificent black town coach, pulled by a prancing quartet of gray horses all with feather plumes attached to the crown of their bridles, came to a halt outside.
“All the more reason to behave like one.” Lady Ellinwood struck her cane on the floor. “Now come away from the window and present yourself accordingly.”
With great reluctance, Rosemary moved to her grandmother’s side but made sure to position herself so that she still had a view of the town coach. After all, it wasn’t every day that a massive carriage arrived to ferry her off to a fancy gala. Despite her pink monstrosity of a gown, she couldn’t help but feel a bit like a princess. And she was ready to see her prince.
A footman in formal livery, silver buttons shining in the moonlight, opened the carriage door, and her breath caught on a sharp intake of air when Sterling stepped out.
No.
Not Sterling.
This…thiswas the Duke of Hanover.
Formally attired in an ebony jacket that fit his lean torso and broad, muscular shoulders like a glove, a gray necktie, crisp white shirt, and straight trousers, he was the epitome of a well-dressed gentleman.
In the subtle glow of lamplight, his skin was golden tan, as if he’d just spent an afternoon basking in the sun. His dark hair was swept straight back off his temple and set lightly with pomade in a simple, masculine style that suited him far better than the elaborately coiffed designs being adopted by every dandy in London. He had even shaved, revealing a strong jaw underneath all that scruff.
As if he sensed her watching him, he abruptly lifted his head and stared straight through the glass to where she stood in the middle of the foyer. For a moment, she found herself intimidated by this striking stranger who bore little resemblance to the charming, disheveled rogue she’d agreed to marry. Then he winked at her, and his mouth curved in a grin that was as wolfish as it was familiar, and her unease escaped between her lips on a sigh of relief.
Therewas her Sterling.
He may have looked like a duke, but underneath all the impeccably tailored clothing he was still the same scoundrel that had stolen her heart.
“Lady Ellinwood,” he said, addressing her grandmother first in a deep bow. “If I were twenty years older, I’d be tempted to leave your granddaughter at home and escort you to the gala in her stead. You are positively regal this evening.”
“Hmph,” Lady Ellinwood sniffed, but she didn’t quite manage to turn her head to the side fast enough to hide the tiny smile that played across her lips.
“And you, my dear Miss Stanhope,” Sterling said as he straightened and cast his gaze upon Rosemary. His eyes widened before his face went perfectly blank; a slate being wiped clean of chalk. “You look…”
“Yes?” she said innocently. Enjoying herself, she spun in a circle to show off every single ribbon, bow, and tuft. “Isn’t it the mostgorgeousgown you’ve ever seen? Flawless, even.”
“Ah…”
“My personal modiste has assured me that my granddaughter’s gown is the very height of fashion,” Lady Ellinwood said sharply, leaning on her cane. “Do you disagree, Your Grace?”
Rosemary bit the inside of her cheek to hold back a snort of laughter. Traditionally, it was Sterling who gained amusement at the expense of others. How entertaining–and a tad gratifying–to have the shoe placed on the other foot.
Her humor faded when he stepped closer to her and raised her hand to his mouth. He met her gaze across the uneven bump of her knuckles and even through the thin layer of her elbow-length satin glove she felt the possessive warmth of his breath as it fanned across her skin.
“You, Miss Stanhope,” he said in a voice that was husky and deep and caused a flash of heat to lick low in her belly, “are the most beautiful creature I have ever had the pleasure of laying my eyes upon.”
They were in the foyer with Rosemary’s grandmother watching on. But with those words, Sterling stripped her bare. It didn’t matter what color her dress was or the number of bows it had (212, per Rebecca’s counting). She could have donned a vegetable sack, and through Sterling’s gaze…through Sterling’s gaze, she would still feel like a princess.
For a young woman who had never quite feltenough….beautiful enough, fashionable enough, attractive enough…there was power to be found in feeling pretty. For as much as she told herself that she didn’t care what she wore, or what she looked like, or how many of her peers giggled into their fans when she walked past, there was a part of her thatdidcare. Thatdidwant someone to gaze at her and think,“My goodness, she’s lovely–where has she been hiding all this time?”To which she’d reply,“I’m here. I’ve always been here. Just waiting to be seen for who I am.”
Waiting, as it so happened, for Sterling.
“Shall we?” he murmured. “Wouldn’t want to be late for your first Royal Gala.”
“I am very nervous,” she confessed under her breath after he had assisted her grandmother, and then her, into the carriage. Paneled in rich mahogany with velvet seats and gold tassels, it was easily the most opulent vehicle she’d ever occupied. Smooth as well, she noted, when they set off at a brisk trot with nary a bump or a bobble.
“Don’t be.” Leaning comfortably into his seat, Sterling sent her another wink from his side of the town coach. “Most everyone is going to be looking at me and those who aren’t will be so blinded by the sheer majesty of your ball gown that they’ll be struck speechless and you won’t have to talk to them.”
“It is majestic, isn’t it?” Lady Ellinwood interceded. “I will inform my modiste you said as much, Your Grace. She will be honored by such a high compliment.”
“Perhaps Mrs. Broomall could even make His Grace a matching jacket,” Rosemary suggested. “The pink would truly complement his coloring. Don’t you agree, Grandmother?”
