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She blinked, then tried again just as Lord Dalmeer appeared down the corridor.

Her heart somersaulted, and she turned the knob more forcefully.

He slowed at the sight of her, his eyes moving to the doorknob.

“It is locked,” she explained, lest he think she had been lying in wait to see him.

“By whom?”

“I could not say,” she replied. “Perhaps your mother has decided I should not have this bedchamber after all.”

Lord Dalmeer opened his own door with ease and disappeared.

Nell stared, her hand motionless on the doorknob. Had he truly left her in the predicament?

But he reappeared just as quickly as he had gone. “I have rung the bell. A servant should be here presently.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

He regarded her. “How is your hand?”

She lifted it and turned it from side to side. “Doing an injustice to this glove, I think.” It had required Shaw’s best efforts to get the glove on in the first place. Taking it off to eat and then replacing it had been one of the more daunting tasks in her life. Millie had been obliged to help.

The earl’s charming half-smile appeared. “It has an intriguing shape, to be sure.”

Intriguing.

The word was like a pitcher of freezing pond water over Nell’s head. It was the word Miss Orston had used to describe the earl. But my, how appropriate it was.

Lord Dalmeer was a man who begged to be known. Warm yet mysterious all at once.

His brow knit. “Are you angry with me, Miss Prescott?”

“Of course not. Why would you assume it?”

The corner of his mouth lifted in a wry smile. “I imagined that we would remain friends, but it seems we have become mere acquaintances.”

Nell swallowed. “I believe it is for the best for us to keep our distance, my lord. Only today, Miss Orston asked me questions which…” She pressed her lips together as she tried to decide how to phrase it.

“What did she ask?”

She willed the heat to keep from her cheeks. “If there was an understanding between us.”

“Ah.” His gaze dropped to the floor. “I see.”

“I assured her there was not,” Nell said quickly.

Lord Dalmeer gave her a little smile. “Very good of you. I trust Mr. Tinston was able to see that your hand received proper care?”

“Oh, yes. I could not have asked for better care, silly as the injury was.”

“You were given faulty skates, Nell. It is fortunate you were not more severely injured.”

She broke her gaze away, for she could not look at him without remembering those heady moments in the conservatory, and hearing her name from his mouth made it all the worse.

“Forgive me,” he said softly. “Miss Prescott.”

Heart aching, she offered him a smile. “There is nothing to forgive.”