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“Ah, but certainly,” Lady Margaret agreed, her eyes bright with amusement. “A peacock who owns thousands of acres and has political influence. And he looks like a fallen angel disguised as a rugged Duke. Lady Glenmore is harmlessly enamored, but what can I say about young widows like Mrs. Beatrix Evelyn?”

Rosamund’s eyes followed Lady Margaret’s gaze. Her hostess was right. Mrs. Evelyn seemed like a more suitable match for the Duke. She was only a few years older than herself, and had no children. Her husband died not too long after the wedding. At that moment, the beautiful, redheaded widow was laughing at something that Peregrine had said. The mood quickly changed when he leaned closer and whispered something in her ear. Her cheeks flushed red. The whole scene made something tighten in Rosamund’s belly. It was a strange and unpleasant sensation, unexpected and unwelcome.

You are being ridiculous!

I do not care who he laughs with. I am here to gain everyone else’s approval.

However, her cheeks betrayed her. They flushed red, like Mrs. Evelyn’s. Hers, though, did so out of a growing fury. She tried to focus on something else. However, it was difficult to ignore Peregrine leading Mrs. Evelyn onto the polished parquet floor. They moved together with practiced grace, and almost as if they were accustomed to dancing with each other.

Rosamund was no longer surprised that the Duke moved with easy athleticism with a smile on his face. That man knew what he was doing to Mrs. Evelyn by doing that, and, on the surface, it seemed that he was also thoroughly enjoying himself.

When the dance ended, the Duke took care to escort Mrs. Evelyn back to the side. Then, he whispered something to her once more that had the young widow fanning herself vigorously.

After that, Peregrine turned his head.

His eyes directly locked onto Rosamund’s from across the room. The charming, lazy smile he had reserved for the likes of Mrs. Evelyn completely faded. It was replaced by something else, something intense.

He knew she was watching him. She shuddered at the conclusions he might make. Conclusions that might be too close to the truth. To her horror, he did not look away. Instead, he walked straight to her.

No!

Rosamund’s heart pounded wildly in her chest. She quickly lifted her lemonade glass to take a sip, giving herself something to do. Her eyes shifted to a random oil painting, one that she would more likely laugh at, being a portrait of a dead pheasant. Now, she had to act as if she was truly fascinated by it when the only thing she was wondering about was how someone was able to get away with selling it, at all.

“That is an exceptional painting, do you think?” Peregrine asked, close to her ear. The lilt in his voice confirmed that he was as eager to annoy her as she was to annoy him.

Rosamund allowed herself to sip some more lemonade before turning around to look at that smug face, once more. Up close, Peregrine had a strong presence, the one that had Mrs. Evelyn flushing and the other ladies giggling. It could be that striking face, or that smell of expensive leather and spiced cedar. The man certainly had the confidence for it.

“The pheasant is only compelling because it is quiet, but it is absolutely not a painting someone should be putting up here where everyone can see it,” she said bluntly.

“Ah, there you are,” Peregrine said. “You have finally shown your real self, Lady Rosamund. I must admit I was worrying that you have decided to blend in with the rest of the ladies tonight.”

“As you can tell, I am blending in with something else, and not the ladies,” she retorted. “Meanwhile, you intended to do the opposite, charming everyone with smiles that you do not reserve for the Harcourts. It is a performance that only I can see through.”

“Performance?” Peregrine echoed, raising an eyebrow. “I will have you know that both Lady Glenmore and Mrs. Evelyn were truly happy with it.”

“Lady Glenmore is seventy-two,” Rosamund countered. “She must have forgotten her spectacles. As for Mrs. Evelyn, I believe she will swoon at anything you do, anyway.”

Peregrine was much closer now. How did he do that? Instead of showing her the charm that had the other women rapt, he was more serious. Yet, Rosamund could not help but feel like he was doing something more, pulling her close with each breath and word and movement.

“Even you can see that Mrs. Beatrix Evelyn is a charming woman,” Peregrine drawled. “She also listens to what I have to say, even if it is about something like agricultural drainage and soil quality.”

“I know you are aware that she does not truly care about agriculture, Your Grace!” Rosamund exclaimed.

Then, her eyes widened. She looked left and right and was greatly relieved to see that nobody seemed to be listening to them up close. Mrs. Evelyn was in a cluster from the other end of the room, though her eyes kept on looking their way.

Peregrine tilted his head to one side. A slow and thoroughly wicked smile broke through his face.

“Are you jealous, Lady Rosamund?” he asked, lowering his voice. His eyes took on a silvery gleam under the lights.

“W-what?” Rosamund cried, her face turning scarlet. “I am not! I knew you were arrogant, but not like this!”

“Oh, so you gave me some benefit of the doubt,” Peregrine murmured, leaning down so close that Rosamund had to step back. “I can feel your indignation burning a hole through my coat and into my soul.”

“You jest!” she snapped. “You certainly need to stop making such terrible assumptions.

Peregrine chuckled. It sent a shiver through her spine. No, it was not fear that she felt, but something else. It was what made her look at how he smoothed his cuffs and watched her with unabashed amusement.

“Come dance with me, Lady Rosamund,” he invited, extending a hand toward her.