Page 40

“I would be delighted to, Mr. Wycliffe,” she said.

With that response, his face immediately lit up. He was a handsome, kind man, but somehow, he could not fully keep her attention. Her eyes had drifted across the crowd room, and ended up on Peregrine Blackwood. Then man was all across the room, but somehow, he managed to command it. Eyes followed his movement.

The Duke of Westbourne wore a dark evening attire like most of the men, but the the height, broad shoulders, striking profile, and confident attitude made him different. For a moment, she was distracted from her conversation with Thomas. She could hear him in the background, pleasantly buzzing but not truly communicating what he meant to say because she was gone.

Rosamund braced herself. She half expected the Duke to weave into the crowd and give a biting remark while also inserting himself into a conversation that should be between Thomas and her.

The Duke even turned toward her and his blue-gray eyes met hers. He narrowed his eyes as if something displeased him - or perhaps, he was merely trying to see something clearly. It was like time stood still, with her breath caught in her throat. Then, he gave Thomas an almost imperceptible nod. Thomas nodded back, with a grin. With the exchange complete, the Duke turned on his heel and walked away.

Rosamund’s jaw dropped. So, he was giving her space tonight. It felt almost unnatural even though she felt a bit of relief.

“Lady Rosamund, I apologize but there is someone that I must speak with,” Thomas said, his brows furrowed. He did look like he deeply regretted leaving her there alone. “We can see each other later…about the dance?”

“All right, Mr. Wycliffe,” she said, with a reassuring smile. “We will see each other later, then.”

That smile quickly soured when she saw that the Duke was talking to a beautiful blond young woman, the daughter of a viscount. When the music began, he led her to the dance floor and swept her away in time with the melody. She could not help but glare in their direction.

Rosamund watched the Duke dance with the lady with ease and precision. The two moved well together, with aristocratic grace. She could see how he smiled at her and the way she was saying something, looking completely at ease with the fact that she was conversing with a Duke.

The Duke of Westbourne, in particular.

“You may want to avert your eyes a little, Rosamund,” Alice advised quietly, hiding half her face with a fan, “or people are going to notice.”

“It is a lovely waltz,” Rosamund replied. “Why would I not be interested in watching?”

“Ha, of course,” Alice said, raising an eyebrow. “Do you intend to continue pretending that you are merely curious about the Duke?”

“I am curious about the Duke,” Rosamund insisted, nodding. “He may be the answer to the questions that have been bothering me for a long time. It is entirely normal then that I would be curious about him.”

“Curiosity? That is all? It does not usually cause the kind of look on someone’s face that I see on yours,” Alice observed. “Nor does it look like you would like to set fire to another woman’s gloves.”

“I do not want to do that!” Rosamund gasped. “Why would I want to set fire to someone else’s gloves?”

“Her fan, then?” Alice teased.

“Alice, attraction is not affection,” Rosamund retorted, lifting her chin. “One can acknowledge that a man has certain features that can be considered striking without feeling any warm sentiment toward him.”

“If you say so,” Alice said, “although I do see your point there. However, attraction or affection, you look miserable while he dances with someone else.”

“I am not miserable,” Rosamund insisted sharply. “I am merely…curious. I am going to see if Mr. Wycliffe has returned from his business meeting”

“I do believe you do not have time for that,” Alice said. “The Duke is on his way to you.”

A tall shadow suddenly fell over her.

Rosamund raised her eyes to see the Duke of Westbourne standing before her. Her heart immediately leaped at the sight of his slightly-mussed hair. His grey-blue eyes were intensely focused on her. He had a way of looking at her as if he could read her soul.

“Lady Rosamund,” he said, his voice cutting through the chatter of the room. None of the words in the background registered. She could only hear his voice. “Will you honor me by gracing me with the final dance?”

She hesitated. Then, she turned left and right, looking for Thomas. She had promised him a dance, but he was nowhere in sight. The conversation must have taken longer than intended. There was also the fact that her instinct still warned her to refuse the man before her. There were many polite excuses she could use. This man was just dancing and flirting with a beautiful young woman earlier, after merely nodding in her general direction. And now, he was asking her for a dance?

“I…Yes, Your Grace,” she replied, managing to save that response from total awkwardness, placing her gloved hand in his.

His fingers were warm, firm, and calloused. They also felt like home. They wrapped around hers, leading her onto the dance floor just as the music began. Their connection though had already thawed, and it made the movement smoother and more synchronized. His hand at her waist was light, but it still managed to burn into her skin.

At first, nobody spoke. Only the music could be heard. Yet, Rosamund knew there were many unspoken things between them, especially after that encounter during the storm.

“You and Mr. Wycliffe seemed quite engaged all evening,” the Duke finally said, his voice low.