Page 33

The Duke paused.

His hand remained stretched and resting against the pillar, but his grey eyes narrowed. His eyes studied her face, and she was afraid that he could see the anger and tension just beneath the surface.

Something flashed in the Duke’s face. It looked like recognition.

“Are you jealous, Rosamund?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Rosamund’s eyes widened in indignation. Her chest heaved beneath her bodice. What did he just ask?

“Your confidence has finally developed into a full delusion, Your Grace! “she protested. “I am indifferent to your social pursuits. My eyes are on Ashbourne Hall.”

The Duke’s eyes took on a teasing light, as he followed her movements - her mouth, her breaths - with keen interest. His smile broadened.

“I merely asked. It is a simple question, Lady Rosamund.”

“Oh, you are free to charm every widow between London and Scotland if you wish to!” Rosamund exclaimed, her hands clenching into fists. “It is no consequence to me, Your Grace.”

“Scotland seems unnecessarily far,” the Duke mused, as he inched even closer to her until her dress brushed against his trousers. It was quite improper, Rosamund thought at the back of her head. “The travel conditions are quite poor, too, this time of the year.”

“I would personally contribute toward the cost of your travel,” Rosamund declared, her voice rising. “Would that not ease the travel conditions?”

The Duke frowned. Something seemed to have slid into his thoughts that made the playfulness in his eyes disappear. It was replaced by something else - something quieter and more intense. The way he was looking at her made her nervous.

“Whatever my reputation is in London drawing rooms and gentlemen’s clubs, Lady Rosamund,” he murmured, “I have never made a woman promises I never intended to keep. Not anywhere, not in London. Not in Scotland. And of course, certainly not here.”

Rosamund could feel the defensive words freeze on her tongue. Her gaze had stilled on him, as he watched what looked like genuine emotions play on his face.

“Perhaps, then, that is one honorable thing about you, Your Grace,” she whispered, sounding small and confused.

The Duke watched her with an unreadable expression, his eyes gently hovering over her.

“I had hoped there might be two,” he admitted, but she could not claim to know that she knew what that meant.

For a moment, they just looked at each other, each one studying the other. She shivered as a breeze blew into the conservatory.

“Hold still,” the Duke said, and Rosamund almost thought that he wanted her to stop shivering.

“What?” she asked, blinking.

“You have a leaf caught in your hair,” he said softly, his hand instinctively reaching out for it. It hovered close to her head but did not make contact.

It was almost as if the two of them had stopped moving to ask the other permission to do something. He did not rush. His movements were slow, and almost non-existent, while she remained rooted with her eyes locked onto his.

“May I?” he finally asked, his voice slightly rough.

He was asking her for permission, instead of reaching out just because he could. It should have been simple. He could just pluck the leaf out and be done with it, but there was a tremor between the two of them that she could feel and did not know if he could recognize.

Rosamund gave him an almost imperceptible nod. Her mind told her to say no. To think of Ashbourne Hall. To think of her father and Henry, and the years that she had to live far away while trying to collect enough money to purchase her home back. Still, her body had a way of agreeing with him.

A nod.

That was what she gave him.

Westbourne finally let his fingers pluck the leaf gently. He was skilful in his maneuver, neither pulling nor snagging. Her fingers grazed her temple, lingering even after he had removed the leaf. They descended to the apples of her cheeks and down to trace her jawline. She leaned into his touch involuntarily, feeling the contrast between his rough fingers and her soft skin. This time, when she shivered, she was certain it was not because of the breeze.

Click.

The conservatory door creaked as it turned. Rosamund realized she did not even know it had been closed. It made sense though, so that the crisp air did not enter the house.