“Friends?” someone shouted after several other guesses. Philippa nodded, smiling brightly.
James held up his finger to indicate the second syllable. He pretended to look through a telescope, striding about an imaginary deck.
“Captain is not a syllable,” Lord Bronham objected. Everyone laughed.
“Sail?” someone else suggested.
“Sail? Ship? Friendship!” someone yelled. Philippa beamed.
The audience applauded them. James bowed, looking straight at Miss Rothwell and smiling shyly. Callum tensed, his spine prickling with anger. Was James trying to suggest that he wanted to be friends with Miss Rothwell? He dismissed the thought instantly.
Stop having such wild flights of fancy,he told himself with some annoyance.It is a game of charades, not some sort of secret code-message.
He put all thoughts aside as Miss Rothwell turned to him. Her smile was warm and lovely, and his heart melted. He beamed back.
When everyone had performed and the entire room was applauding one another, Callum stood up and bowed low.
“Might I fetch you some refreshment?” he asked her.
“That would be most kind,” she replied.
He went off to the refreshments table to fetch her a glass of cordial, his soul soaring. It had been a beautiful experience, working with her on their charade. He hated the game, but with her, it had been immensely enjoyable. He walked back across the room and presented the glass to her, bowing low.
“You are a fine actor, Miss Rothwell,” he complimented her.
“As are you, Your Grace.”
“I can’t be sure of that. I was dying of fright up there. Especially when the arguing started.”
“You did extremely well, Your Grace,” Miss Rothwell said gently.
“As did you,” he assured her.
“Thank you,” she replied, a teasing smile on her lips.
His heart soared. She was standing, talking to him, her fear apparently forgotten, and he was having the best time he could remember having. He glanced warmly around the room, grateful even to his mother for suggesting the idea. His cheeks reddened at the memory of miming the kissing under the bough, and he recalled his mother’s idea of decorating the hall the next day. He could not wait to see what would happen.
Chapter 15
Rosalyn paused in the hallway. She had risen early, at least an hour before the guests usually gathered to break their fast, but she had taken time deciding what to wear and how to style her hair, and as she walked down the hallway, she realised that the breakfast room was already almost full. She paused in the corridor, her heart thudding as she heard the loud, strident noise of chatting and laughter. Crowded rooms always made her feel a little uncomfortable.
Her hands smoothed her skirt of heavy silk in pale yellow. She had taken almost an hour to decide on an outfit that she felt was right, and even as she stood there, she wondered if she had chosen correctly.
Stop it,she told herself, feeling a mix of annoyance and amusement. She knew that it was because of the duke that she had taken so long to get ready.
Her stomach twisted as she recalled the previous evening. She remembered staring into the duke’s eyes as they mimed the kiss. It had seemed as though time stood still, as though only he and she existed in the room; in the world. All that she had thought of was his eyes and his closeness. She was drawn into them, drowning in them.
What is the matter with me?she asked herself as she walked into the breakfast room.
The guests fell quiet. Her cheeks burned. Luckily, nobody had received the French words badly, and many of the guests had congratulated them afterwards on their daring performance. It would have been hard to enter the crowded room had it not been received so well.
Her gaze moved to the duke. He was staring straight at her. Without moving his gaze, he stood up, politely acknowledgingher as she entered. Her stomach tied itself in knots, her cheeks flaming hotly as the other men at the table, too, stood.
“Good morning,” she managed to say, moving to a chair beside Sebastian, which was fortunately unoccupied. The reason for this was that Lady Harriet was seated on his other side. Rosalyn smiled at her as she sat down. Lady Harriet beamed.
“Good morning,” the duke said politely. His voice was resonant, and her throat tightened with emotion. It felt as though it were just the two of them in the room. The tenderness in his voice made her heart twist. His eyes were focused on her and he poured tea for her.
“Thank you,” she managed to say.
