I did not say yes, she reminded herself as he came to stand beside her. Even so, the viscount had acted as though she had approved of his invitation.
She looked around the hall, planning to escape onto the terrace. Perhaps if she hid sufficiently well, the first dance would go by and he would simply have to wait for her to appear.
She curtseyed, about to excuse herself from his company, but before she could say anything further, the music started.Rosalyn bit her lip as he reached for her hand. His touch through the thin silk of her opera glove felt cold and repellent.
The music rose and fell in cadence as they stepped out onto the dance floor. It was a somber waltz and Rosalyn swallowed hard. She did not want to look directly at Lord Winbrook—it felt terribly wrong. But she also could not very well spend the entire dance looking away. It simply was not possible, since occasionally she had to check what was ahead of her.
“It is an enchanting piece of music, is it not?” Lord Winbrook asked her as they stepped neatly around a corner. His hand on her shoulder-blade made her feel nauseous.
“Yes,” she managed to say. She gazed out over the ballroom. The duke must be somewhere. She wished he would come and rescue her.
“I enjoy the waltz. It is my favourite of the dances.”
“Mm,” Rosalyn said, as non-committal a response as she could make it. The waltz was quite controversial, given that in turns, the two partners touched quite closely. She tensed as they turned. She gazed over Lord Winbrook’s shoulder, searching across the dance floor.
The duke was there. He was standing one row back from the dance floor. She spotted him gazing at her and her heart soared. He had noticed! She tried to convey her distress to him, gazing into his eyes, but two dancers moved past them and when they had passed, she could not see the duke because she and Lord Winbrook were elsewhere in the ballroom.
“Your sisters seem to be enjoying the evening,” he commented.
“I am sure they are.”
“You do not seem to like to talk during a dance. We shall remain silent, then,” he said lightly.
“As you wish,” Rosalyn replied. Relief washed through her. She was glad not to have to try and talk to him.
They danced around the ballroom once more, and then the cadence changed, the steps slowing, and Rosalyn felt relief flood through her as she let go of his hands and he bowed. She dropped a curtsey and straightened up, hastily thinking of an excuse to escape the ball.
“I feel a little indisposed. I will retire a moment to the drawing room,” she said swiftly.
“May I fetch you some refreshment?” Lord Winbrook asked. He looked a little puzzled.
“No, thank you,” Rosalyn said firmly. “I just need a moment to gather myself. I feel dizzy.”
“Of course, Miss Rothwell. Thank you for a lovely dance.”
“Thank you,” she managed to say, then turned and walked as swiftly as she could through the ballroom and out of a side door. She stood in the corridor, shutting her eyes for a moment with relief. The tension of waltzing with the viscount had been awful. She really did feel sick.
Footsteps hurrying closer made her open her eyes, startled. She looked up to see a footman hurrying towards the ballroom. His eyes widened in surprise to see a guest in the hallway, then he bowed respectfully. Rosalyn inclined her head in acknowledgement and hurried up the stairs. The drawing room was empty, the fire burning in the grate. Refreshments had been set out for later, when the guests would retire to play card games or make music. One window was still uncovered by a curtain, the night sky black and mysterious and enchanting. Rosalyn went to the window and leaned on the sill. She gazed out at the stars that sparkled there. Down below, the garden was white, the snow glistening in the light from the windows.
Rosalyn stared out, feeling calmer. The beautiful sight helped to settle her nerves. She leaned forward, resting her weight on her elbows. The duke flitted across her thoughts and she frowned, wishing that she could have understood thatcryptic gaze. He had looked concerned, as if he had guessed at her distress.
She looked out at the stars and wished she could run out into the garden, escaping the stifling house party and guests and enjoy the blissful quiet. The silent gardens seemed to beckon and she half-turned. A shadow at the door had distracted her attention.
A man stood there in the doorway—the duke. She recognised him instantly. She straightened up, feeling flustered.
“I beg your pardon,” he said softly. “I did not mean to disturb you. Are you feeling well?” His voice was low and resonant, concern clear in every word and in the expression on his face. He frowned, his thin mouth a firm line. He gazed at her uncertainly.
“I feel quite well,” she said. It was not an untruth—since being in the tranquil silence of the room for a few minutes, she already felt a little better. Seeing him also helped to lift her spirits.
“Forgive me,” the duke said softly. “I saw you exit the ballroom. I wished to check if you were feeling well.”
“Thank you,” Rosalyn murmured. His voice sounded so concerned, the expression in his eyes worried.
He moved over to stand next to her by the window. Her heart thudded loudly and she tensed, acutely conscious of his arm resting on the sill just a few inches from her own.
“A beautiful night,” he murmured softly.
“Mm.” Rosalyn cleared her throat. Her heart was racing wildly and she could barely think. “It is.”
