Felix inclined his torso in a deep bow before he offered his arm with a steady, expectant stillness. “I would be honored.”
He opened the door, letting her go first. The corridor was empty save for the butler, who melted away at their approach.
They walked together, not arm in arm, but close enough that their shadows blurred on the wall.
At the threshold to the ballroom, Felix paused. “One more thing, Rose. I will never let you down. Not if I can help it.”
She looked up at him, her expression shifting into a mask of calm, resolute dignity. “Then simply hold your ground, Felix. We have a reputation to build, and I expect you to be every bit as formidable as your title.”
He grinned, and for once it reached all the way to his eyes. “That much, I can deliver.”
When he finally offered her his arm, she took it, her fingers light but definite against his sleeve. Felix felt the warmth of her hand through the layers of fabric, and a certainty settled within him that he hadn’t expected to find.
Together, they walked into the ballroom, toward the light and the noise and the watching eyes.
For the first time since this arrangement began, Felix found himself thinking not of what might go wrong, but of what might, against all odds, go right.
CHAPTER 9
Felix extended his hand toward Rose. “I believe I promised you a dance.”
She took it, her fingers cool and steady. “We may as well,” she said. “I suppose it is what’s expected.”
He smiled, but it was softer, more secretive, as if the smile were for her alone. “Let’s give them something to talk about, then.”
They joined the waltz, and the world spun away into a blur of candlelight. Rose felt his hand at her waist, the heat of it, the security, and the warning; he was hers, for now, and all of London was watching.
Over his shoulder, she caught the pale flash of Lady Rutledge’s eyes, fixed on the pair of them with an intensity that chilled her from the inside out.
But Felix kept her close, and for the space of a single, perfect waltz, Rose let herself believe in the future they’d made. Even if that future was stitched together from lies, and longing, and the brittle hope that the sharks might someday lose interest.
When the music faded and the applause rose around them, Felix pressed her hand once before letting it go.
He led her from the floor, and for a moment, the crowd parted around them as if they were the only two people in the room.
“Are you watching for curfew, Duchess?” Lord Aldworth asked, having materialized next to the duke’s elbow again, nodding toward Rose with an air of theatrical appraisal.
Felix’s expression did not change, but something in his jaw tightened. “She is not a child, Aldworth.”
“No,” David agreed pleasantly, and leaned closer to the pair. “But you arestillwatching the door.”
Rose’s face heated. When his eyes found hers, she did not look away, not even towards the door.
This time, she took the lead, guiding the duke into the next dance, refusing to look back.
The following morning, the nurse entered Rose’s room shortly before breakfast.
“She’s up, Your Grace. Been fed, burped, and scolded for pinching the ruffles on her blanket.” The nurse gave Rose a half-curtsy, hands flour-dusted with talc. “Quite the set of lungs she’s got for one so new.”
Rose managed to smile. “Thank you, Mrs. Durham. I’ll take her now.”
The nurse hesitated, not ready to relinquish her charge. “The duke said she is to have every comfort, no matter the cost. I hope you will forgive me for saying, but not all noblemen care so much for foundl—” She broke off, as if the word illegitimate hovered just past her teeth, and replaced it with, “…for the little ones.”
Rose plucked Lizzie from her makeshift cradle and tucked the infant against her shoulder. The warmth of the baby’s cheek seeped through linen and skin straight into her heart.
“His Grace has his moments,” Rose said, trying to keep her voice neutral.
Mrs. Durham grinned, then shuffled away to prepare the next round of feedings or perhaps to gossip with the other staff about the new duchess’s odd devotion to her ward. Rose was left in thehush of the nursery, the faint morning light filtering through a veil of new curtains.
