She looked at him, really looked, and saw the man underneath the armor. He was as scared as she was, and that—more than anything—made her want to stay. But she said nothing. The wall remained, solid and true.
The crowd applauded, and the night resumed its glittering pace.
But Rose knew that something had shifted between them.
And it would not be undone.
“That was a dazzling set,” purred a new voice, slicing through the hum of the drawing room like a silk ribbon drawn taut. “You nearly had Lady Rutledge in fits with that final dip, Duchess.”
Rose looked up, mid-sip, to see a woman of about thirty approaching on the arm of a dignified, balding gentleman—Mrs. Sophia March, famed for her wit and, less publicly, for surviving a scandalous brush with ruin some years back.
“Mrs. March,” Felix greeted, bowing just enough to indicate respect and nothing more. “Mr. March, always a pleasure.”
“Your Grace,” March replied, her eyes gleaming with amusement. “You’ve not changed a bit. I confess I had not believed you capable of being tamed, but then I see your duchess and understand. She’s made a proper man of you.”
“Appearances are my one true talent, Sophia. Surely you know that by now.”
March’s husband, looking mildly lost amid the currents of conversation, murmured something about a new whiskey shipment and drifted off, drawing Felix with him. It was as orchestrated as a cotillion. With the men out of earshot, Sophia could steer Rose to a quiet alcove beneath a stuffed peacock.
“I hope you’ll forgive my directness,” Sophia said as soon as the men were safely out of sight. “But I wanted a word alone with you. He’s a good man, you know. Your Felix.
The phrase startled Rose more than anything in the room. “I’m not sure he would agree,” she whispered.
Sophia’s smile faded, replaced by something gentler. “He’s always played the devil, but that’s only to keep the world from prying too deep. The first time I ever met him, he had just rescued me from utter humiliation. I can’t imagine you’ve heard the story.”
Rose, stung by curiosity, shook her head.
“I was eighteen, foolish, so desperate to escape my stepfather that I accepted a proposal from a man thirty years my senior.” Sophia paused, arranging her words with care. “On the eve of the wedding, your husband’s father—yes, the old duke—attempted to, well, spirit me away. He nearly succeeded.”
Rose’s throat went dry.
Sophia continued, her tone matter-of-fact. “The night before, I was drugged, loaded into a coach, and—” She caught herself, shrugged. “Felix was waiting at the gatehouse. He had deduced his father’s plan, and instead of letting it play out, he intercepted us. He took the keys, put me into a guest suite at Carden Hall, and then…” Sophia’s lips twitched, “…he burned the evidence. Letters, ledgers, and even the notes his father sent to the driver.In the morning, he delivered me, unscathed, to my intended. No one ever knew a thing.”
“He never spoke of it again, except once, when he threatened my stepfather into silence over the whole affair. It cost him—his father never forgave the interference. But Felix would not see me ruined.” Sophia smiled, not unkindly. “He’s done this sort of thing more than once, you know. For women who needed help.”
“I never would have—” Rose stuttered.
Sophia covered her hand, warm and solid. “He hides it. He hates to be thought of as a hero, or even as kind. But he is. I am pleased beyond words that he found a woman worthy of the real Felix Greycliff.”
Rose felt tears threaten, sharp and unwelcome. “Thank you for telling me.”
“It’s nothing.” Sophia’s eyes sparkled. “I imagine you know him better than anyone, now. Just remember that what you see is not always what you get in this world. Especially with men.”
Felix and Mr. March reappeared, the men’s voices bright with the laughter of mutual secrets. Sophia released Rose’s hand, turned to greet her husband, and in a blink, the story was folded back into the fabric of the evening, nothing more than a footnote.
But Rose felt it burning inside her.
On the ride home, she was quiet, replaying every word. Felix noticed, as he always did, but said nothing.
Not until the house loomed up and the carriage rattled over the old stones did he speak.
“You looked troubled, Rose. Was Sophia decent?”
“She was lovely,” Rose said, not able to meet his eyes. “She told me you rescued her, years ago.”
Felix’s face shuttered. “That was a long time ago.”
“I never knew,” she pressed, gentle but insistent. “You never mentioned it.”
