“Perhaps that is for the best,” Lady Persephone said.
“Why do you say that?”
“She will be free to go home now and remain the country bumpkin that we both know she is.”
Roswell gave her an exasperated look. “I’m afraid my opinion of Miss Bentley has been greatly altered since I learned of her circumstances.”
“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
“No,” he replied with a shake of his head. “No, you wouldn’t.”
Lady Persephone lowered her hand. “What would you have me do?”
“I’m afraid you have done enough,” Roswell said, turning to leave.
She reached out and placed a hand on his sleeve, stilling him. “For what it is worth, I am sorry.”
Roswell glanced down at her hand, then said, “It is my fault for bringing you into my confidence. I should have known better.”
He brushed off her touch and headed into the ballroom. In a few strides, he approached Miss Bentley and asked, “Would you care to go home?”
“Do you think that is best?”
He nodded. “I do.”
Miss Bentley gestured towards the dance floor where he saw Emma was preparing to dance the waltz with her partner. “We shall have to wait until Emma has finished the waltz.”
Making a hasty decision, he reached for her hand and ordered, “Come with me.”
Roswell led her towards the dance floor and turned Miss Bentley to face him.
“What are you doing?” she whispered, her eyes darting around the room.
“I thought it was fairly obvious,” he replied, slipping his hand around her waist. “We are dancing the waltz.”
As he brought their hands up, he felt Miss Bentley place her hand on his shoulder. They began to dance to the music, but Miss Bentley kept her gaze directed at the lapels of his black jacket.
“Look at me,” he ordered.
He smiled as she brought her gaze up. “That is much better,” he said. “I was beginning to think you wouldn’t look at me the entire dance.”
“I’m afraid I am rather nervous.”
“Don’t be,” he replied. “Just look at me; nothing else matters.”
Roswell felt Miss Bentley relax, and he pulled her in closer. He was amazed at how perfectly she fit into his arms, and he suddenly realized that he had developed feelings for her.
12
Sittingon the settee in his office, Roswell stared at the crackling fire in the hearth. They had returned home from the ball hours ago, but he just couldn’t seem to get his mind to relax; it continuously went back to the fact that he had developed feelings for Miss Bentley.
He knew he couldn’t act on them. Good heavens, she was not what he’d envisioned for his marchioness. She spoke entirely too much about hope and whatnot. No; he needed someone who was serious and played by the rules Society had dictated.
So why couldn’t he stop thinking about her? She was a distraction, and he didn’t need any more of those.
Charles stepped into the study with his usual cheerful persona. “Good evening, brother.”
“How was the opera?”
