Page 90 of The Wedding-Crashing Duchess

Ronan glanced toward Gregory, then back at her. “At present, the desire to remove you from this conversation.”

Augusta laughed, but Ronan continued before she could dismiss his invitation as merely another contest between the two men. “And because I would like to dance with my wife, which seems reason enough unless you intend to make me regret asking.”

The laughter faded from Augusta’s eyes, replaced by something softer. “I better take the offer before you rescind it.”

She placed her hand in his and Ronan led her toward the floor.

Dancing had never been impossible for him, but neither had it been pleasant since the injury to his leg, and he had learned to avoid the more demanding sets rather than spend an evening pretending that each turn did not send discomfort through the damaged joint.

Tonight, however, Augusta adjusted to him almost at once, shortening her steps so subtly that another man might not have noticed, and Ronan, who had spent years noticing every accommodation others made for his injury, recognized it immediately.

“You do not have to alter your pace for me,” he told her as they settled into the rhythm of the dance, keeping his voice low enough that the conversation remained between them. “I am perfectly capable of keeping up, and I would rather you enjoy yourself than spend the entire set worrying about whether I can manage it.”

Augusta looked up at him with a slight smile. “Perhaps you should consider the possibility that I prefer this pace.”

“Or maybe you are only saying that to appease me,” he replied.

He knew one thing about his wife, and that was that she was considerate beyond his imagination. It was one of the things that he liked about her most; he had realized.

“And so what of it?” she shrugged. “You are my husband, and if I say a thing to appease you, then what is so wrong with it?”

“Only that I have come to expect honesty from you,” he replied. “I wouldn’t think that you’d keep yourself from speaking your mind, even if it means saying the wrong thing.”

She let out a laugh at that.

“I don’t think we need to turn this into an argument,” she told him. “I’m just glad that you have agreed to dance. Really, I never thought I would see the day.”

“I wanted to spare you the horror of having Gregory as your dance partner,” he tried to play it off, but she was too quick for him.

“Or perhaps you liked the idea of dancing with your wife,” she smiled. “Even though I know that you will never admit it.”

“If the delusion serves you, then I shall not argue further.”

But he had a smile on his face.

They settled into their motions. Then, for several moments, neither spoke.

Augusta seemed unusually distracted tonight. Her gaze occasionally wandered beyond his shoulder, and her attention returned to him a fraction too late, which made Ronan wonder whether she was thinking about the previous evening just as frequently as he was.

He had intended to discuss the murder with her tonight, however, and the thought of that danger offered a useful escape from the far less manageable problem of her dress, her perfume, and the warmth of her hand in his.

“The constable sent word this morning,” he said.

Augusta’s expression sharpened immediately. “About the woman from Phillipa’s household?”

“Yes, although there is little progress worth reporting. They have questioned the servants again and confirmed that she had worked for Phillipa’s family for more than twenty years, but they still have no witness who remembers seeing her with anyone unusual in the days before she died, and no one appears to know why she would have been in the garden that night.”

Augusta frowned as he guided her through another slow turn. “Then they still have no idea whether she was the intended victim, or whether she happened to see something she should not have seen.”

“Exactly, and that is one of the reasons I wanted to speak to you.”

Something in his tone made her look at him more carefully. “You think there is something I should be worried about?”

Ronan hesitated only long enough to decide how much concern he wished to place in her mind. “I think we have been so occupied with whether you saw the murderer clearly that neither of us has spent enough time considering the opposite question, which is how clearly he saw you.”

Augusta’s steps faltered slightly, and Ronan steadied her with the hand at her back before anyone nearby could notice. “It was dark, and I was some distance away,” she said, though her voice had lost some of its earlier lightness. “I could barely see him beyond his height, the coat, and the cane, so surely he could not have seen much more of me.”

“Perhaps not, but you told me that he turned when you moved, which means he knew someone was there, and we cannot know how much he saw or whether he later learned who you were. I do not want to frighten you, Augusta, but until the constables understand why that woman died, I would prefer not to assume that the man beside her has forgotten there was a witness. And you made a very public accusation. So if the murderer knows he was seen, it would be easy to put the clues together and figure out it was you who saw him.”