Page 31 of The Duke’s Masked Wallflower

“I didn’t think you could dance,” she said to him as he spun her. “You are surprisingly surefooted.”

“You will never say that to me again.”

“It is a compliment, Your Grace,” she said teasingly.

His anger stood no chance against her smile. “Then I shall compliment you too,” he said, holding her close as their next step demanded. His body coiled pleasantly as her hands fit neatly into his. “Today has proven too well that you know how to draw in guileless men and not let them go.”

The statement evidently landed wrong. Her face flashed with color. “What... You must be deep in your cups indeed.”

“Hardly.”

“I can smell it on you. You are either being uncommonly kind or uncommonly cruel.” She said it as though it had been a joke. He felt it had not been.

He was forced to release her without giving her an answer, sending her off to her next partner. They only reunited many minutes later, when the dance concluded. With the last notes, she stepped back from him, color still fresh in her face. She dipped into a curtsy and left the lawn alone.

Hours later, the party finally entered its late stages. The staff came out of hiding to begin clearing away the outdoor tents, furniture, and discarded glasses, while the guests circled the manor toward their carriages in sets. They walked past the windows where Gabriel stood, staring out at the lawn as the temperature dropped indoors and outdoors, and the sun began to set.

He heard from behind him, “Has anyone seen my—oh.” And he looked up from the glass of water he had poured himself, finding Rosalie standing in the doorway of the large, echoing drawing room, looking lost.

“We must stop meeting like this... Seen your what?” he asked, his stomach doing an involuntary flip at her presence.

She clutched her reticule in front of her. “My father.”

“Then no, not for the better part of an hour.” He downed the rest of his glass. “Should I be alarmed on his behalf?”

“No need. My mother wants him for our carriage, and no one seems to know where he has gotten to.” She came a few steps into the room, glancing behind her down the corridor as though her father might bleed out of the wallpaper. “I was told he went to see your gallery with...” She stopped herself.

Gabriel laughed under his breath. “Sinclair?”

She nodded. “They went a while ago, and I said I would fetch him.”

“Well then, by all means, Miss Winthrop. The gallery is at the end of that corridor, past the staircase.” Gabriel turned the glass, watching a pearl of water run along the side. “When you find him, you may tell your father he has excellent taste in galleries—and in men. It is a fine gallery.”

Rosalie lightly shook her head. She had discarded her bonnet, and he privately and fleetingly admired the color of her hair in the bright evening sunlight. “Your opinions never cease to delight me.”

She began to leave.

“Let me walk you as far as the gallery entrance. It will save you getting lost again,” he said before she could protest, dropping his glass and catching up with her.

He fell into step beside her down the corridor, aware of every inch of distance between her shoulder and his.

“You danced a great deal today,” he remarked. “I’m surprised you can walk straight.”

“It was hardly a great deal. I danced only four times, and it was on grass, so it hardly counts. My dress will be ruined. The lace at the hem is beyond saving.”

“Oh, dear. But I would still quantify that as a great deal—especially for a woman who keeps her dance card empty on purpose.”

She glanced at him sideways, then bit her lip. “I only noticed after the fact that my dance card had gone... You retrieved it then?”

“Oh, yes. The next morning at the scene of the crime.” He looked away from her lip, which was flushed with blood. “You had not put your name on it, only The Rose.”

“It was a masquerade ball, Your Grace. Not that my attempts at preserving my anonymity mattered in the end. You discovered my identity soon enough.”

“Do you wish I had not?”

She fell quiet, obviously resolved not to give him an answer. He tried not to care, but he slowed his pace unintentionally as the gallery approached.

“What were you dressed as?”