Page 122 of Courting the Wrong Duke

“I do not think there is a chapter for that in the fake-courting manual.”

The gallery suddenly felt smaller.

Or perhaps it was simply the distance between them.

William became acutely aware that only a few feet separated them. That Rosalind was looking at him with an expression he could not dismiss as teasing. That the afternoon light brought out the warmer shades in her brown hair and made her green eyes appear brighter than they had downstairs.

They should not be alone.

Technically, they were not. The doors stood open, servants passed periodically through the corridor, and anyone walking by could see them without effort. Yet none of that did much to lessen the intimacy of standing so close to her.

William took a step forward before good sense had the opportunity to object.

Rosalind did not move.

For one dangerous heartbeat, he thought of closing the remaining distance entirely. Instead, he reached for her hand, and when her fingers settled willingly into his, the contact carried him back to that morning in the square.

She had held both his hands then and somehow understood what he was feeling without requiring him to find the words for it.

His thumb moved once across the back of her glove. “I am sorry.”

The change in his voice made her smile fade. “For what?”

“For failing you.”

Rosalind frowned. “William.”

“I told you I would help find your father, and I have nothing to give you.” He glanced down at their joined hands before meeting her eyes again. “The auction clerk disappeared before we could question him properly. Every inquiry seems to lead nowhere, and Lord Eastmere has been gone longer with every day we spend chasing rumors.”

“You have not failed me.”

“It feels very much as though I have.”

Her fingers tightened gently around his, and William swallowed against the unexpected comfort of it.

“I wish I had something better to tell you,” he admitted. “Some discovery that proved we were moving closer instead of merely circling the same questions.”

He had expected frustration from her, perhaps even disappointment. Instead, Rosalind regarded him with the same quiet understanding she had offered that morning.

“You are still here,” she said. “You keep searching and asking questions. You have stood beside me when half of London decided doing so was inconvenient.” Her gaze dropped briefly to their hands before returning to his. “That is not nothing.”

The words settled somewhere deep inside him.

For the second time that day, Rosalind had managed to offer comfort without pretending there was an easy answer, and William found himself wondering how quickly he was becoming accustomed to turning to her for precisely that.

Something shifted in her expression then, as though his mention of their fruitless search had reminded her of something.

For a moment, William expected her to release him.

She did not.

Instead, she glanced once more at their joined hands before looking up at him. “Actually, you may not have failed quite as badly as you imagine.”

William frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Nelly has learned something.”

His attention sharpened immediately. “About your father?”