Page 5 of Courting the Wrong Duke

She stopped directly before him.

For one suspended moment, neither of them spoke.

Rainwater glistened upon the deep crimson folds of her cloak. Her breathing was uneven, whether from haste or emotion he could not tell. One gloved hand remained fastened at her throat, gripping the fabric so tightly that her knuckles showed white beneath the kid leather.

Then she pushed back the hood.

Brown hair escaped the edge of her hood, darkened by the rain framed a face he had not expected to see standing outside a gentlemen's club.

Green eyes met his as recognition came with a strange sense of disbelief.

Lady Rosalind Carlisle.

He had not stood this close to her in years.

They had crossed paths often enough during recent Seasons. A dance. A brief exchange over supper. Polite conversation between two families long acquainted.

But that was not the Rosalind he saw.

The Rosalind he remembered was fourteen, perched atop the stone wall at Aldermere with a stolen peach hidden behind her back, informing him with complete confidence that younger sons were invariably more interesting because they had to develop personalities.

She had laughed then.

The woman standing before him looked as though she had forgotten how.

“Lord William.”

Her voice was steady.

William removed his hat, unable to reconcile the distressed young woman before him with either the composed debutant or the spirited girl he remembered.

“Lady Rosalind.”

“I have been searching for you for three days.”

Gabriel's easy smile disappeared as William glanced briefly toward the waiting carriage before returning his attention to her.

“You might have sent word to my house.”

“I did.”

He frowned.

“Twice.”

No message had reached him.

She took one measured step closer. “My father has been missing for ten days.”

William inclined his head. “I know.”

The words felt painfully inadequate.

Her gaze never left his.

“You were the last man to see him alive.”

William stared at her.