Page 53 of Courting the Wrong Duke

“You will attend Lady Ashcombe's ball this evening?”

“I shall.”

“Then I hope we may continue this conversation under happier circumstances.”

A faint smile softened her features. “I should like that.”

The smile lingered only a moment before fading.

“If happier circumstances present themselves.”

“They will.”

The certainty in his own voice surprised him.

“For your sake,” he said more quietly, “I sincerely hope they do.”

She looked at him for a long moment. The uncertainty had not entirely left her eyes, nor had the caution that had stood between them from the beginning.

Rosalind inclined her head. “Until this evening, Lord William.”

“Until this evening, Lady Rosalind.”

He watched until the carriage disappeared into the afternoon traffic before turning away himself.

Somewhere between the exhibition and this quiet afternoon at Hatchard's, his purpose had changed.

Once, he had wanted only to find Edmund Carlisle.

Now he found himself wanting something far more difficult.

He wanted to become a man Rosalind Carlisle could one day trust completely.

Chapter 8

The orchestra had scarcely begun the opening strains of another waltz when Rosalind slipped through the terrace doors.

She had been at Lady Ashcombe's ball for barely an hour.

An hour of whispered conversations that stopped the moment she approached. Of sympathetic smiles that never quite reached people's eyes. Of wondering whether each glance carried pity... or curiosity.

The walls of the ballroom had begun to feel unbearably close.

She told her mother she only needed a little air.

The evening breeze was cool against her cheeks as she wandered slowly along the stone terrace, grateful for the temporary quiet. Beyond the balustrade, lanterns cast pools of golden light across the gardens, while the music drifted faintly through the open doors behind her.

She had scarcely taken a dozen steps when voices reached her from somewhere beyond the clipped hedges bordering the path.

Gentlemen.

She would ordinarily have turned back at once.

Then she heard her own name.

“…a dreadful business.”

“I daresay the poor girl cannot help it.”