Page 63 of Courting the Wrong Duke

He took her hand. His gloved fingers closed gently around hers, warm and steady. “Then we have an understanding.”

“We do.”

For the briefest instant, neither of them let go. A strange little flutter stirred unexpectedly in Rosalind's chest.

She frowned inwardly.

It was only an agreement. A practical arrangement. Nothing more.

She was not accepting a genuine courtship. She was accepting the opportunity to restore her family's reputation, continue searching for her father, and, perhaps most importantly, observe Lord William Sinclair more closely than circumstances had previously allowed.

That was all. It had to be.

Yet as he finally released her hand, she found herself absurdly disappointed by the loss of its warmth.

The feeling vanished almost as quickly as it had come.

She dismissed it at once.

After all, there could hardly be a better way to investigate Lord William Sinclair than by allowing him to spend as much time in her company as possible.

Chapter 9

The following morning, William entered the breakfast room to find the household already assembled.

His mother occupied her customary place at the center of the table, one hand pressed dramatically to her temple as though the effort of remaining upright required considerable fortitude.

Across from her sat Augusta, serenely occupied with pouring tea, while Algernon had already buried himself behind that morning's newspaper, the untouched cup of coffee at his elbow having long since gone cold.

William paused in the doorway. “Good morning.”

His mother looked up with unmistakable suffering. “It most certainly is not.”

William smiled despite himself. “I was under the impression the sun had risen.”

“It has.” She sighed heavily. “Entirely without consideration for my headache.”

He accepted the footman's offer of coffee before taking his seat. “I wonder how such a tragedy came to pass.”

His mother fixed him with a meaningful look. “You.”

William blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“You are the cause of it.”

Augusta lowered her eyes to hide what looked suspiciously like the beginning of a smile.

William looked from one lady to the other. “I confess I should appreciate a fuller explanation before accepting responsibility.”

“You spent nearly the entire evening dancing with Lady Rosalind.”

“Not the entire evening.”

His mother gave him a pointed look. “You danced once with Lady Sophronia.”

“Precisely. Therefore, I danced with someone else.”

“One lady, William.” She waved a hand dismissively. “After I spent half the evening introducing you to every eligible young woman willing to stand still long enough.”