Page 8 of Courting the Wrong Duke

“He did.”

“That proves nothing.”

William exhaled slowly, and for the first time she caught the faintest crack in his composure. “No,” he admitted. “It does not prove anything.”

His eyes met hers again. “But it tells me he was making plans.”

Rosalind shook her head. “A man may make plans and still change them.”

“He may.”

“A man may also lie.”

“He may.” His voice grew quieter. “But Lord Eastmere did neither.”

The certainty with which he spoke unsettled her.

It wasn't blind loyalty. It sounded like conviction.

“You seem remarkably sure.”

A sad smile touched his mouth, though it never reached his eyes. “I knew your father.”

His words landed more heavily than she wanted them to.

For all her determination not to trust him, William's affection for her father had never once seemed feigned.

That was what made this so impossible.

Still, the words stung unexpectedly.

“So did my mother.”

Silence settled between them once more.

Behind her, her oldest friend, Isabella, watched the exchange without interruption.

William drew a slow breath. “Rosalind...”

The familiar sound of her Christian name startled her more than it should have.

“No.”

He blinked, as though only then realizing what he had done. “No?”

“You do not get to speak to me as though I have come here in search of comfort.”

A flicker of regret crossed his face. “I had no such intention.”

“No?”

“No.” His voice remained infuriatingly steady. “I intended to speak to you as a woman who has every right to demand answers.”

She stared at him.

“But I have none to give.”

“You expect me to believe you.”