Page 82 of Courting the Wrong Duke

William reluctantly slowed. “I suppose I ought to let you return home.”

“And I suppose I ought to begin preparing for a ball I knew nothing about an hour ago.”

He laughed.

Taking her gloved hand, he bowed and brushed the lightest kiss across her knuckles. The gesture ought to have felt entirely theatrical, another performance for the benefit of passing strangers.

Somehow it did not.

As he straightened, another thought occurred to him. “One word of warning.”

She regarded him expectantly.

“If Miss Hartwell does not accompany you, Gabriel will hold you personally responsible.”

Rosalind laughed. “I fear Mr. Frost shall be disappointed. Isabella already has plans.”

“Indeed?”

“A gathering on Baker Street devoted to literature and painting.” Amusement sparkled in her eyes. “She would sooner miss Christmas than that particular evening.”

William chuckled. “Poor Gabriel.”

“Very.”

She climbed into the carriage before looking back down at him. “Until tonight, Lord William.”

He watched the carriage disappear into the afternoon traffic before turning toward home himself.

It occurred to him, not for the first time that day, that pretending to court Rosalind Carlisle was becoming alarmingly easy.

He suspected that was precisely what made it dangerous.

***

By the time William reached Gabriel's townhouse, the afternoon sun had begun its slow descent toward the rooftops of Mayfair, bathing the quiet street in warm amber light. He had every intention of returning directly home after parting from Rosalind.

Instead, almost without thinking, he had turned toward Gabriel's residence.

If anyone could be trusted with the details of his thoroughly unconventional courtship, it was Gabriel.

The footman admitted him immediately and directed him toward the library.

William found his friend exactly where he expected to: stretched comfortably across a leather sofa with a novel open in one hand and a neglected glass of sherry resting upon the table beside him.

Afternoon sunlight streamed through the tall windows, warming shelves crowded with books that Gabriel had accumulated over the years, many of them wedged wherever space permitted.

Gabriel looked up as William entered.

William had scarcely removed his gloves before Gabriel asked, “Did you find out anything about Miss Hartwell?”

William laughed. “Good afternoon to you as well.”

Gabriel waved the greeting aside. “What did you learn about Isabella?”

William shook his head, unable to suppress a smile. “You're becoming alarmingly predictable.”

“Yes, yes. Get on with it.”