Page 85 of Courting the Wrong Duke

A young gentleman stood before her, bowing with excessive flourish as he retrieved the fan she had apparently dropped. He knelt upon one knee, offering it back as though returning Excalibur to its rightful queen.

Rosalind accepted the fan with a gracious smile, thanking the gentleman with the same quiet warmth she seemed to offer everyone.

The gentleman, unfortunately, appeared determined to mistake simple politeness for encouragement.

William felt an unexpected tightening somewhere beneath his ribs.

The reaction was so immediate, and so entirely unreasonable, that he almost laughed at himself.

This was precisely what they wanted.

The more attention Rosalind attracted, the more thoroughly London would forget itself in speculation over her supposed courtship. Gentlemen noticing her ought to have pleased him. It meant society had begun looking at Lady Rosalind Carlisle again instead of merely whispering about the missing Earl of Eastmere.

So why, then, did he find himself hoping the fellow would return her fan and be about his business?

William sighed inwardly.

This would never do.

Their courtship was a practical arrangement, nothing more. He had no claim upon Rosalind's attention beyond the one they had invented together, and certainly no cause to resent another gentleman for admiring a beautiful woman.

Yet the uncomfortable pinch beneath his ribs stubbornly refused to disappear.

Squaring his shoulders, William crossed the ballroom toward her, reminding himself with every step that he was merely going to greet the lady he had agreed to pretend to court.

Nothing more.

At least that was what he intended to keep believing.

Chapter 12

Rosalind noticed William the moment he stepped into the ballroom.

The orchestra had only just begun another waltz, and the polished floor shimmered beneath the glow of hundreds of candles reflected in crystal chandeliers overhead. Couples drifted gracefully through the figures while conversations rose and fell around the edges of the room, blending with laughter and the soft rustle of silk.

He hadn't seen her yet.

She watched his gaze move steadily through the crowd, searching one cluster of guests after another with an attention that made her smile despite herself. He had wondered whether she would come. The realization sent a curious warmth through her chest.

Then a delightfully mischievous thought occurred to her.

Without the slightest hesitation, she relaxed her fingers and allowed her fan to slip from her grasp.

It fluttered neatly onto the polished floor just as a gentleman happened to be passing.

“Allow me, my lady.”

Sir Bennet stooped immediately, retrieving the fan with a flourish that suggested he had practiced the gesture more than once.

“You are very kind,” Rosalind said as she accepted it.

“The kindness would be entirely mine,” he replied with an elegant bow, “if you would honor me with the next dance.”

She allowed herself a thoughtful pause before smiling. “I should be delighted.”

Only then did she glance toward the opposite side of the ballroom.

William had finally spotted her.