Page 92 of Courting the Wrong Duke

Their eyes met through the shifting dancers, and for one suspended moment, the noise and movement around her seemed to recede. There was something in his expression she could not quite decipher, something that made the strange tightness in her chest return with renewed force.

Then another couple swept between them, breaking the connection.

Rosalind turned and followed her mother from the ballroom.

She could not decide what unsettled her more: the possibility that she had truly seen the duke in the gardens when he was supposedly away on business, the fear that William might know more about his brother's movements than he admitted, or the sight of Lady Sophronia smiling so warmly at the gentleman who was supposed to be courting her.

The last possibility was ridiculous. Their courtship was only pretend. William was free to dance with Lady Sophronia, just as Rosalind had been free to dance with Sir Bennet.

Yet that was not what followed her from the ballroom.

It was the memory of William dancing with another woman while his eyes remained fixed upon Rosalind.

Lady Sophronia had possessed his hand, his dance, and every right to his attention.

Yet somehow, Rosalind had been the one who held it.

Chapter 13

The journey back to Aldermere House should not have taken long.

To William, it seemed endless.

The carriage rolled steadily through London's quiet streets while lantern light drifted across the opposite seat in shifting bands of gold. Outside, the city had begun surrendering itself to the small hours, the last departing carriages giving way to empty streets and shuttered shopfronts.

William scarcely noticed any of it.

His thoughts returned, again and again, to Rosalind.

He smiled despite himself as he remembered the triumphant look Rosalind had given him after accusing him of playing the jealous suitor rather too convincingly. She had been entirely too pleased with herself and, more inconveniently still, she had been right.

He had blushed.

Until that evening, he had never thought much of waltzes beyond fulfilling another social obligation. Somehow, dancing with Rosalind had transformed the entire experience.

He could still picture the rich violet of her gown catching the candlelight each time they turned, the flowers woven through her curls, and the way she laughed whenever she caught him looking at her.

The memory lingered only a moment before another quietly took its place.

I think I saw your brother in the gardens.

The warmth drained from his thoughts.

It simply could not be true. He had watched Algernon's carriage leave that afternoon with his own eyes. There had been trunks strapped behind it, servants accompanying the journey, and Augusta seated beside his brother. Everything about the departure had suggested a man leaving London for several days.

Yet Rosalind had not sounded uncertain. She had sounded convinced.

William rested one gloved hand against the cool carriage window, replaying her hurried whisper again in his mind. He searched it for some hint that she had been mistaken, some hesitation he might have overlooked.

He found none.

By the time the carriage rolled beneath the gates of the Aldermere townhouse, William found himself no closer to an explanation than when he had first begun searching for one.

The horses had scarcely come to a halt before he stepped down onto the gravel drive.

He had taken only a few steps toward the house when something stretched across the lawn let out a mournful groan.

William blinked. “Gabriel?”