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His smile held no warmth. “Why indeed? Which of the other rooms are your personal favorites, Your Grace?”

Goading him had been a mistake; it had only extended their distasteful conversation.

“The library is quite remarkable,” she said.

“So I imagine. Is that also the duke’s preferred room?”

“No. I believe that would be his workshop.”

The moment the words left her mouth, Rosalind knew she had made a grievous mistake.

“His workshop, you say? And what, pray tell, would compel him to spend time in a workshop when he could be enjoying the company of his beautiful new wife?”

“That, I could not tell you,” Rosalind said. It was true. She could not tell him—even though she knew full well.

“Then, perhaps we should find out.”

All at once, Mr. Sellers had gone from being an irritating blue bottle fly incessantly buzzing around her to a cunning fox with conspiracy in his eyes.

“I think not, Mr. Sellers.”

“Come now, Your Grace. Surely you own a small portion of curiosity.” His wheedling tone reminded her of their conversation at the Marlboroughs’ ball when he had encouraged her there to coax information out of Sebastian.

“Apparently not.” She took another step away from him. “The duke’s workshop is his own domain. It is on the other side of the house and is securely locked. There is no reason whatsoever for anyone else to go there.”

“Locked, is it?” Mr. Sellers’s eyes narrowed. “Well, that makes it all the more intriguing. Particularly as the duke’s ink-stained fingers suggest that he has been doing rather a lot of writing.”

Rosalind fought to keep her composure. “Mr. Sellers, might I remind you that you are speaking of my husband.”

Instantly, his countenance changed and his charm returned. “Come now, Your Grace. We have been friends for a considerable length of time, whereas you have known the Duke of Kelbrook for—”

“Approximately ten years.” Sebastian arrived beside her, and there was no mistaking the steel in his voice.

Mr. Sellers raised an eyebrow. “Really? I had no idea. And I am quite sure that no one else of any consequence in Society does either.”

On the other side of the ballroom, the Abernathys and Fairfields were casually discussing the architectural value of pillars; beside Rosalind, Sebastian stood facing Mr. Sellers with his hands clenched.

“That is unfortunate for them, but of little import to me, Sellers,” Sebastian said.

“Perhaps not. But have you stopped to consider whether it is of significance to your wife?”

Rosalind could feel the tension radiating off Sebastian. She moved her arm slightly so that she might touch his hand. “You forget yourself, Mr. Sellers. You are speaking to the Duke of Kelbrook. Quite apart from the title he holds, his reputation as an honorable gentleman precedes him. I defy you to discover one young lady in all of England who would not feel honored to be his bride.”

Sebastian’s fist unfurled, and he slipped his fingers between hers. A new sense of unity thrummed between them. Whether Mr. Sellers noticed, Rosalind could not tell, but the gentleman set his jaw and took a step back.

“Forgive me,” he said. “I was evidently mistaken in my understanding of your situation.”

“Clearly.” Sebastian ground out the word. “Now that you are better informed, however, I trust that you will not make the same error again.”

Mr. Sellers bowed stiffly. “As you say, Your Grace.”

Rosalind was quite sure that Sebastian had not missed Mr. Sellers’s patronizing tone or the gentleman’s return to calling Sebastian by his more formal appellation. But before either of them could say anything more, the other members of the party joined them, having completed their circuit of the ballroom.

“Many thanks, Your Grace,” Mrs. Fairfield said. “When we set off for Finley Park today, I had not anticipated this treat.”

“Yes, indeed.” Mrs. Abernathy was quick to agree. “I shall be thinking on this beautiful room for some time.”

“Then you will be pleased to hear that Her Grace and I intend to host at least one ball here next year,” Sebastian said.