Rosilee . . .
Her pulse leaped, a flutter that reached all the way to her fingertips. He’d never called her by her first name before, always using her title. But there it was—her name, spoken in his deep voice, laced with a protectiveness that sent her heart stumbling.
What was happening here?
“Of course,” Stagbourne drawled, though his smile remained amiable, undeterred by the duke’s warning. “I’d hate for Lady Rosilee’s reputation to be tarnished on her first night in London society.” He turned to her then, and there was something gleaming in his gaze, something playful yet deliberate. “About what we discussed earlier... may I call on you tomorrow?”
Rosilee blinked at the man. What had they spoken about again? Her mind raced, and her eyes widened as she recalled the part of their conversation about marriage and not wasting any time. Did that mean he wanted to call on her... asa suitor?
Had she just found . . . her future . . .
It was all happening too fast. She hadn’t even had time to catch her breath before she’d been introduced to the earl. And there was still this inexplicable tightening in her chest because of her “guardian.”
“I...” She felt as though she were tumbling headlong into something colossal without the time to gather her wits. “Of course.”
“Splendid!” Stagbourne exclaimed. “I trust you do not have a problem with this, Crane?”
Rosilee followed Stagbourne’s gaze to the duke. Surely, he wouldn’t object, would he? Should she have asked for permission before agreeing? It was, after all,hishome and she was meant to be his ward. There were rules to be observed, were there not? Living in the country was different from residing here in London.
“No.”
She froze. One word. No. Delivered in a tone that could have cut glass. A knot formed in Rosilee’s throat—whether it was disappointment or relief, she couldn’t quite tell.
“No, you do not mind,” Stagbourne said, “or no, youdomind?”
The duke’s expression remained stoic, though the corner of his eye seemed to tic. “I don’t mind.”
The knot in her throat tightened.
Why did she feel like a small rabbit caught between two hunting dogs? Well, notquitehunting dogs—one was all grins and charm, the other an irritable wolf with a handsome face. But neither comparison was particularly comforting at the moment.
Stagbourne bowed. “Until tomorrow, then.”
Rosilee nodded, her eyes following the earl retreating into the crowd, her emotions scattered. “I’m sorry,” she apologized, uncertain what else to say.
The duke turned toward her, his brows drawn together in surprise. “You have nothing to feel sorry about.”
She met his gaze. “Really? Then why do I feel that I do?”
He paused, his jaw tightening slightly before he spoke. “Iam sorry you feel that way. I shouldn’t have interrupted you and Stagbourne. This is your first night entering society. You should be able to enjoy it.”
“ConsideringwhyI am here, I don’t think I can fully do that.”
“It seems you don’t have to worry much longer on that score.”
Rosilee blinked. “Was that a grumble?”
“What? No. I don’t grumble.”
“It sounded suspiciously like a grumble to me, Your Grace,” she murmured. “Or should I call you Blake and cause a stir?”
“You...” He suddenly tugged at his cravat. “You may do what you want.”
She grinned at him. “I’ll refrain. For now. Can we go? I believe the excitement of my first ball has made me suddenly weary.”
He glanced over the room. “I don’t see why not.” He offered his arm, and Rosilee readily took it. “Why didn’t you tell me that you cannot dance?”
“I’m not good at dancing,” Rosilee clarified. “And I didn’t want to embarrass myself and the earl.”
