Page 40 of His Grace, the Duke
He closed the space between them, and Rosalie felt suddenly nervous. She fought the urge to laugh again. It was ludicrous. Hadn’t she slept naked in his arms last night?
“Rose,” he said on a sigh, his face lowering towards hers.
She sucked in a breath and leaned away, breaking their trance. “What happened with Marianne?” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she wanted them unsaid. She vowed to herself she’d not ask. His life was his own.
But Renley looked almost relieved. “Nothing,” he said, taking a step closer. “Nothing happened, I swear to you. I escorted her home. She told me what she said to you, and we argued. We are most assuredlynotengaged.”
Rosalie wrapped her arms around herself, feeling the chill of her wet clothes sinking into her skin. “Why would she tell me such a lie? What did she hope to gain?”
Renley leaned against the column to match her stance, with his arms crossed over his broad chest. “I think she saw us dancing at the ball... in fact, I know she did. I believe it made her jealous.”
Rosalie blinked. “But... you danced with many ladies at the ball. Elizabeth and Blanche, even Madeline twice. Did she tell all your dance partners of her prior claim?”
“No,” he muttered. “Just you.”
“Why only me?”
He shrugged, one eye watching the storm as a fork of lightning twisted across the darkening sky. “Because she knows you’re different from the others.”
“Different?” Her mind suddenly filled with images of the other young ladies—the grace of their dancing, the practiced flutter of their fans, the superior cut and color of their gowns. Rosalie’s dress for the occasion had at least been new, but it was not the same kind of dramatic, beaded affair worn by Lady Olivia, or even Blanche.
“What did I do wrong?” she whispered. “What gave me away as being so... different?”
He blinked, pulling his eye from watching the storm. “What... no.” He pushed off from the column with his booted foot, crossing over to her. “You’re not different. You’re... God, you’re perfect. I should have said it wasIwho was different.” He raised both hands to cup her face. “Whatever this is... this feeling of being moored to you... apparently, I’m not hiding it very well.”
His thumbs brushed along her jaw, and she fought theurge to close her eyes. Her heart thundered in her chest to match the storm. “Renley—”
“Marianne has known me a long time,” he went on. “No doubt she saw how I looked at you all night.”
“And . . . how were you looking at me?”
His mouth quirked into a smile as he brushed a calloused thumb over her parted lips. “The same as I am now... like you’re the only one I see.”
Her breath caught in her throat. “You flatter me, sir.”
“No,” he replied. “I’m no good at flattery. I speak only the truth. You captivate me, Rose. You have from the first night you stumbled into Alcott, half-dipped in mud with your hair all wild like a forest fairy.” He smiled, tucking a damp curl behind her ear. “You have that same look now, you know—cheeks flushed, eyes fierce. The spirit in you calls out to me. I can’t look away. I never want to look away from you.”
Blinking back tears, Rosalie raised both her hands and covered his, giving them a gentle squeeze. “Renley, please—”
“You keep doing that,” he said with a frown.
“Doing what?”
“Calling me ‘Renley’ instead of my name. It’s a shield you like to use. You’re keeping me at arm’s length—”
“Oh, what is it with you men and your names?” She tugged herself free and paced away three steps. She couldn’t breathe if she stayed standing so close. “You know, it does not signify. Plenty of married couples go their whole lives referring to each other only by their titles.”
“It signifies with you,” he replied, reading her like an open book.
She crossed her arms over her chest. “Why must you all press for such intimacy?”
He raised a brow. “Who else is pressing?”
“I didn’t ask foranyof this,” she cried, ignoring his question. “Three weeks ago, I arrived at Alcott expecting to meet a woman who was once my mother’s friend. That isall. And now I find myself so... out of balance.” She couldn’t think of another way to explain it. “I’m so afraid I’ll make a mistake. I know what you want, and I cannot give it to you. I can’t—I don’t know how to be what any of you want—”
He crossed the three feet separating them in a stride, his hands reaching for her face as he pulled her in close and kissed her deep. His tongue flicked lightly against her bottom lip as he pulled away. “You’re fighting me,” he said on a breath. “Fighting what you feel for me. I know you’ve been burned before. You’ve been hurt. God—” He groaned, his hands tightening as he leaned in, touching his forehead to hers. “Thinking of it... picturing it... you have no idea what it does to me. I would tear your demons limb from limb.”
Hot tears pricked her eyes as she fought to contain her roiling emotions. “My ghosts are not your burden. I’m stronger than I look.”
