Page 10 of The Duke and the Lady in Red
But here, within her bedchamber, not so much. When she looked at her reflection, she saw a woman nearing thirty, one who would never have a husband who loved her or children to adore. One who was so remarkably lonely that it was all she could do not to weep. She despised these moments of weakness when her lost dreams nudged her to be refound.
She had no right to complain, not when others suffered far more than she.
“You look sad,” Sally said, as she moved near and began brushing Rose’s hair.
“Simply tired. It was a long night.”
“Merrick mentioned that you’re inquiring about some duke.”
“We danced.” The reflection caught her smile. It appeared almost dreamy, as though she were a young girl filled with hope after her first waltz. “He was quite charming.”
Deliciously so. And tempting.
“Was he handsome?” Sally asked.
“Do you know of a duke who isn’t?” Rose asked.
“Don’t know any dukes.”
Rose laughed lightly. “Yes, he was handsome. Dark hair and darker eyes. Haunted eyes. He is not a joyful man.”
“You was always so skilled at reading people.”
She needed to be in order to do what she did. She’d learned the talent at her father’s knee, not that learning anything from him was worthy of boast.
“Did you like him?” Sally asked.
Did she? “I don’t know him well enough to know whether or not I like him.”
“Was he a pleasant fellow?”
“He was intense. Most intense. He didn’t visit much with people, although it was obvious a good many knew him. I think he was there for one purpose: to indulge in whatever sort of misbehavior became most convenient.”
“And he thought to indulge with you.” Sally moved around, draping Rose’s plaited hair over her shoulder. “But you held him at bay.”
The words were not a question but a declaration, and Rose knew Sally would be disappointed if anything untoward had happened—such as a kiss in the shadows. “It would not suit my purpose to give in to temptation.”
“Were you tempted?”
Rose twisted on the bench, which put her on eye level with Sally. “No.”
The lie should not have come so easily. It was slightly disconcerting that it did. If she could lie so easily to her dear friend, could she lie as easily to herself?
“Thank you, Sally. I’ll see you in the morning.” Rising, she walked to a corner table and poured herself a splash of brandy, as was her nightly ritual.
“You’re troubled,” Sally said.
“Tired, as I stated earlier.” Glancing over her shoulder, she smiled. “I’m well. Good night.”
She waited until Sally left, then walked over to the sitting area and curled up on the corner of the sofa. She inhaled the intoxicating aroma first. Taking a slow sip, she savored the flavor more than she ever had before. It reminded her of him. She imagined again his lips on hers.
And she tried not to regret that she had not left with him.
Avendale strode into his residence and staggered to a stop as a couple weaving toward the stairs nearly stumbled into him.
“Your Grace,” the young swell slurred with an awkward salute before tumbling into a heap on the floor, dragging the woman at his side with him.
Avendale thought there was little worse than a man who could not hold his liquor.
