Page 60 of The Duke’s Hidden Duchess

He tapped one finger against Lady Marwood’s note.

“And if he says nothing?”

“Then we have lost an afternoon, and Lady Marwood has gained an entertainment.”

“If he suspects the trap?”

“I shall leave him wondering whether there ever was one.”

“And if he threatens you?”

“He has done that before.”

Nathaniel’s expression changed.

Selina reached across the table and put her hand over his.

“I shall not be alone. And I am not asking you to surrender your judgement. I am asking you to trust mine long enough to let me conduct the conversation.”

He looked down at her hand. “You make the distinction sound very simple.”

“It is simple. That does not make it easy.”

His eyes came back to hers. “I have heard that somewhere.”

She smiled slightly. “Yes. From a man who knows a great deal about horses and rather less about wives.”

“He is improving.” He turned his hand beneath hers and briefly closed his fingers around it. “Very well.”

Selina’s brows rose. “That was almost graceful.”

“Do not force me to reconsider.”

“I would not dream of it.”

He released her hand and reached at last for his coffee.

***

Lady Marwood’s outdoor breakfast began late enough in the afternoon that the name had become largely ceremonial. Her villa and gardens were crowded beneath striped awnings, with tables laid along the terrace and musicians stationed where they could be heard without interfering with conversation. Servants moved steadily between the groups gathered on the lawn, replacing glasses and carrying away plates that had long since ceased to resemble breakfast. Beyond the awnings, the old trees gave patches of shade in which guests had arranged themselves according to preference, intimacy and the degree to which they wished their conversations overheard.

It was precisely the sort of gathering at which two people might speak privately without ever appearing to have sought privacy.

Selina wore pale grey-lavender.

At a distance the gown appeared almost grey. Only when the light caught it did the lavender show. She had rejected Lady Marwood’s more dramatic suggestion that she dress herself to look fragile. Rowland was accustomed to seeing her in grey, and she preferred a deception built from familiar materials. Too great a transformation would invite inspection. She wanted him to believe he had found the same woman, only more tired than when he had last seen her.

Nathaniel noticed the distinction.

“You do not look frightened,” he murmured as they entered the garden.

“I am not meant to look frightened yet.”

“I see.”

“You are staring.”

“I am married to you. I am permitted a limited amount of staring.”