Page 32 of The Duke’s Masked Wallflower

“The night of the masquerade? A black bird. A crow, a raven. I was not very precise in my orders.”

“It suited you.”

“The rose suited you.”

She laughed.

He slowed as they reached the gallery doors, standing open onto a long beige room lined with paintings and red curtains. Her father and Sinclair were visible near the far end of the hall, deep in conversation in front of a landscape that neither of them appeared to be looking at very closely.

“You elusive father, safe and unharmed.”

“Thank you,” Rosalie said. But she did not move toward the entrance immediately. “Thank you for finding him, and for the dance earlier. My manners escaped me at the time.”

“And then some. You did me bodily harm.”

“How do you know it had not been a simple misstep?”

“I saw the hatred in your gaze before you admitted the killing blow.”

Her smile was mischievous. He had never liked an expression on her more, and he tried to commit it to memory, but he was tired.

“There is no hatred between us, Your Grace.”

Gabriel met her eye and started. He was not sure how to respond.

“Before you try to convince me otherwise, Your Grace, I ought to remind you that we have a musicale to survive tomorrow.”

He cleared his throat. “I have not forgotten, three o’clock. Be ready for me, for I will call on you myself if your mother permits it.”

“How generous of you.”

“That is our arrangement, is it not? For me to be generous and for you to be generous in kind—and nothing more.”

The expression on her face still hadn’t faltered. He had an intense desire to take her in his arms again and to kiss the impish smile away. It would not have been hard. It would have been the easiest thing in the world to succumb to her.

To his horror, she turned then and waved at her father and Mr. Sinclair, who must have noticed them.

“Before I leave,” she said softly, “I wanted to tell you about the roses in your garden. Whoever planted them has been far too severe. They will not bloom properly next season, well, not the old climbers certainly. Someone has cut them back as though they were this year’s growth, and they are not. That sort of plant requires a good deal of patience.”

Gabriel tried to think about the roses. He just about knew where they were—and only because Elisabeth had recently been discussing them. “How do you know such a thing?”

“I saw them.” She gestured to the window and the grounds beyond. “But if you mean how I know what state they are in, I spent my early childhood at my grandfather’s heels in the garden in Cornwall. Mother and Father were always traveling even then. I was allowed to help prune them when the weather permitted, while my older sister was busy with etiquette lessons. And then I suppose, as an adult... Well, I have read some botany books. I would like...”

When she paused, he encouraged her to continue.

“I dreamed of two things for my future house: a large library and a large garden.”

“I would not have thought,” he said softly.

“I dare say there are many things you would not have thought about me, Your Grace.”

With a graceful nod, she disappeared into the gallery to collect her father from Mr. Sinclair. Gabriel waited for her to return, then he accompanied their group outdoors. Once he returned inside, he found the nearest footman, carrying glasses.

“Fetch Morland for me,” he said. “We must re-examine the roses.”

Eleven

“I’m going to ask you to say it again,” Rosalie said, leaning forward. “Because I do not think I heard you correctly the first time... I could not have, because what you said was...”