Chapter 12
Rosalind noticed William the moment he stepped into the ballroom.
The orchestra had only just begun another waltz, and the polished floor shimmered beneath the glow of hundreds of candles reflected in crystal chandeliers overhead.
Couples drifted gracefully through the figures while conversations rose and fell around the edges of the room, blending with laughter and the soft rustle of silk.
He hadn't seen her yet.
She watched his gaze move steadily through the crowd, searching one cluster of guests after another with an attention that made her smile despite herself. He had wondered whether she would come. The realization sent a curious warmth through her chest.
Then a delightfully mischievous thought occurred to her.
Without the slightest hesitation, she relaxed her fingers and allowed her fan to slip from her grasp.
It fluttered neatly onto the polished floor just as a gentleman happened to be passing.
“Allow me, my lady.”
Sir Bennet stooped immediately, retrieving the fan with a flourish that suggested he had practiced the gesture more than once.
“You are very kind,” Rosalind said as she accepted it.
“The kindness would be entirely mine,” he replied with an elegant bow, “if you would honor me with the next dance.”
She allowed herself a thoughtful pause before smiling. “I should be delighted.”
Only then did she glance toward the opposite side of the ballroom.
William had finally spotted her.
And, judging by the way his attention settled immediately upon Sir Bennet, he had noticed exactly what she had hoped he would.
His expression altered so briefly she might have imagined it, the smallest tightening around his mouth before the familiar calm returned.
Rosalind lowered her eyes to hide her smile.
Perhaps this absurd little game was going to be far more enjoyable than she had anticipated.
Sir Bennet proved perfectly agreeable company. As they joined the waltz, he spoke enthusiastically of horses, Parliament, and his mother's unwavering determination to see him married before Christmas.
Rosalind listened with polite interest, offering just enough encouragement to keep the conversation flowing, though every so often her attention wandered elsewhere.
William never seemed to stray very far.
Whether speaking with another gentleman or standing quietly beside one of the marble columns, she caught him looking in their direction often enough that she began to wonder if he realized he was doing it.
The thought amused her immensely. He was certainly convincing as an attentive suitor.
By the time the music came to an end, Sir Bennet had thanked her for the dance no fewer than three times before escorting her back to her mother with impeccable courtesy, bowing once more before disappearing into the crowd.
Rosalind had scarcely resumed her place beside her mother when another gentleman approached, confidence already settling into his smile.
“Lady Rosalind, may I have the honor of the next—”
“I am afraid not.”
William's voice reached them a heartbeat before he did.
He stepped smoothly between Rosalind and the gentleman with such practiced ease that, for a fleeting instant, it almost seemed he had anticipated the interruption.
“Lady Rosalind has already promised the next dance to me.”
His tone remained perfectly pleasant, accompanied by an apologetic smile that left remarkably little room for argument.
The gentleman looked from William to Rosalind before inclining his head. “In that case, I wish you both an enjoyable evening.”
As he departed, Rosalind became acutely aware of her mother's expression beside her.
Her mother was watching William with unmistakable satisfaction.
Rosalind suppressed a sigh.
Her mother was almost certainly planning the wedding already.
William, blissfully unaware of the direction her mother's thoughts had undoubtedly taken, offered Rosalind his arm. “Shall we?”
Rosalind accepted it at once, though not before glancing discreetly toward her mother.
Her mother had already been drawn into conversation by another lady, her attention thankfully occupied for the moment.
Satisfied they were beyond her mother's hearing, Rosalind allowed William to lead her toward the dance floor. Only then did she tip her head slightly toward him, lowering her voice to little more than a whisper. “You play the jealous suitor remarkably well.”
The corner of William's mouth lifted. “I merely endeavor to make our performance convincing.”
She looked up at him, unable to suppress her smile. “You certainly convinced that poor gentleman.”
“I should hope so.”
“You reached me with astonishing speed.”
For the briefest instant, something flickered across his face before his customary composure returned.
“Timing,” he replied with perfect seriousness. “It is an essential part of any successful performance.”
Rosalind wasn't entirely certain she believed him.
Somehow, she suspected he hadn't been acting quite as much as he imagined.
“Well,” she murmured as they took their places for the dance, “I ought to congratulate you.”
He glanced down at her. “For what?”
“My mother is now entirely convinced you are hopelessly devoted.”
William looked discreetly over his shoulder.
Sure enough, her mother was watching them with an expression of unmistakable satisfaction.
A quiet groan escaped him.
Rosalind laughed. “Oh, do not look so distressed. I believe you have just become her favorite gentleman in London.”
The dance carried them through another turn before the final notes faded and polite applause rippled through the ballroom. Around them, couples began to separate, some returning to the edges of the room while others rearranged themselves for the next set.
Neither Rosalind nor William seemed particularly inclined to move.
The orchestra began again, this time slipping into the graceful opening strains of a waltz. William's eyes met hers in silent question.
Rosalind smiled.
That appeared to be answer enough.
His hand settled lightly at her waist, and a moment later they were moving together once more beneath the warm glow of candlelight.
“You sounded positively possessive when that gentleman asked me to dance,” she murmured.
“I sounded,” William replied with perfect composure, “like a gentleman who has every intention of persuading London that he is courting the most interesting lady in the room.”
Rosalind tilted her head. “You have been practicing.”
“Only a little.”
His gaze lingered upon her for a heartbeat before he smiled. “Though I confess, you have made my task considerably easier this evening.”
She looked at him curiously. “Have I?”
“Very much so.” His expression remained composed, though there was something unexpectedly sincere in his voice when he added, “You look beautiful tonight.”
Rosalind's step faltered so slightly that no one else would have noticed. “Thank you,” she said quietly.
“It seemed only proper to tell you,” William added, clearing his throat. “A gentleman who neglected such an obvious observation would hardly make a convincing suitor.”
“Of course,” Rosalind replied.
Yet something about the explanation sounded suspiciously like an afterthought. It was then she noticed the faint flush creeping into his cheeks.
A smile tugged at her lips. “You are blushing.”
“I most certainly am not.”
“You most certainly are.”
He cleared his throat with exaggerated dignity. “I believe you are imagining things.”
Rosalind laughed, the sound escaping before she could stop it.
She had intended to ask about the auction house. About the missing clerk. About whether he had uncovered anything since their afternoon meeting.
Instead, she found herself noticing altogether different things.
A lock of pale hair refused to remain neatly combed, falling across his forehead often enough that he brushed it away with an absent sweep of his fingers.
Candlelight caught the crisp folds of his white cravat and the strong line of his collar, while the steady warmth of his gloved hand rested reassuringly against hers as they turned through the waltz.
Then there was his smile.
Every time their eyes met, however briefly, it returned so naturally that she almost forgot they were merely pretending.
Almost.
She drew a quiet breath, forcing herself to concentrate.
The investigation. She ought to ask about the investigation.
The thought had barely formed when the ballroom suddenly seemed far warmer than it had only moments before. The music blurred strangely at the edges, laughter echoing together until individual voices became impossible to distinguish.
Even the chandeliers overhead seemed brighter, their countless candles scattering light that shimmered uncomfortably before her eyes.
She swallowed. “William…”
His smile vanished instantly. “What is it?”
She attempted one of her own, though she suspected it looked less convincing than his ever had.
“Unless you wish me to imitate Lady Sophronia and provide half of London with another dramatic swoon...” She drew another careful breath. “...I think I should very much like a little fresh air.”
His brows drew together. “Allow me to escort you.”
She glanced around the crowded ballroom, where curious eyes seemed to linger upon them no matter where they stood. “You'll only encourage more gossip.”
“I believe,” he replied with the faintest smile, “that encouraging gossip is presently our objective.”
Despite the warmth creeping through her limbs, she laughed softly. “I shall only be a few moments.”
He studied her for another heartbeat, clearly unconvinced. “You promise?”
“I promise.”
Only then did he relent, though the concern remained plainly written across his face. “I will be here when you return.”
Rosalind inclined her head before slipping quietly from the ballroom. Almost immediately the cooler air of the gallery met her flushed face, carrying with it the faint scent of polished wood, beeswax, and the roses drifting through the open doors overlooking the gardens.
The music softened behind her until it became little more than a distant accompaniment to the murmur of conversation echoing through the house.