could make a good husband for me. We have begun a friendship, and I believe he feels a certain…fondness toward me, which I hope can blossom into something much stronger. But I don’t have faith that I can win his heart fully on my own.”
Fanny’s expression grew thoughtful. “Aren’t you setting your sights rather high, Roslyn, hoping to make a love match with Haviland? There are other alternatives, you know. Despite your family’s history, you are the daughter of a baronet in addition to being one of the most exquisite beauties in the country. And even at two and twenty, you are hardly on the shelf. Now that Lord Danvers has settled such a generous sum on both you and Lily, you could likely choose from any number of suitors and contract a perfectly satisfactory marriage of convenience.”
“No,” Roslyn replied almost vehemently. “The last thing I want is to marry for convenience. You know what my parents’ convenient union was like.” Remembering, she couldn’t repress a shudder. She had loathed the pain her parents had delighted in causing each other. “I want true love in my marriage, Fanny. Nothing else will do.”
Fanny looked at her with amusement and admiration. “So let me see if I comprehend. You are harboring a secret passion for a neighboring earl, and you wish to learn how to make him fall in love with you?”
“Precisely,” Roslyn said. “And if anyone can instruct me on how to achieve it, it is you. Will you help me, Fanny?”
“Yes, I suppose so. If nothing else, it should prove highly diverting. Do your sisters know of this scheme you have hatched?”
“Not yet.”
She hadn’t confided in anyone but Fanny. Arabella would understand, of course, but at the moment she was immersed in wedding plans and reveling in the glow of first love. Roslyn wanted nothing to spoil her sister’s hard-won happiness.
Her younger sister Lilian was a different matter altogether, since Lily had sworn off love and marriage and fully expected Roslyn to do the same.
Roslyn hated to disappoint her sister, but it was her life at stake after all. And the outcome was too important to leave purely to chance. Thus, she’d sought out Fanny.
But now, to her dismay, her education had been rudely interrupted by the Duke of Arden’s unwanted arrival.
Muttering another mild imprecation under her breath, Roslyn reached up to press her fingers against her temple. Her head was beginning to throb under the weight of her wig and bonnet, and the suffocating mask was rubbing a raw spot on her left cheek.
At least she could mitigate some of her suffering by removing the offending bonnet and mask.
Roslyn untied the ribbons beneath her chin and slid the bonnet off, then loosened the strings of her mask and drew it down. As the cool night air fanned her face, she gave a sigh of relief…until a low, masculine voice spoke behind her:
“So this is where you are hiding yourself.”
Gasping in startlement, Roslyn whirled and promptly dropped her bonnet when she recognized the tall, imposing nobleman standing there. His broad, domino-clad shoulders filled the narrow embrasure, while his amber hair glinted more silver than gold in the moonlight.
Alarmed to see the duke, she fumbled to replace her mask, hoping he hadn’t been afforded a clear glimpse of her face. “How you startled me…” she exclaimed too breathlessly as she finished tying the strings.
“Forgive me. It was the least of my intentions-to discomfit a beautiful woman.”
Roslyn’s gaze narrowed through her mask. His tone was mild, languid even. If he was attempting to flatter her, he wasn’t making much effort. But perhaps he was merely playing an expected game, spouting compliments he thought she wished to hear.
There was nothing languid about the warm glance that raked over her figure, however. Instead his eyes showed pure male interest-and had the deplorable effect of making her pulse race.
“I am Arden.”
“I know who you are, your grace,” Roslyn said rather crossly. He was Andrew Moncrief, Duke of Arden, known as “Drew” to his intimates. And she had seldom been less pleased to see anyone in her life.
His eyebrow lifted at her tone. “Regrettably, I do not know you, my lovely Incognita. I would have sought an introduction, but you fled the moment you spied me. And Fanny suddenly made herself scarce before I could even discover your name.”
Having no valid defense, Roslyn remained mute. When the duke stepped forward and bent to retrieve her dropped bonnet from the balcony floor, she would have retreated except that the railing was at her back. Trapped, she was forced to endure his scrutiny. He stood watching her in speculation, holding the ribbons in his long fingers.
Roslyn stared back, unable to help herself. It was too dark to be certain, but she thought his eyes were green. A deep, vibrant green. And this close, his lean, aristocratic features were even more sensually compelling than at a distance. His nearness, as well, had a devastating effect on her composure.
He spoke before she could gain control of her whirling thoughts. “I congratulate you, sweeting. Your ploy worked.”
“My ploy?” she repeated, puzzled.
“You hoped I would pursue you here, and you succeeded. I was intrigued enough to follow you.”
He thought she had purposely lured him here to the alcove? “It was no ploy, your grace. I found the ballroom overly warm and came here for a respite.”
One corner of his mouth twisted sardonically. “How convenient that you chose a location so well equipped for an assignation,” he said, nodding at the chaise longue behind him. Before she could protest, he went on. “You must be new to London. I would certainly have remembered had I seen you before now.”