Page 22 of The Duke’s Masked Wallflower

“You’re blushing.”

“I’m not blushing,” Rosalie protested, tightening her coat around her shoulders. “It’s merely cold.”

“It’s practically bathing weather. You have never blushed over Mr. Sinclair, and yet you cannot say the duke’s name without turning the color of a strawberry. I do not think that is nothing at all, whatever you would have me believe. Oh, how I wish I had been there.”

Rosalie pressed her lips together. Her mother had been thrilled by the development of the night prior, that Mr. Sinclair had all but asked to court her officially despite the other ongoing antics. Emily already knew too much. Rosalie resolved to keep the news about Mr. Sinclair to herself until it was important for people to know.

Emily opened her mouth to ask something more, but at that moment a sound caught their attention, and they turned toward it. On the plain in front of them, a pair of horses and their riders were approaching at speed from behind a thick line of trees. Hooves thundered against the ground, kicking up dirt and appearing in flashes between the thick trunks of the spruces. There was masculine laughter, someone daring someone else to ride faster around the bend.

Rosalie grabbed Emily and pulled her off the path, worried the men would not see them in time and knock them over.

“Don’t you wish you could ride like that?” Emily said wistfully, pointing at them.

“No,” Rosalie laughed.

She squinted at the approaching riders, trying to discern their identities. Her stomach dropped as one of them said something else, and the tone was too familiar for her comfort. And then there it was: the dark hair, the rumbling laugh, the confidence in the saddle. He was bare-headed, his dark riding coat blowing behind him in the wind as he raced in her direction with so much speed and power he looked like a dream.

Maybe not even seeing her.

Or maybe seeing only her and riding so recklessly on purpose.

Eight

“Not long now! I told you I had it, Little Ashcroft!”

He had seen her before James had. It was clear from the way James raced ahead, launching a victorious mocking cry while Gabriel slowed his horse to the animal’s vocal discontent. It should not have surprised him that that was the order of things. This was becoming something of a habit this Season.

Some part of him had learned to pick out Rosalie Winthrop’s form from a distance and her voice in a crowd. He could think of no use for the skill except for making fools of them both, as the night prior had proven when she had choked, and he had held her in his arms. And then she had disappeared.

“How kind of you for helping the Winthrop girl,” one of the guests had said once she had left with her mother and father without so much as a goodbye. “Of course, one has to wonder whether she did it on purpose... Wouldn’t be the first time with that family,” another had put in when they thought he couldn’t hear. Meantime, Beatrice Levant had been watching him through every course.

He dashed the thoughts from his mind. Gabriel drew his horse up at the end of the trees, sketching a turn and observing Miss Winthrop as she pulled the woman beside her out of danger that never came. James had slowed to a trot by then and had paraded past them on the path, headed southward toward the park exit. The two women stumbled up a bank; the one who was not Miss Winthrop fell over on her knees and laughed, and Gabriel bit his lip, stifling a smile as Miss Winthrop helped her up.

Would it have been worse to ignore them or to engage them in an awkward afternoon conversation? There were no rules of propriety for the challenge raised to him and Miss Winthrop.

With a little encouragement, he directed his horse after James. But where James was stopped by two other promenading figures—after a while he realized they were Lord and Lady Winthrop—Gabriel progressed toward Miss Winthrop and her friend.

He did not miss the way she stiffened at the sight of him. It was the same involuntary bracing he had watched her perform whenever they first met, before she softened around him like ice melting. She always looked as though she expected him to say something dreadful and then was relieved when he didn’t.

Maybe today, he thought, she will be wrong on that count.

“Miss Winthrop,” he called when he arrived. He let his eyes rest on her a moment longer than necessary and was pleased in some chamber of himself he did not much respect to see her notice it. “I trust I am finding you in good health this afternoon.”

She gave a forced smile. “Yes, entirely, Your Grace.” She pulled her friend to a standing position. “Thank you for your concern.” Her voice came out intentionally cool and correct for the benefit of her friend, who was watching with open delight now that she was upright—and for James too, who was fast approaching. “Allow me to introduce my dear, but grass-stained, friend, Miss Emily Sutton.”

“A pleasure, Your Grace,” the young woman said, curtsying to the duke. “I have heard—” She seemed to stop herself—for who knew what reason—but was still smiling. “I have heard so much about you from Miss Winthrop. Really so much.”

“Is that so?” Gabriel smiled at Miss Winthrop. “I had not known my house call last week had become a matter of public interest, Miss Winthrop.”

“Your house call, Your Grace?” Lady Emily asked, staring at her friend.

Ah, he thought with a little humor. Miss Winthrop is quite good at keeping secrets after all. She has not even told her friend about our own entanglement. Good.

“I meant... about last night,” Lady Emily corrected, evidently reading some kind of invisible warning on Miss Winthrop’s face.

“Last night truly is no matter of anyone’s concern any longer,” Miss Winthrop lied with her usual unflagging politeness. She plucked a blade of grass out of Lady Emily’s hair. “You need not have worried yourself today, Your Grace. Certainly not enough to interrupt your ride over me and lose.”

“You may be right about my loss and more,” Gabriel said, enjoying seeing her out in the open air. “But I confess I have thought of little else since. It is not every day a man is given the chance to play the part of the hero. I have been insufferable about it. Ask Beaumont if you doubt me.”