Well, he’d detailed his feelings about marriage in no uncertain terms. Not that she was thinking about marriage…Good heavens, Rosamund!
She was here to write the article–nothing more! Earn her inheritance so that she could purchase a cottage for herself. Establish herself as an independent spinster.
At the same time, she could dispel the vicious rumors about the duke.
She huffed out a shaky breath, pushed herself up and off the ground, and started along the path that would lead her out of the woods.
“Rosamund.”
If not for Angus…
Oh, Angus. Loyal, ill-timed Angus. Should she be grateful for the interruption, or furious?
With the dog’s approach, all of the duke’s openness had vanished.
He had pushed her away—not roughly, but decisively—as though that kiss had been a mistake.
As thoughshewas the mistake.
He had been angry.
At himself? Or at her?
Rosamund slowed at the edge of the trees and then touched her hands to her flushed cheeks. Tomorrow morning, she needed to go—back to Fenmere Park, back to her father’s home—no, her brother’s now.
Back to the same existence she’d always known.
The red-haired sister with the freckles. The one who asked too many questions. The one who laughed too loudly and was never quite taken seriously enough.
Lady Rosamund.
The thought sent a flicker of panic through her.
And it was not because the article remained unfinished, or because she lacked the information she’d come for.
Those things suddenly felt… manageable. Doable.
No—the panic came from the realization that in the space of a few short days—between his grudging and then not-so-grudging tolerance, and those rare moments of painful, unguarded honesty—she had grown rather… fond of Julian Cavendish.
No. That was not quite it.
Fondness was too small a word.
She… she hadseenhim, just a glimpse, but enough to know she’d been right to come here. And now the thought of leaving—of turning away without… withoutfinding more—that was what sent this almost irrational panic spiraling from her head to her toes.
As Rosamund stepped out of the trees, Daffodil and Merlin both lifted their heads, ears pricking.
“There you are,” Rosamund murmured, approaching them both, feeling an odd easing in her chest.
Merlin stood steady beside Daffodil, dark and patient. Rosamund reached up to stroke the soft skin under his mane.
“Pay him no mind,” she said softly. “He’s convinced he’s dangerous. We know better, don’t we?”
The horse nodded as though agreeing.
“Yes,” she said softly. “We shall keep him from ruining everything.”
Daffodil, jealous and less patient now, nudged Rosamund’s shoulder.