And that was answer enough.
The door opened just then.
Wallace paused, reading the room in a glance, before the duke inclined his head.
The footman moved forward, clearing their plates and setting down porcelain dishes of custard crowned with berries and a thin sheen of honey.
The scent of vanilla drifted between them.
But Rosamund wasn’t finished.
Once Wallace withdrew and the door closed again, she leaned forward slightly.
“You are gentle with your animals. Patient with your wood. Diligent with your crops, your tenants, your herds.” Her gaze did not waver. “You notice what needs to be repaired. You provide for those who are less fortunate. Youmake things work.”
He did not look at her.
She continued anyway.
“And I will have you know,” she added, a small curve touching her mouth, “that I have been known to bring out the very worst in otherwise patient people.”
His eyes flicked up at that.
“I arrived uninvited,” she went on. “I questioned you. Followed you. Pressed where you did not wish to be pressed.” A beat. Softer now. “I kissed you.”
The silence thickened.
“And yet,” she finished quietly, “you did not harm me. You did not lose control. You did not become what you fear.”
His jaw tightened.
“I think,” she said gently, “you may have more command of yourself than you allow.”
The silence that followed was thick, crowded with unforgettable impressions of that kiss. The warmth of his mouth. The surety of his hands. That undeniable electric surge, waiting just beneath the surface.
The duke set his spoon down with deliberate care, and then he grimaced.
“If not for Angus, I-–It was a mistake, you know.”
“Was it?”
For a single unguarded moment, he met her eyes.
And something in his expression shifted—almost uncertain. As though the answer were not as simple as he wished it to be.
Then the shutters came down.
“I have indulged this far longer than was wise,” he said, his tone cooling by degrees. “Your visit. Your questions. Your… damned article.” A pause. “I will be relieved to return to order.”
“Relieved?” The word felt thin in her mouth.
She held his gaze, searching for some flicker of irony. Some indication he did not mean it.
“This hasn’t been only about the article,” she said quietly.
His expression did not change.
“The time we’ve spent together…” She stopped, steadied herself. “You have shown me things you do not show others. Your work. Your home. Your… thoughts.”