Her nape prickled.
She found Henry blatantly taking in her exchange with Mr. Rundell. Per his usual, he wore a scowl.
The Duke of Hartwell and Mr. Rundell. The two should go into business together.
“…Your Grace…?”
Saved,by the handsome young jeweler attending Henry! She tucked her arm into Mr. Rundell’s, guiding him toward the back of the shop for privacy.
“A woman of your beauty must be accustomed to getting what you want, my lady.”
“On the contrary. I am one of six siblings and accustomed to doing what must be done to get anyone’s attention.”
A reluctant smile broke across Mr. Rundell’s wizened cheeks. “I don’t believe that.”
“You should. If you met any members of my family, you would understa—”
“I have reached my limit on chitchat, my lady,” he interrupted. “What can I do for you?”
As they passed her reticule, Fleur didn’t miss a beat. She snatched it up and followed him into his offices.
Out of earshot, she rushed to explain. “I found a piece of jewelry—a ring.” Peeking over her shoulder, she made sure Henry was still busy with his work.
He was.
She didn’t have much time.
“Let us see it then.” Mr. Rundell stepped into his office. He found his way to a sloppy worktable, littered with papers,folders, and files. The surface sat with a spare space only a foot wide, and a crimson-velvet tray at its middle. “What are you wanting me to do with this piece, Lady Fleur?”
Fleur tore herself away from where Hart currently discussed options for the new Tremaine betrothal jewelry to join Mr. Rundell. “I’m trying to identify the signet so that I might return it to its rightful wearer. I was unable to make out the crest.”
Her fingers found the ring she had kept close all these months. It radiated the same mystifying warmth as when it had fallen from his finger at Lord Rutland’s. She unfurled her fist and stared unblinkingly at the ancient gold piece.
In minutes, she would have an answer to the question that had haunted her for months and kept her from sleep. She would have a name, his name. That dark stranger she gave herself to, who’d rasped his praise for her beauty—which had been silly as she’d been in a mask, and he couldn’t have hailed her as the goddess he had with any truth—and entranced her with romantic verse uttered in his low, rough baritone, which had melted her as much as his touch.
She had thought of him a great deal less.
Maybe that’s why the whole time she examined the heavy ring, she attended Henry’s business. Having been shown to the middle of the floor, his discussion carried through the quiet of the shop and back to Fleur.
“…A fine repousse setting, Your Grace”
Repousse? That would not do.
Fleur hurried outside. “Henry?”
His scathing glower did not disappoint.
“What?”
“You do not want that ring for your future duchess.”
The rigid line of his lips, the angle of his obdurate jaw, clearly said he didn’t want to ask her the “why” question.
“And why not?”
“It contains pink topaz,” Fleur said.
Henry closed his eyes and moved his lips silently. Fleur squinted. Was he counting or curs—?