Page 56 of A Dilemma for the Duke

Her eyes caught sight of Rockford across the room. His presence stood out amid the bustling crowd, a comforting presence in the sea of faces. She watched as he navigated the crowd with unhurried grace, his dark suit impeccably tailored to his strong frame. A silver pocket watch glinted from his waistcoat, and she couldn’t help but notice the hint of a smile playing on his lips.

“Lora,” his baritone voice reached her ears, cutting through the surrounding chatter like a soothing melody.

Her pulse quickened unexpectedly. “Good evening, Your Grace.” She offered a teasing smile, a playful glint in her eyes.

He offered his arm, and she accepted, the simple gesture sending a reassuring warmth sweeping over her. The tension that had coiled inside her began to unravel. How had he come to have such an effect on her?

“They’re staring,” Lora whispered, her gaze fixed ahead even as she felt a dozen pairs of eyes upon them.

Rockford leaned in slightly. “Let them. Their opinions are as fleeting as the fashions they cling to.”

She managed a small chuckle at that. “Ever the optimist.”

They paused before Mr. Constable’s serene landscape painting, Wivenhoe Park at Dusk, with its rambling line of the fence and the balance of trees, meadow, and river,demonstrating Constable’s ability to make the viewer feel as if they were actually in the meadow.

“I prefer this version of Wivenhoe to the one the Major-General chose for his home. Something about the colors of dusk expresses tranquility to me.”

“Do you think so?” she asked Rockford. “The tranquility in this artwork seems at odds with the undercurrents swirling around here this evening. I wish I could step into this scene,” Lora mused. “Leave all the whispers behind.”

Rockford’s gaze softened. “Perhaps someday we can find our own Wivenhoe Park.”

The buzz of the crowd softened to a distant hum as the world seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them.

Lora’s heart thudded softly as she searched his eyes. There was a vulnerability there she hadn’t noticed before, a mirror to her own guarded hopes. “Sometimes I feel adrift in all of this,” she confessed quietly. “But with you, I find my anchor.”

Rockford’s gaze held hers steadily. “You are far stronger than you realize. But being your anchor is an honor I cherish.”

Her breath caught subtly. Words felt inadequate to express the swirl of emotions in her heart. Instead, she allowed the silence to speak, a gentle smile conveying what she couldn’t yet voice to him.

“Lora, I want you to meet someone who might be able to help with the current situation.” He gestured to a tall, composed man standing nearby. “This is Thomas Greene. He’s Barrington’s associate.”

Greene bowed slightly. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lady Lora.”

Lora nodded, still gathering her composure. “Thank you, Mr. Greene.”

Thomas gave a respectful nod. “I’ll leave you to enjoy the auction.” With that, he excused himself, blending back into the crowd.

A scent curled around her, sharp, intrusive, unmistakable. Lemon, underscored by a smoky musk. The warmth of the gallery vanished, replaced by the cold, damp air of her captivity. The past surged forward, clawing at the present, dragging her back to that dark room.

“No,” she whispered, a wave of nausea threatening. The edges of her vision blurred as snippets of harsh whispers and cold laughter echoed in her mind.

Unconsciously, her fingers dug into Rockford’s sleeve. He turned sharply at her touch, concern etching his brow. “Lora, what’s wrong?”

She forced herself to focus on his eyes, grounding herself in the present. “It’s… the scent… I can’t…”

*

“Hold on,” heurged firmly, steadying her with his grip. He signaled a footman as he headed toward an empty chair.

“My lord—” The man glanced at Lora. No explanation was needed. He retrieved a small vial from his coat pocket and handed it to Rockford.

Rockford quickly opened the vial and passed it under Lora’s nose.

She pulled her head up, her eyes wide.

They moved toward a quieter corner. As they did, Rockford heard a muted cough echo behind them, a rasping sound. He felt Lora tense beside him, and he glanced over his shoulder. A man was speaking to Viscount Montague, who was nearby, but Lora was his primary concern. Rockford watched Lora blink, trying to focus. He tightened his grip on her arm.

“I should go after—” Lora turned to follow the gentleman, but Rockford wouldn’t release his grip.

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