Page 14 of A Dilemma for the Duke

A figure moved through the crowd with deliberate steps.

Charles Hastings carried himself with a confidence that bordered on arrogance, his sharp gaze sweeping the room with shrewd intensity. The guests seemed to part slightly as he approached, their conversations softening, their glances wary, as if reluctant to draw his notice. He paused briefly at the edge of their group, studying each of them with a calculating gaze before he spoke.

Hastings was a tall, well-dressed gentleman, his self-confidence so polished it bordered on artificial, crafted to conceal a more calculating nature. His dark, neatly styled hair and sharp brown eyes lent him an air of precision, each glance cataloging weaknesses he could use in the future. His strong jawline and easy smile could disarm those around him, but to Rockford, it was merely a mask.

What are you concealing, Hastings?Rockford pondered, his suspicion of the man deepening with each encounter, Paris during the war, twice in London, and now here. As he endeavored to unravel the layers of what he was up to, he was well aware that he had to keep a vigilant eye on him. There was something amiss about the man, something that didn’t tally.

“Good evening,” Hastings greeted, his tone smooth but with an edge that set Rockford on alert.

“I must say,” Hastings continued, “you both make quite the striking pair on the dance floor.”

“Hastings,” Rockford acknowledged with a nod, his expression neutral. “It’s been some time.”

“Indeed, it has,” Hastings replied, his voice carrying a hint of something more. “I’ve been quite busy with various endeavors, but attending such splendid events is always a pleasure.”

Lora smiled warmly. “Mr. Hastings, it’s good to see you. Are you enjoying the gala?”

“Very much so, Lady Lora,” Hastings said, his gaze lingering on her. “Your parents have truly outdone themselves. I’ve had the pleasure of calling on you quite often recently, and their hospitality is always impeccable.”

Rockford’s eyes narrowed slightly as he observed Hasting’s smooth demeanor. The surge of protectiveness for Lora rose coupled with a gnawing suspicion.

Hastings turned to Rockford. “And I must commend you, Your Grace, on your resilience. Not many could handle the pressures of both London and the countryside with such ease.”

Rockford’s jaw tightened slightly, the sharpness of Hastings’ words cutting deeper than he cared to admit. Memories of whispered scandals and sidelong glances within the ton flickered in his mind, rumors of intrigues that kept London’s elite gossips busy for weeks but he forced them aside. He hadn’t realized the gossip had reached Sommer-by-the-Sea. All the better. But Hastings’ attention to Lora? That wasn’t in the report he received, just that he was socializing in circles far above his station. For now, he straightened his posture and met Hastings’ gaze with unwavering calm, determined not to give the man the satisfaction of a reaction. “Adaptation to duty is a necessity that some understand better than others, Mr. Hastings,” he replied smoothly, his gaze steady.

“Quite right,” Hastings agreed, his smile never wavering. “I’ve heard whispers of your recent endeavors in London. Scandals can be so trying, can’t they? But I’m sure a man of your stature knows what to do.”

Rockford regarded him coolly, a faint, mocking smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Whispers are the preoccupation of idle minds,” he said. “I choose not to lend them credence. It’s fortunate that one’s true character isn’t defined by the fleeting amusements of the gossiping crowd.” He paused, allowing his words to settle. “I trust you find more substantial matters to occupy your time?”

“Indeed.” As the music began anew, Hastings turned his attention back to Lora. “Lady Lora, may I have the honor of this dance?”

Lora glanced at Rockford, seeking his silent counsel. He offered a reassuring nod, though a flicker of something unreadable passed over his features. Turning back to Hastings, she mustered a polite smile. “Of course, Mr. Hastings.”

Hastings took Lora’s hand and led her onto the dance floor. They moved gracefully to the lilting melody, their figures weaving among the elegantly dressed couples. Standing at the edge of the ballroom, Rockford watched them intently. The subtle barbs Hastings had delivered echoed in his mind, stirring an irritation he rarely allowed himself to feel. His fingers absently traced the faint scar concealed beneath his sleeve, a relic of battles past, the old wound seeming to throb in tandem with his rising tension.

As he observed Hastings and Lora, the pieces began to fall into place. Someone was stirring people up against the clinic expansion project Lora was involved with, and Hastings’ name had been mentioned in connection with the unrest. And now, here he was, dancing with her, the very source of her troubles.

He fought to maintain his composure. Seeing Lady Lora in Hastings’ arms evoked a mix of protectiveness and an unsettling emotion he was reluctant to name. Hastings’ hand rested on her waist with an ease that bordered on impropriety. His fingers splayed just a fraction too intimately.

A rush of heated anger shot through Rockford, igniting a flame he struggled to quell. He knew all too well that Hastings delighted in provocation. He reveled in any sign of unease. Rockford refused to grant him that satisfaction. Yet, observing Lady Lora smile graciously at Hastings, unaware of the man’s true nature, gnawed at him. The thought that she might be drawn into Hastings’ web unsettled him intensely.

Beside him, Barrington followed his gaze, his expression darkening. “Hastings knows exactly what he’s doing,” he muttered, his tone edged with frustration. “He’s testing your patience. If we’re not careful, he’ll manipulate the situation to his advantage before we realize it.” He fell silent for a moment, then added, “The scandal is spreading faster than we anticipated, just as you hoped. Hastings is taking the bait.”

Rockford gave a terse nod. “Indeed. Hastings revels in sowing discord, a talent he perfected in London. And you’re correct. He aims to provoke me, but I won’t oblige him.”

“Good,” Barrington said firmly. “We need to stay the course. We might not get another chance before the king arrives. The more he spreads the scandal, the more likely the highwayman will contact you, which will bring us closer to exposing the corruption.”

“Absolutely,” Rockford agreed, though his attention drifted to the dance floor. Hastings whispered something to Lady Lora, causing her to laugh softly. The sound, usually so delightful, now struck him as vulnerable. His gaze remained fixed on them, every movement, every gesture under his vigilant scrutiny.

Turning away, Rockford stared into the inky blackness beyond the window, his thoughts unraveling into dangerous territory. Barrington’s words echoed in his mind:We might not get another chance.He had fought countless battles, but this war was different, waged in parlors and ballrooms, wheremissteps were more lethal than swords. Every decision carried unseen consequences.

Memories of treachery resurfaced, the sting of betrayal still fresh despite the years. It had happened during the war, a trusted ally turning against him in the heat of battle, leading men to their deaths. The irony wasn’t lost on him now. He was contemplating a similar deception, not against an enemy, but against a trusted friend he held in high regard.

Lora.

His grip tightened on the glass in his hand. Duty had always been his compass, but now it pointed directly against the one person who had reignited a light in his life. The thought clawed at him, each step closer to betrayal pressing relentlessly on his conscience. Protecting her meant deceiving her. A cruel irony.

But could he do it?

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