Page 65 of When He Was a Duke
He thought of his father—gentle, loving, devoted to his children even after losing his beloved wife. Lord Ashford had set aside his own grief to honor his dying wife’s final request: to love and protect their children as she would have done.
Perhaps it was time for Sebastian to honor that same spirit of sacrifice.
Rose had never been part of his plans for revenge. He had not anticipated falling in love with the daughter of his enemy. Yet here he was, and the truth was undeniable. He would rather ensure Rose’s safety than prove his father’s innocence. He would rather protect her than reclaim his birthright.
Even if she could never forgive his deception. Even if she chose to walk away from him once she learned who he truly was.
The realization should have felt devastating—abandoning the promise that had sustained him through years of exile and servitude. Instead, it felt like awakening from a long, bitter dream.
His siblings would understand. They loved him regardless of titles or estates. And perhaps, just perhaps, love was stronger than hatredafter all.
Sebastian rose from the bench, his resolve crystallizing. Tomorrow was too late to begin planning Rose’s salvation. It had to be tonight.
Chapter Sixteen
“Lady Rose, isit true?” Daphne asked, adjusting her lavender mask adorned with gauzy butterfly wings. The scent of ladies’ perfumes drifted from the ballroom behind them as her friends ushered her onto the moonlit balcony. “You’re to marry Baron White tomorrow?”
Lydia, Arabella, and Violet gathered around her like conspirators, their silk skirts rustling against the stone balustrade. The distant sound of violins and laughter seemed to mock Rose’s predicament.
Rose nodded, her throat tight with unshed tears. “Yes, he says I have no choice, or he’ll see me committed to Bedlam. Or worse.”
“What do you mean, worse?” Arabella’s voice sharpened behind her fox mask. “Rose, you’re frightening us.”
“Indeed.” Lydia’s owl mask bobbed as she leaned closer. “Speak plainly.”
Rose glanced toward the ballroom’s glowing windows, ensuring they were truly alone. “There’s no escape now that I know the truth about his enterprises. They’re more determined than ever to keep me silent. One way or the other.”
“This is bad,” Lydia said under her breath. “What are we to do?”
Arabella stepped forward, her mask making her appear predatory in the moonlight. “We shall spirit you away tonight. After the festivities end, Lydia and I will see you safely hidden.”
“Father claims no corner of England exists where he cannot findand punish me.”
“Nonsense. I have connections among certain resourceful ladies who excel at such disappearances.” Arabella’s tone carried the confidence of one accustomed to bending Society to her will. “We could exchange masks during the evening’s confusion, create a diversion.”
Rose caught sight of the ornate clock visible through the ballroom doors. “I must return. I’ve promised Mr. Clarke the next dance.”
“That towering gentleman?” Violet asked with curiosity. “He cuts quite an imposing figure.”
“Indeed, rather substantial,” Arabella added with barely concealed amusement.
Rose promised to find them later and hurried back toward the ballroom, her heart already dreading the charade she must perform.
*
The moment Roseentered the glittering ballroom with its crystal chandeliers casting dancing shadows across the polished floor, the air thick with perfume and the heat of hundreds of bodies, she regretted accepting Mr. Clarke’s invitation. Couples whirled past in a kaleidoscope of jewel-toned silks and elaborate masks, their laughter piercing her melancholy like shards of glass. She longed only to see Sebastian, yet knew it was impossible. Duty demanded her compliance, even as her heart rebelled.
Mr. Clarke materialized before her like a specter. “Lady Rose?”
Something in his voice made her pulse flutter with recognition, though his elaborate Bauta mask concealed every feature. He stood tall and commanding in emerald evening wear, his presence both unsettling and oddly comforting. Like fragments of a half-remembered dream, familiarity teased at the edges of her consciousness.
“Good evening again, Mr. Clarke.”
He stepped closer, executing a perfect bow that spoke of gentle breeding. When she placed her gloved hand in his considerably larger one, his grip proved firm and warm even through the barrier of silk. Her pulse quickened as they assumed position for the waltz.
His movements commanded the floor with confident grace, guiding her as if they’d danced together countless times. How divine it felt to be held in such strong arms, the heat of his palm burning through her stays where it rested at her waist, their breath mingling in the intimate space between them. He made her feel utterly secure, as though he would catch her should she stumble, regardless of what trials awaited.
Ridiculous thoughts. She knew nothing of Mr. Clarke. She could neither see his face nor place his voice with certainty. Yet her treacherous body responded exactly as it did to Sebastian, all fluttering heartbeats and tingling awareness. He possessed Sebastian’s height and broad shoulders, his purposeful bearing.
