He was an unusual man, certainly. Odd, even. But watching him, Rose saw how gentle he was with Beth, and how he couldn’t stay far from her. He liked watching her too, his gaze softening when she smiled at him, while with Steven and Rose he was still a bit stiff. Shy, Rose thought, though this seemed more than simple shyness.
Beth possessed an openness her husband lacked. She engaged Rose in conversation without stiltedness, neither awed by the fact that Rose was a duchess or put off by the rumors about her. Beth spoke to Rose as though they were already friends, and Rose, for the first time in years, had an enjoyable evening.
Rose now understood Steven’s insistence that they watch the play with the Mackenzies from this box. Plenty of lorgnettes and opera glasses trained on them from other boxes and the stalls below, and plenty of heads moved together to discuss it. No one paid much attention to the play. But this box belonged to Hart Mackenzie, Duke of Kilmorgan, Lord Ian’s brother. None of the staring people would accost them here.
When the drama onstage was over, and they all rose to leave, Steven suggested they all go to the Albion for a light meal before they retired. Ian said absolutely nothing, but annoyance flickered in his eyes.
He wanted to be alone with his wife, Rose saw. Sitting with a stranger and even with Steven had difficult for him, she understood. In any other man, Rose might take this for rudeness, but having watched him all evening, Rose saw that Ian’s oddities made him different, and he knew it. He tried to blend in, but he knew.
Rose saw too that Beth loved him. The little glances she’d given her husband to make sure he was all right and the secret looks they exchanged told Rose that theirs was a special bond indeed.
She couldn’t help wishing for one exactly like it.
“Perhaps not,” Rose said, while Steven waited for Beth’s answer. “I am rather tired. It’s been a wonderful evening, but we had a long day, and I’m weary.”
Steven took her hand and stepped against her, looking down into her eyes. “Of course, love.”
For a single moment, as Steven’s gray gaze fixed on her and her alone, nothing else existed. The noise of the emptying theatre went away, the draft that came into the box as a footman held open the door, Beth’s low voice as she spoke to Ian. Only Steven filled Rose’s world, his smile, the warmth in his eyes, his voice wrapping around her as he said, Of course, love.
She wanted to save the moment, and never let it go.
Then Steven kissed her hand, released it, and turned to fetch her coat.
As they exited the box, Steven and Beth talking easily again, Ian moved in front of Rose and stopped, facing her. His tall body filled the doorway, blocking her way out. As Rose started to politely ask him to let her pass, Ian leaned to her, pitching his voice low.
“He needs it to be real.”
Rose blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
Ian waited for a few seconds of silence, as though thinking through his words. “He needs it to be real,” he repeated slowly. “With you.”
The words were simple, yet something caught in Rose’s heart. She cleared her throat. “Captain McBride is helping me. That is all.”
Ian shook his head, his brows lowering. “No. You are helping him.”
He turned away, moving to where Beth and Steven waited in the hall. Steven gave Rose an inquiring look, but Ian turned to Beth, the rest of the world forgotten as he absorbed himself in her.
***
Rose pondered what Ian had said on the silent ride back to the hotel. Steven said little, his laughter gone as he looked moodily out the window to the dark night.
He needs it to be real.
Needed what to be real? The betrothal? The affection Rose was developing for him? More than affection . . .
Steven McBride did not need her. He was a good-natured, attractive, entertainment-seeking bachelor who liked to play cards and imbibe a little too much—although he’d been quite moderate in his drink tonight. He came from a respectable Scottish family and had highborn friends and connections like the Mackenzies. His fellow officers apparently thought well of him. Why would Steven need a betrothal to a scandalous woman like Rose?
She had no idea, and no idea why Steven became moodier and more abrupt when they reached the hotel. It was late enough that not many people were about, but couples in evening finery still watched as the two of them ascended the stairs together.
Outside their suites of rooms, Rose started to say good night, but Steven stopped and tugged her hand out of the crook of his arm.
“I can’t do it, Rosie.”
Rose faced him, raising her brows to hide the rapid beating of her heart. “Can’t do what?”
“Stay here and go tamely to bed, knowing you’re—”
He broke off, took her key from her and unlocked her door. He opened it and guided her inside, hand on his elbow. The parlor of Rose’s suite was still lit, a coal fire dancing on the hearth in anticipation of her return.
“Knowing I’m what?” Rose asked.
Steven closed the door. “Knowing you’re in here.” The words were almost a snarl. “On the other side of the wall, while I try to be a gentleman and stay away from you.” He cupped her cheek with his warm hand. “It’s too damned hard.”
It was hard for Rose too. She touched his fingers. “The world already thinks it, Steven,” she said softly, hearing the tremble in the words. “In spite of our separate rooms. You know they do.”
Heat flared in Steven’s eyes, then his look turned self-deprecating. “I’m trying to help you win back your good name, not tarnish it more.” He laced his fingers through hers and lifted her hand to his lips. “I can’t stay in the hotel, lass. I’ll never sleep if I do, and I have an appointment to keep tomorrow. I’ll be back in time for breakfast.”
Rose gripped his hand when he tried to withdraw it. “Don’t.”
“No choice, love.” Steven kissed the tip of her nose but held himself stiffly away from her. “Good night.”
“Good night,” Rose said faintly, letting him go.
She watched him move across the room, taking up the hat he’d dropped to a table. “Steven,” she called.
He turned back at the door, impatient to be away.
“Be careful,” Rose said. “You’ve been . . . ill the last two mornings . . .”
“From overindulging?” His smile was wry. “Don’t worry, love. The appointment tomorrow is too important for me to arrive hungover. Sweet dreams.” Steven swung away and said nothing more as he disappeared out the door.