Cover

Title Page

Dedication

To those with “invisible” ailments

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Chapter One

Chapter One

Constance Wentworth’s task was simple: sidle along the edge of the ballroom, looking like a forgettably plain woman making a discreet exit. The safety of the archway lay a mere two yards distant when Robert, Duke of Rothhaven, turned his gaze in her direction.

Surprise flashed in his green eyes, as fleeting as distant lightning on a summer night.

Bollocks and bedamned, he recognized her. He lifted his glass of lemonade in a gesture of acknowledgment.

More than ten years later, and he still knew Constance at sight, as she had known him. She’d had half an hour to adjust to the shock of seeing him, a paltry thirty minutes to reconcile the current man with memories formed years ago.

Rothhaven’s height was striking, but so was his sense of focusing utterly on the object of his attention. He’d had the same quality as a much younger man. His entire being came to a still point, then he aimed every sense exclusively and intensely on who or what had caught his notice.

He was worth noticing too. Deep-set emerald eyes, dramatic brows that gave him a slight air of inquisitiveness at all times. High forehead, dark hair pulled back in an old-fashioned queue. Features that blended Nordic power and Celtic ruggedness with just enough Gallic refinement that his portraits would be stunning even into old age.

Once upon a time, Constance had contented herself with sketching his hands. Given the opportunity now, she would be far more ambitious with her subject.

She inclined her head, for it would not do to snub a duke, much less a duke who held sizable acreage in the neighborhood. That he’d completely misrepresented himself to her years ago, that he’d at one time been a friend, that he was hale and whole and not ten feet away made her steps as she wove through the crowd more urgent.

Which is why she nearly ploughed into him, though his reflexes, as always, were uncannily quick.

He bowed correctly. “Lady Constance, a pleasure.”

With the whole ballroom watching, Constance could only curtsy in return. “Your Grace.”

“You are looking well.” No emotion colored that observation, and Constance was looking well compared to when he’d known her previously. She had made it a point to look well and dress well since then, though never too well.

“Thank you, and Your Grace appears to be in good health.” When she’d first met him, he’d been a wraith, pale, mute, watchful, and bitter.

“I have my dear brother to thank for my improved health. Shall we enjoy the evening air?”