Rowan was clearly srized. He really wanted to tuck the dark glossy curls that frad the face he had looked at every day but never really seen. Her skin glowed. She looked soft. She looked elegant. She looked breathtaking.
Delaney took a deep breath then the first step. Her hand, encased in a long white glove, gripped the polished mahogany banister so hard she feared she might leave a dent.
Click.
Her silk slipper hit the stone.
She took a breath. The corset felt tight against her ribs, a constant reminder that she was not in her safe, comfortable gray wool. She felt exposed. The air in the hallway felt cool against her bare shoulders, a sensation she hadn’t felt in three years.
She looked down.
Rowan was standing at the bottom of the stairs. He was looking up.
He was frozen. He wasn’t checking his pocket watch. He wasn’t tapping his foot. He wasn’t frowning at the ti.
He was just staring.
Delaney’s heart hamred a frantic rhythm against her ribs. He hates it, she thought. He is staring because I look ridiculous. I look like a parrot. I look like a spinster trying to play dress-up. He is going to laugh.
She wanted to turn around. She wanted to run back to the safety of the Blue Suite, dive under the covers, and refuse to co out until the next day.
But she couldn’t. She had a job to do. She can’t let Aunt Margery down. The woman spent a fortune to get her this dress. That counts for sothing.
She took another step.
Click.
Below her, Rowan Hamilton felt his brain simply stop working.
It was a physical sensation. One mont, he was thinking about the ti and the carriage horses. The next mont, his mind was a blank white page.
He watched her move.
She didn’t march. Delaney usually walked with a purpose, her heavy boots thudding against the floor. But tonight, she glided. The teal dress moved around her legs like liquid water. It shimred in the candlelight, catching every flicker of the chandelier above.
But it wasn’t the dress. It was the woman inside it.
"Is that... is that Miss Kingsley?" his mind whispered, confused. "Impossible."
He had spent days looking at her. He knew her face. He knew her sharp eyes. He knew her frown.
But he had never seen her like this.
Her hair was no longer pulled back in that severe, painful bun that made her look like a strict librarian. It was loose. It was piled high on her head in a soft, romantic style, but thick, dark curls escaped to fra her face. One curl fell against her neck.
Rowan felt a sudden, insane urge to reach out and touch that curl. He wanted to know if it was as soft as it looked.
He swallowed hard. His throat felt dry.
She took another step.
The neckline of the dress was low. It revealed the curve of her throat and the soft slope of her shoulders. Her skin glowed in the warm light. She looked creamy and soft and utterly touchable.
She carried a fan in one hand. It was made of white lace. She held it tightly, like a shield.
Rowan couldn’t look away. He tried to blink, but his eyelids refused to cooperate.
This is the gray mouse? he thought. This is the woman who lectures about every aspect of my life?
She was halfway down the stairs now.
Rowan realized his mouth was slightly open. He snapped it shut. He tried to compose himself. He was a Duke. He had seen beautiful won before. He had seen the Diamond of the Season every year for a decade.
But none of them had hit him like this.
It was the transformation. It was the shock. It was the realization that beneath the gray wool and the sharp tongue, there was a stunning, vibrant woman hiding in plain sight.
Delaney saw him watching her. Her anxiety spiked.
Why isn’t he saying anything? she worried. He is going to mock . He is going to ask why I am wearing a costu. He is going to tell to go put on my uniform.
She lifted her chin. If he was going to mock her, she would take it with dignity. She was a Kingsley.
She reached the bottom landing.
She stopped on the last step. This put her eyes level with his.
The foyer was silent. The only sound was the distant ticking of the grandfather clock in the hall and the frantic beating of Rowan’s heart.
They locked eyes.
Her eyes were not just hazel tonight. Reflected against the teal silk, they burned with green fire. They were wide and vulnerable, searching his face for a reaction.
Rowan looked into those eyes. He felt like he was falling.
He forgot about the ball. He forgot about the list of candidates. He forgot about the " Mystery woman" he was searching for.
The woman in front of him was real. And she was magnificent.
The words slipped out before he could stop them. They bypassed his brain entirely and went straight from his chest to his lips.
"You look beautiful," he murmured.
His voice was a low whisper. It was rough, like gravel over velvet. It was the kind of voice a man uses when he is telling a secret in the dark.
Delaney blinked.
The blood rushed in her ears. She was so nervous, so terrified of his judgnt, that the sound didn’t register clearly. She saw his lips move. She heard a murmur. But she didn’t catch the words.
"What?" Delaney said.
Her voice was breathless. She gripped her fan tighter.
Rowan froze.
His brain ca back online with a violent jolt.
Panic. Pure, cold panic washed over him.
"What did I just say?" He thought to himself.
He had just told his employee she was beautiful. He had just told the matchmaker—the woman he was paying to find him a wife—that she looked stunning.
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