“That would surprise me,” Rose said. “Albert is nothing if not tightfisted.”

Steven shrugged. “He might pay a lesser sum in order to hold on to a greater one.” He moved to a table where a decanter of whiskey had been left for him, and poured himself a fragrant glass. Rose watched him, a sparkle in her eye. The way she held herself, as though barely containing something, made him stop before he took a drink. “You seem robust this evening. Had a good rest, did you?”

“A lady came to see you,” Rose said. “Newly widowed. I don’t know who she was.”

“Ah.” If anything would kill his burning need for Rose it was that. “She came here? Why on earth did she, I wonder?”

“She didn’t say,” Rose said. “She was rather surprised to see me. She told me to tell you that you needn’t bother to visit her.”

Steven turned the whiskey glass in his hand. “Did she?” He studied the amber contents, debating whether to pour it down his throat and erase the rising pain or opt for staying sober. He chose, and emptied the glass into his mouth.

“I’m sorry, Steven.”

Steven swallowed the burning liquid and thumped down the glass. Rose was looking at him in true contrition, her words almost sad. “For what?” he asked.

“It was clearly a private matter between you and the lady, and none of my business. I went to speak to her because of my own silly curiosity. I should not have.”

Steven reached for the whiskey decanter, then let his hand fall from it. He shook his head. “No need to flog yourself, lass. If a gentleman had come here asking to see you, I’d have had him against the wall, demanding to know what he wanted.”

“But it distressed her, and she wasn’t feigning her grief. For that, I am sorry.”

“No, she’s not feigning.” Steven let out a sigh. “She is the appointment I have tomorrow. She told me not to come, did she?” He fingered the empty glass then firmly pushed it from him. “I’ll tell you the whole sad story, Rosie, but not tonight. Tonight, I’d like to forget all about it.” He gazed at Rose, taking her in, letting the beauty of her soothe him. All the black she wore couldn’t shut out the vibrancy of her, couldn’t even mute it.

Steven abandoned the whiskey and went to her. “You and I are engaged to be married. We have no need to hide ourselves in this hotel as though ashamed of the fact.” He caught her hand and raised it to his lips. “So put on your best dress, my love. I’m taking you out on the town.”

***

Out on the town meant dinner at a restaurant and an evening at the theatre. The restaurant was the Albion in Russell Street near Drury Lane Theatre, where Steven ordered a lavish meal and champagne. He lounged in his chair, looking relaxed and unashamed, caring nothing that so many people stared at them.

Steven focused all his attention on Rose and no one else in the room. Rose’s blood heated as she found herself the subject of Steven’s gray gaze, especially when he leaned forward slightly to speak to her. His irises were ringed with deeper gray, like the dark lining of a sunlit cloud.

He asked her about her life in Scotland with her father. Rose had thought her existence in rural Scotland then Edinburgh dully domestic, but Steven hung on every word, as though her stories fascinated him. He told her a little about his life in the army, making light of what must be hardships—heat, insects, diseases, exhaustion, and living in danger of attack even in quiet times. Steven painted a picture of Africa that was nothing but beauty, of its huge skies, endless rivers, and expansive lands.

“I’d love to see it,” Rose said wistfully. The world that she knew, in spite of being a lofty duchess, was small. Charles hadn’t enjoyed going out to restaurants like this one, or even coming to London—he’d loved staying home by the fire. Their only outing during Rose’s married life had been rambling walks in the countryside. They’d been climbing in the hills near Sittford when Charles’s heart had given out. He’d felt unwell during the walk, they’d gone back to the house, Charles had taken to his bed, and he’d not lasted the night.

“No reason you shouldn’t,” Steven said. “Africa is dangerous for a lady, but some wives do manage it. As a married man, I’d be entitled to larger quarters.”

“Indeed?” Rose asked with a sly smile. “Now I understand your quest for a wife. A bigger tent.”

Steven’s grin widened. “More impetus than that, I assure you.” His eyes took on a teasing light. “I can think of many more reasons for a man to marry you, Rosie.”

She gave him an innocent look. “Someone to bring you your slippers?”

Steven moved closer, his voice going low. “That could be interesting.” He leaned into her, blocking the view of the other diners, and curled his tongue slowly at her.

Rose went hot all the way down. Steven showing his blatant wanting here in a restaurant, in public, made her body tighten, her br**sts heavy and warm. She recalled the feeling of him pressed between her legs when he’d sat her on the cabinet, the bite of pleasure-pain when he’d left the mark on her breast. She burned.

“McBride?”

Rose flushed, but Steven sat up without hurry and turned to see who’d spoken. Two men in regimentals were approaching the table, one lifting his hand in greeting.

Steven rose to meet them then held out a hand and assisted Rose to her feet. “Rose, may I introduce Major Clifford and Lieutenant Spencer, from my regiment. Gentlemen, this is my fiancée, the Dowager Duchess of Southdown.”