Beguiling The Duke. Eva Shepherd

with her non-existent lover? Would she share such things with him? Probably. Wasn’t that what people in love did? But how was Rosie supposed to know? She had never been in love. Never expected to be in love.

      She glanced in Alexander’s direction. Yes, she could imagine that a woman who was in love would want to tell her man about herself, about her thoughts, her feelings. They would surely want to share their troubles and offer each other comfort and support. A woman in love with a man would also want to hear his thoughts, his feelings, and to know everything there was to know about him.

      If a woman was in love with a man like Alexander she was sure that was how she would be feeling.

      She turned to look straight ahead. But she had never been in love—not with this imaginary man, and certainly not with Alexander.

      Rosie started. Where had that thought come from? Of course she wasn’t in love with Alexander. The mere idea of it was ludicrous.

      She gave a little laugh, and took another quick sideways look in Alexander’s direction. He was staring at her, waiting for her to answer. An uncomfortable silence stretched out between them. Her cheeks burned hotter. She had to say something. Anything.

      ‘Oh, you know...we talk of this and that. And I suppose he’s a bit like me when it comes to not taking things too seriously.’

      Would that be enough to satisfy his curiosity?

      He looked down at her, then stared out at the garden and clasped his hands tightly together. ‘What sort of man is he, this man you are in love with?’

      Rosie winced. It seemed Alexander wasn’t satisfied with her vague answer, and wasn’t going to let the subject drop. She cast another quick look in his direction and wondered why he was so curious about her imaginary beloved. He had reacted so strangely when she had first told him, and now seemed to want to know all about him.

      But it didn’t matter what he was thinking. She needed to concentrate. Needed to answer his question. So, what sort of man would he be, this fictional lover of hers? Rosie had no idea, but she had to say something.

      ‘Oh, you know. He’s just a man.’

      Alexander turned and looked down at her, his eyebrows knitted together. ‘“Just a man”? He’s the man you say you are in love with—the man you’re all but betrothed to—and you dismiss him as “just a man”?’

      Why was he interrogating her like this? Was he trying to make her feel uncomfortable? If that was his intention then he was succeeding. But it seemed he was uncomfortable too. He was staring down at her, his jaw tense, his hands tightly clasped together as he waited for her answer.