Michael expected all hell to break lose as soon as he arrived home, but he didn’t expect it to do so in such a spectacular fashion. Luckily enough for him, Elias slept almost the entire journey home, which meant that he didn’t have to worry about the man harassing him. His sister, however, was a different story. It wasn’t that Alice felt the need to remind him of what faced him back in Britain, but rather that she kept shooting him warning looks that made him uneasy.

To distract himself, he tried to think of something else. The patients he would see to when he returned to the hospital in the country, medical papers he might write – but inevitably, his mind always strayed back to Rose.

She disappeared the moment he emerged from the bedroom and hadn’t come back since. Part of him wanted to go check on her after her coughing fit, but he refrained. Things were different now with Alice and Elias in such close quarters. Their little isolation had ended – and their flight back to Britain was just a reminder that the summer was half over.

Instead of trying to chase after Rose, Michael settled on a couch and nursed his bottle of whiskey. Despite what he told Alice, he did plan to get well and fully drunk before facing his mother. It might be the only way he could bear to deal with her arguing. He could only hope she didn’t decide to bring his father into things.

Heaven forbid.

He managed to get pretty thoroughly soused by the time they reached Heathrow, but the confrontation wasn’t to come until they returned to the manor. Perhaps it was that he knew a row with his mother was coming, and perhaps it was simply that Rose inched as far away from him as she could on the seat, but by the time they actually pulled up the drive of Tate Manor, every muscle in Michael’s body was stiff and sore with tension.

The moment the car came to a stop, Rose all but leapt from it, hurrying to the front door of the manor. When Alice cast him an almost accusatory look, Michael just glared at her. Christ, all at once, all the women in his life were against him.

“I’d say something about being beholden to your mother at your age,” Elias drawled from across from him, “But I doubt you need to hear it right now.”

“Thanks.” Michael’s response was dry as he slid from the car, shutting the door behind him and trapping Elias in the Rolls. He was sure the architect would enjoy his few moments of solitude.

A look over the other cars in the drive revealed to Michael that not only was his mother present, but his father as well. For the first time all summer, an additional, gleaming Rolls Royce was parked in the driveway along with his mother’s horrid pink Mercedes.

Taking a deep breath, Michael steeled himself for the worst. He had no idea what his parents could possibly have to say to him that he couldn’t rebut as a grown man, Nonetheless, he never liked it when his mother made scenes – and he liked it even less when she got his father involved.

This wasn’t going to be good.

Edgar was nowhere to be found, and so Alice used her keys to let them into the manor. Once they were inside, Alice cast her brother a glance before taking Rose’s arm and spiriting her off towards the kitchen with suggestions of tea. Elias arrived half a minute later, closing the door behind himself with a somber snap. He knew better than to speak, instead casting Michael a somber thumbs up before heading towards the back gardens.

His mood turning even sourer, Michael quickly crested the stairs to the second floor. His parents had an entire wing of the house to themselves, and it was there he found the door to his father’s study standing open.

Inside, the décor was decidedly more somber than that of the library downstairs. The walls were covered in dark wood paneling, and bookshelves were lined with uniform volumes that looked as if they’d never been touched.  The moment Michael stepped into the study, his mother sprang from her seat near the door. Michael was surprised to see that she looked almost haggard – that was, as close to haggard as Angela Tate possibly could. Her hair was drawn back into a simple knot at the base of her neck, a few gray strands falling free around her face. The dress that she wore was slightly wrinkled, and she wasn’t wearing heels. Immediately, she rushed to him, wringing her hands.

She appeared the most genuinely distressed that Michael had ever seen her – so much so that, for a moment, he felt genuinely guilty.

“What were you thinking?” She didn’t hug him – didn’t try to touch him. Instead, Angela Tate just stared at her son with a look akin to betrayal in her eyes. “You would have been killed, Michael! Killed! And then where would we be!?”

Michael just looked at her, somewhat confused. He hadn’t meant to upset her, but in his opinion, it was quite clear where they would be if he were killed: he’d be dead. Dead on a charity mission and they would mourn him. One would think that might inspire a little more concern and a little less guilt on his part. He was, after all, a grown man. He’d known exactly what he was doing.

“Mother, I apologize for leaving without telling you, but I’m fine.” His voice was calm with a slight edge of irritation. After over twenty-four hours of travel this was, after all, one of the last things he wanted to deal with. “Assuredly alive.”

“What your mother is trying to say, Michael…is that you couldn’t possibly comprehend the danger you put all of us in.”

Of course, his father couldn’t even offer him a proper greeting. But then, when Earl Johnathan Tate was involved, half-hearted greetings were the least of Michael’s worries.

If Michael had to give credit to either of his parent for raising him, he would have to paint his mother the more responsible party. Even though she herself had been too wrapped up in the trappings of nobility to pay much attention to him, at least she’d been present. Michael and his sister were lucky to see their father three or four times a year, and it always seemed to be when they were in trouble.

The Earl spent most of his time travelling around Britain and Europe – solidifying his status as head of one of the region’s wealthiest and noblest families. When he was younger, Michael had been disturbed by the fact that he saw his father so little – but by the time he reached his teens, he’d made peace with the idea that his father really had no interest in his children. It was a fact that had only given him the impetus to become self-sufficient in his own right. The last thing he needed was to subsist of a name that he barely knew.

Of course, Michael had no problem remembering what his father looked like physically. His pictures were plastered all over the place – regal and, presumably, intimidating. Even coming into his late sixties, the man stood stiff and proud, not a speck of dust on his impeccably tailored suit. His gray hair was slicked back from his wide brow, and he had worn the same wire spectacles for the past twenty years. When it came to his appearance, the Earl’s wealth was quiet – almost understated. If you didn’t look hard, you would miss his gold and diamond cufflinks and the leather shoes that cost thousands of dollars. But all that mattered to him was that those with money knew who he was - and that was never a problem.

Now, Michael turned to face him warily. He was taller than his father, but size had nothing to do with the battle of wills that now took place. The man’s dark eyes bore into his own and Michael stood stock still, wondering precisely what the hell all of this was about. The tension between them was palpable and the minute he waited for his father to speak first seemed to last an eternity.

“Michael, do you know what the Tate family name stands for?”

Michael arched a brow. They’d called him back eight thousand kilometers for a lecture that could easily be delivered over the phone? Somehow, he didn’t believe that.

“What does the Tate name have to do with me going to the Congo? I would presume that you’d be happy to have your name associated with charity. I went to help those poor people.”

“And in helping them, you put your own life at risk. God knows what might have happened if we didn’t send Alice after you.”

At his father’s response, his son’s eyes narrowed. “I hardly need babysitting, father. I can take care of myself.”

“Oh, assuredly,” The Earl nodded curtly, “You’re grand at taking care of yourself. Self-made and established. A veritable ecosystem of singularity.” Stepping out from behind his immense desk, the man advanced slowly on Michael, his gaze hard. “Do you ever stop to think about your family? The titles we’ve worked so hard to build over the years?”

His temper was rising again. Michael did his best to try and swallow it. He could give a flying bloody fuck about titles, all told. He was doing his best to try to appease his parents as things stood, but he refused to be the precious, pampered heir to the Tate name. Michael would build his own destiny, and that was that.

“Father, you don’t need me to solidify that family name. You’ve done that efficiently enough yourself.” Crossing his arms over his chest, Michael stared the older man down. “I don’t understand the upset. I’m still alive and well.”

“That’s exactly what the problem is, Michael: you don’t understand. You never have. And, perhaps that’s our fault.”

If he’d been confused before, now the doctor was outright confounded. He could think of nothing to say, and so he merely waited for his father to continue, his stomach oddly tight. “Michael…you’ve always been a smart boy. Smarter than I ever was, I’ll give you that.” The Earl’s lips pulled together into a tight line. “I take it, that in your quest for knowledge, you might have discovered a certain book in our library.”

All at once, Michael’s guts did an odd little flip flop as he paled. Though there was no way he could know what his parents spoke of – there were, after all, thousands of books in their library – somehow, he did.

Great Expectations. The copy that Rose had brought with them on their trip. Michael had no idea how, but he knew that was the book his parents referred too – and that knowledge must have reflected in his eyes. The Earl sighed, reaching out to take his shoulder in a firm grip. The gesture surprised Michael. He could count on one hand the number of times the Earl had voluntarily touched him in the past year. “Michael…I assume you saw our family lineage in that book?”

How could he have missed it? The elaborate family tree in the front cover was probably the first thing anyone saw when they opened the book –the names of all the Tates that had ever lived in flowing gold scroll…right down to him and his sister.

But, of course, his name hadn’t been as elegant as the others. His name was written in blue – and hastily. Almost as if someone had inserted him into Tate history at the last moment…

“Michael, we must talk frankly about a number of things.” The moment the words left his father’s lips, the countess let out a cry of alarm.

“Johnathan, no! Now’s not the time! We swore we would wait-”

“Hush, Angela!” The Earl silenced her sharply, warning clear in his gaze. “My son must understand what’s at stake here. For his entire life, we’ve let him do as he pleases. It’s time he understands how much we’ve put on the line.”

It took a great deal to make Michael feel uneasy, but at this point, the doctor was headed from uneasy towards downright discomfort. His parents were rarely every so indirect with him. If they had an issue, they addressed it head on – he suffered a lecture and then got on with his life. This…this was unquestionably strange.

“Michael, your mother and I thought…well, we hoped we might not need to divulge this information to you. But certain circumstances have forced our hand.” He continued to stare at his parents, waiting with bated breath.  When the Earl next spoke, his gaze and tone were both unwavering. “Michael, your status as the Tate heir is contingent upon your marrying and being able to provide a child to carry the family name.”

Michael merely exhaled the long breath he’d been holding. It wasn’t as if that particular ultimatum was one he hadn’t expected. Of course, a part of him – a large part – was hurt. These were his parents, and Michael had hoped that they’d be human enough to see beyond titles – to refrain from forcing him to do something he didn’t want before he was ready.

Obviously, he’d been wrong on those counts.  Running a hand through his auburn hair, Michael merely scowled. “You’re telling me that I don’t get my inheritance if I don’t marry soon?”

To his surprise, the Earl’s face took on an almost guilty expression. Johnathan twisted lined hands together before taking a deep breath of his own. “Michael, I’m telling you that, unless you marry into a British family that’s noble by blood, then your adoption paperwork will be rendered null by the government.”

Michael’s heart stuttered in his chest as his eyes widened. For a long moment, silence spread throughout the room, stifling in its thickness.

Had he…heard correctly?

Had his father just told him that he was adopted?

He was almost certain that he hadn’t heard correctly. After all, this wasn’t the kind of thing you sprung on a grown man, and almost certainly not on a Tate. All his life his parents had impressed on him how important the family name was – how he had to be upstanding and make sure he never tarnished the Tate title. His life had all but been lived for him until he was an adult, and all because of his last name.

Now, his father was telling him that he wasn’t really a Tate. That he had never been a Tate.

It was enough to make Michael’s head spin.  As shocking as it was to hear, he supposed that the jarring detail made a strange kind of sense. It was why his name was written in blue instead of black in the family registry. Why he didn’t look terribly like his mother, father or sister – why his parents had always tried so hard to instill in him what it meant to be a Tate – as if his birth wasn’t enough.

Because it wasn’t. He wasn’t a Tate by birth.

Which begged the question: Who the hell was he? And why on earth had his parents adopted him when they could produce an heir of their own? There was no question of Alice’s parentage, was there? That much was evident in her looks – in the family tree. So why him?

“Michael, we love you.” His mother’s voice seemed to ring almost distantly in his ears. “We loved you from the moment we saw you, and we knew that we had to save you.”

“Save me?” The words left him in a rush as he stared at the Countess incredulously. “Save me from what?” He knew he was raising his voice and he hardly cared. He couldn’t stand to think that the people he called mother and father had adopted him out of pity – that he was another charity to attribute to their lives.

“Michael, please, hear us out.” His mother took his hands in hers, and Michael had to force himself not to yank away. Now wasn’t the time to be rash. He had never been rash – and he couldn’t let this be the start. So, instead of insulting the woman he called mother, he merely looked down at her expectantly. “My darling,” She cupped his cheek, stroking gently. “You were born in Russia…your birth name was Anton Melkin, and you are the child of Yentov Melkin and one of his mistresses.”

Bloody hell.

The fucking Russian Minister of Defense? Bloody fucking hell!

“He would have had you killed, but your father and I happened to come across you when we were visiting Russia on holiday. We agreed to take you away – to save you. Your father thought you dead and we brought you back to England to raise as our own.” The Countess took a shuddering breath. “But being a Russian citizen….back then…there were some conditions on your adoption. One of which being that the paperwork would not take full effect until you married and provided a child to carry on the family line.”

What kind of antiquated malarkey was this? They lived in the twenty-first century! Michael wanted to be infuriated – to throw something and rage that he hadn’t chosen to live the life that he did – and he refused to be defined by some ridiculous regulation penned almost forty years ago.

But the words wouldn’t come out. “It makes no difference where you come from, Michael,” the Countess cupped his face, looking up at him with due affection. “You are our son…and the moment you marry, it will be official. Can you not see why we were worried? That you went off to such a dangerous place without telling us?”

Unspoken words hung in the air like poison, and Michael’s eyes slowly narrowed. There was more at work here than affection and adoption. His mother was attempting to catch him in the crosshairs of his own emotions to distract him, but her husband was right.

Michael had always been smart. “You’re not worried about me,” he rebutted flatly, his gaze cool. He gazed from the Earl to the Countess and then back again before continuing brusquely. “Let me be sure that I understand everything here: Unless I marry an actual British noble soon then I give up my inheritance and Tate name.” Slowly, his mother nodded, tears beginning to rise to her eyes. Michael’s heart remained cold as he continued. “But I’m not the only one losing something, am I?” Both of his parents stiffened as he continued. “If your precious and lauded heir suddenly disappears, there will be questions, won’t there? And if word gets out about my actual parentage, there’ll be questions about that too, I assume. Do stop me if I’m on the wrong track here.”

The Earl and Duchess remained stolidly silent. “You called me here to tell me how I’ve put your line, your precious name in danger, and I’m not even an actual Tate!? Bloody hell…you have some actual nerve to speak to me like this now.”

He had no idea what to do. Michael knew what he wanted to do – and that was to get in his car and drive as far away as humanly possible. But even if that meant leaving behind the Tate name, it also meant leaving Alice. Leaving his practice. Leaving everything he’d built for himself.

Despite how angry, how betrayed he felt…he was stuck.

Turning on his heel, Michael yanked the door to his father’s study open and left without a word. For once, he let himself go beyond his gentlemanly tendencies and slammed the door so hard behind him that it rattled on its hinges.

It made him feel no better.

Michael wasn’t sure where he was going. He was only dimly aware of hurrying down the stairs and out the back veranda into the gardens. The sun was setting – it would soon be far too cool to be outside. But he found he didn’t care. His mind was too full to be rational – with his parents, the new revelations they visited on him…and atop all that, he couldn’t help but think of Rose.

Rose.

His mother had brought her here in a last ditch attempt to force him into marriage. Of course, then, she hadn’t been issuing any ultimatums, but anyone with eyes could see how hell-bent she was on forcing them together. Rose was his parents’ trump card – their ace in the hole.

Had they somehow known how different she was?

They couldn’t have. If they had, they might know it was she who had convinced him to go gallivanting off into the African sunset with no regard for his own life. And that, they would never allow.

But Rose was different….

Different than anyone he’d ever met.

For the first time since he’d begun speaking with his parents, Michael allowed his mind to fill with thoughts of the blonde heiress, and, surprisingly, a miracle occurred: his heart rate slowed. His anger ebbed. Just picturing her serene gray gaze in his mind’s eye was enough to calm him.

And worry him.

What had happened between him and Rose in the Congo…he hadn’t had time to give it much proper thought. He offered to take her there in hopes that it would impress her – bring him close to the forbidden fruit he so inextricably longed for. And, for the briefest of moments, he had it. Rose opened up to him- she allowed him close and she showed him her world. She was most comfortable away from the rigid, ridiculous rules of the nobility in Europe. The only lady he’d ever seen who was happier barefoot than in a pair of Louboutins.

Though the two weeks they spend in the Congo had been stressful – work day in and day out with lives on the line – they had also been, in a way, idyllic. Neither of their parents around to pressure them, no need to be anyone but themselves with people who were grateful for their mere presence…it was invigorating.

But then, of course, it all had to come crumbling down. In truth, Michael could have quite contentedly whiled away the rest of his life with Rose there in that tiny village. It was silly to contemplate, but those weeks with her were some of the first in which he’d been truly happy.

That was enough to let him know that he had developed feelings for her. Against all odds, he’d come to see the woman as more than his parents’ bid to get him to settle down. She was a beautiful, headstrong, intricately fascinating woman. One who he’d come to admire and respect – not to mention desire to no end.

And even now, he still desired her.

Therein lie his problem.

Michael now found himself facing circumstances as ridiculous as they were convoluted. He was an illegitimate heir to his family’s titles, and marrying Rose was the only way that he could keep the information from being discovered. That he could save his parents….the people who selfishly considered their own political gain instead of their son’s best interests.

Truly, he didn’t know what to call them anymore.

But he couldn’t simply abandon them. No more than he could abandon Alice. Which meant that, somewhere, in the back of his mind, he contemplated giving in to their wishes and merely allowing them what they wanted.

Somewhere.

But there were other factors to consider. Of course, principal among them was that he still had no wish to be married. He cared for Rose – found her very alluring. She piqued his interest more than any woman ever had. But that didn’t mean he was ready to spend the rest of his life with her.

He dared say that, should he even decide to ask the young woman, she would turn him down flat. Rose was an independent figure. If anything, both of them had made it clear, at the beginning of the summer, that their parents’ plans of marrying them were bloody horseshit. They wouldn’t comply.

Were things really so different now? If Michael defied his parents, wouldn’t they be getting what they truly deserved? Scandal and chaos…he had to admit that it was more than a little tempting to turn their lives upside down…especially in the wake of how they treated the “delicate” matter of his adoption.

But the Tates weren’t just his parents. They were his sister. His Aunts and Uncles and all the Tates before them. Did he really know enough about those people to shame them so profoundly?

Michael didn’t think he’d ever been so torn in his entire life.

“Mike?”

His head jerked up in surprise and he screeched to a halt mere inches from the very round, very pregnant form of Catherine, Elliot’s wife. The doctor’s eyes widened in surprise when they met her vivid green ones. Pregnancy, he decided, suited her well. Her cheeks were rosy, her ebony hair glossy and, indeed, a kind of glow seemed to emanate from her.

In that moment, from nowhere, a completely unbidden thought pierced his psyche: What would Rose look like in such a state? Her blonde hair glowing golden, cheeks flushed, belly heavy with child.

His child.

The thought was enough to send him reeling. He had to force himself to shut it out before Cat thought him completely out of his mind. “Are you ok, Mike?” Her expression was concerned as she stepped forward to touch his arm gently. Though Elias often teased his wife about her “uncultured” American tones, at this particular moment, Michael found them soothing.

“You look a little pale.”

Just pale? Well, he might as well be relieved then. Michael felt conflicted enough to rip up several nearby trees. “Cat.” He forced himself to smile as he bent to kiss her cheek gently in greeting. “Elias didn’t tell me he’d brought you.”

At the statement, the spunky young woman scowled, holding a hand protectively over her belly. “He takes me everywhere. He never lets me leave his side. The man’s a maniac, I swear. I was glad he went to get you. I never get a break.”

Despite the many emotions churning in his gut, Michael couldn’t help his low chuckle. That sounded like Elias, alright. The man took overprotective to new levels.

…Similar to how he himself had all but jumped in front of a rifle for Rose.

“I’m fine,” he exhaled, lowering his gaze as he searched in vain for something else to discuss. “How’s the baby?”

The perfect subject.

Immediately, Cat’s gaze softened and she smiled radiantly. “Oh, he’s wonderful. Two or three more weeks before we get to meet him, according to the doctor.” She rubbed over her belly fondly, and her gaze was a thousand miles away.

Which was all Michael needed at the moment.

As Cat continued to chatter about her child, the doctor lapsed back into his reflection. He had stormed out of his parents study before he had all the details, but he wasn’t sure how much he wanted to hear. In truth, little of what they said mattered overly much to him. So he’d been born in Russia. He’d been raised in England. As far as Michael was concerned, he was British. He remembered nothing of Russia or the scandal that had surrounded his birth. Likewise, it mattered little to him that he wasn’t really a Tate. He’d been trying to escape the social expectations that surrounded him his entire life. 

What most shocked him was how willing the Tates had been lying to him – to claim him as one of their own so long as it benefitted him. He was torn between believing them to be the only parents he’d ever known and cursing them every way he knew. The decision was something that he’d have to rectify if he was ever going to get his head straight.

And as much as he hated to admit it, Rose was at the middle of everything. So, the question was: What was he going to do now? Try to tempt a woman he wasn’t sure how he felt about into marriage? Or say fuck it all to everyone and tarnish the Tate family name to make his own mark?

It wasn’t exactly a question he could answer on the spot.

In fact, the only definite was simply that Michael wasn’t quite sure who he was anymore. He knew who he had tried to be…but how much did that matter anymore?

“There you are.” Michael was pulled from his self –contemplation by Elias’ proclamation. The architect stepped into view on the garden path. It was obvious that he’d showered and changed clothes since they arrived at the manor, and he appeared as refreshed as Michael felt haggard.

At his appearance, his wife arched a brow. “Who, me?”  The pointed at herself, her tone dryly amused.

In reply, Elias simply smirked, sidling up to her to pull her into his arms and kiss her cheek intimately. “Of course not you. I know exactly where you are at all times.” Catherine merely rolled large green eyes.

“And that’s not creepy at all…”

But Elias merely ignored her snide comment, releasing her in favor of approaching Michael, his gaze curious. “I meant you. I’ve been looking for you. What was all that commotion upstairs?”

Michael scowled deeply. “We can speak about it later.” H glanced in Cat’s direction, thankful that the young woman quickly busied herself with looking over a batch of particularly delightful primroses. “It requires an entire evening and several bottles of alcohol.”

Elias arched a brow in surprise and intrigue. “That bad? Well, I look forward to it.” He appeared to reconsider his words at Michael’s unchanging expression, before lowering his tone and voicing another, more serious inquiry. “Does it have anything to do with our dear Lady Lithgall?”

At the sound of Rose’s title, Michael’s stomach clenched in a sensation close to physical pain. It had hardly been forty-eight hours since the last time he’d touched her, and, already, he wanted her again. And not only sexually. He wished, more than anything else, that he were free to talk to her about matters like this. To divulge his deepest, darkest fears and share his ultimate triumphs. But he and Rose were hardly close enough for that….were they?

Besides, Michael had no doubt that if he told her the real reason his parents wanted them to marry, she would run for the hills without the slightest of regrets. And he didn’t know if he was ready for that quite yet. No, he was selfish. He’d like at least the last few weeks of the summer to be close to her.

That was enough time to wait before all hell broke loose.

**

She was exhausted.

To her merit, Rose hadn’t known how truly exhausted she was until she flopped onto the bed in her room in the Tate manor. It was the first time in a long while she’d been on a proper bed, and, despite her reservations about the uppity bourgeois and their comforts, she appreciated it. As she lay there, the weight of her trip and all that happened weighing down upon her, her eyes began to drift closed.

Her sleep was long and dreamless. In fact, it was the most relaxed she’d been since they’d left Britain two weeks prior. Rose only began to rouse from her slumber at the sound of distant voices. Her eyes fluttered open and the dark room before her swam into focus.

The voices, however, remained.

They were faint, but whoever was speaking had to be all but yelling at the top of their lungs for their voice to carry in a house as big as this one. As she came back to full wakefulness, the young woman strained slightly in an attempt to hear what was causing all the ruckus. All she discovered was that she couldn’t hear anything clearly.

The revelation was enough to make her frown. Surely the Tates weren’t having such a violent row over Michael going to Africa? She’d sensed that the Countess would be upset. If that wasn’t the case, she wouldn’t have sent Alice – but a screaming match? Rose couldn’t think of anything less befitting of the Tate title. Besides, Michael never lost his temper. Not like that.

She flushed slightly as she caught herself.

Who was she to think that she knew so much about Lord Michael Tate? Simply because they’d slept together a few times she was supposed to be the authority on him? She could hardly be so naïve. The summer was half over, and, as far as Rose was concerned, that meant she was six months closer to being off scot free. Six weeks more of…slight madness, and she’d be free to go to Thailand for two years.

She couldn’t recall being away from England for so long since she’d been in the Peace Corps. She’d be far away from the influence of her parents, far away from all the rigid, ridiculous expectations of her station, and far away from Lord Michael Tate.

Curiously, at the mere prospect, her stomach gave a little twinge of anxiety – one Rose considered completely inappropriate for a woman of her age. She was far too old for butterflies and fluttering hearts. She had long since learned of the reality of things. She was lucky that this reality included as much of Lord Michael as it had. The man had shown her that she herself could have an insatiable sexual appetite sometimes, and that was no small feat. He’d shown her that some men could be more selfless than others – that he’d obviously earned his title through all the hard work he’d put in and that he could be absolutely insane when it came to protecting other people.

She would always be honored to know him – but that was where their association had to end. Now that they were back in Britain and the Tates, it seemed, had even more guests than before, they couldn’t be sneaking around with one another. Rose fully planned to stick to her own bed, and she could only hope that Michael was of similar sensibilities.

…and that would be that.

Exhaling a long breath, she rose from the bed to stretch, wincing at her stiff muscles. A bath would do her good. After a long, hot soak, she’d feel right as rain. 

But Rose didn’t feel any less ill at ease after her bath. In fact, while she soaked, she looked over her newly tanned skin and marveled at the darker spots of bruising – even teeth marks – left by the man she’d allowed to be her lover while they were in the Congo. With every fresh mark, she found, Rose remembered how Michael touched her – how he kissed and licked every part of her until all she could do was beg him to assuage the ache between her legs.

And as she remembered that ache, it came back. She arguably stepped out of the tub wetter than when she’d stepped into it, and Rose cursed at the discovery. Stolidly determined to ignore the warmth between her thighs, she set about unpacking her things and preparing to do her laundry. After tossing a few cotton dresses onto the bed, she paused upon the discovery of the book she had borrowed from the Tate library.

Rose only hesitated a moment before flipping through the pages to find the picture nestled in the back chapter. The baby in black and white was just as adorable as he’d been the first time she saw him. Sighing, the young woman traced a fingertip over his tiny eyes and nose, wondering how on earth it must feel to have created another human being.

She could hardly fathom.

Almost unconsciously, her hand dropped to her own belly. She couldn’t even imagine what it must be like to be pregnant. To have a child that you loved more than life itself. Certainly, she had nothing against children. Rose had always loved children…but having her own was a different matter entirely. It meant giving up the life she loved to care for her child…add a father to that equation and things just got…convoluted.

Yes, that was a good word for it: convoluted.

Her lips pulling into a frown, she slid the picture back where it belonged. As tempted as she was to keep it, it didn’t belong to her. She would return it along with the book. Maybe slip back into the library when she was sure all of the Tates were sleeping and…

Oh bloody hell, that wouldn’t do at all.

Was she some kind of coward? Afraid to face a man simply because she’d slept with him a few times. She had, Rose realized, been avoiding Michael the entire way back from the Congo. Perhaps this was the time to march right up to him and put the book in his hands – to show him that she wasn’t intimidated by him or what he could do to her.

Of course, that didn’t mean she’d be discourteous. She and Michael were friends, after all. Mature adults who could appreciate and respect one another. She’d go to see him with those ideals in mind.

And nothing else.

Steeling herself, the young woman dressed in a conservative button up and denims with slippers before making her way from her room, headed towards Michael’s suite. When she arrived, however, she found the door open and the man himself absent. Annie was inside, busily making his bed, and when Rose asked, the housekeeper said she hadn’t seen him since he returned. Her expression contemplative, the blonde then ventured downstairs and began to search for the man. Michael was huge – it couldn’t be very hard to find him. Especially in his own house.

He was absent from the darkening kitchen, nowhere to be found in the gardens, and the only person Rose found in the formal living and dining rooms was the butler, who was busy setting the table for dinner. When Rose finally ventured into the library, she was beginning to think perhaps he’d left for the evening.

When she entered the vast space, however, she was surprised to find it already occupied. Rose’s eyes widened at the sight of Alice lounging on the sofa with a cup of coffee as she flipped through what appeared to be a design book. Though Alice had already looked impeccable on their trip back to Africa, now she looked even more so in a lovely emerald colored sheath and a soft cashmere sweater. She was the picture of refined elegance, and Rose found she felt a bit dowdy.

Not something she usually afforded herself.

She was intent on leaving the room before Alice could notice her, but the younger woman looked up as she was attempting to shut the door quietly. “Rose?”

The blonde flushed slightly. “Alice! I apologize. I didn’t mean to intrude.” Immediately, she sat up, a small smile playing about her lips. 

“You’re not intruding. I dare say you’re the best pre-dinner company I could ask for. Please sit down.”

Things had been…odd between them on the plane, if nothing else, and so it was with no small amount of wariness that Rose ventured into the library. What was it with the Tates? The Countess, Rose found she could deal with easily. The woman was as shallow and capricious as her own mother. When it came to the children, however, everything tended to get terribly confusing.

As she sat across from Alice, her companion poured her a cup of coffee gracefully. “Cream or sugar?”

“Both,” Rose replied, automatically, and Alice smiled. “I do love a spot of coffee before dinner. I know I’m not being authentically British by not having tea, but one must dare to be different every now and then, wouldn’t you agree?”

In that moment, Rose realized that she knew precious little about Alice Tate. From what she’d seen, she was far more realistic and grounded than the Countess, but she had the tenacity to command her elder, very persuasive brother. Rose would be lying to herself if she didn’t admit curiosity.

“I suppose so.” Taking her coffee, she sipped at it, trying to remember her original goal. She was supposed to be finding Michael to return his book. Perhaps she could just give it to Alice instead. It wasn’t cowardice, Rose told herself, if she simply ran into his sister before him. It was convenience. “I was…I was just looking for Michael. I borrowed a volume from the library and I wanted to be sure he knew I returned it.” She set the book on the table between the two of them and Alice arched a brow. Reaching forward, she thumbed through the first few pages.

“Great Expectations? I can’t imagine you’re reading this on Michael’s recommendation. He’s never had anything good to say about Dickens.”

Rose sighed, shaking her head in exasperation. “Well, we can’t all while away our days reading complicated medical journals, can we?” She realized far too late that she might have spoken out of turn – but was surprised when, instead of reprimanding her for speaking ill of her brother, Alice only laughed.

“You’re very right there. You know,” she sipped at her coffee thoughtfully, “He’s been interested in those dreadfully boring things since he was seven or eight years old.”

Rose’s brows leapt upwards in shock. “That young?”

“He’s always known what he wanted to do, I suppose. It drove Mum and Dad crazy. They’d give him a volume of French to study with his tutor and he’d sneak off to read about Tuberculosis and Polio.” She chuckled fondly.  “Absolutely off his nut. But it helped him in the end, I imagine. He’s amazing at what he does.”

Rose nodded enthusiastically. “He is. I don’t ever think I’ve seen a doctor with such a steady hand.” Her mind drifted back to the first time she’d seen him perform in the surgery. It had been obvious that other doctors and attending nurses were nervous, but Michael had never so much as batted an eye. He remained calm and unruffled throughout the entire procedure, despite holding someone’s life in his hands. Since then, he’d only demonstrated a similar command of his art in the Congo. “He’s so…intense when he’s working.” Rose found herself musing. “So focused…almost as if nothing else around him exists. And he treats each and every patient like they’re his only patient. He’s utterly fearless.”

“I don’t know if I’d say that.” Alice’s reply surprised her. As she poured herself another coffee, she merely smiled at Rose’s expression. “Perhaps he’s good at hiding it from you, but there are many things Michael fears.”

“Like what?” Rose was caught the moment the hook was dangled before her. She couldn’t help it. She wanted to know everything she could about the man. After all, in six weeks, they’d be parting ways completely, wouldn’t they?

Alice laughed softly. “If you tell him I told you, he’ll wring my neck.” All at once, the atmosphere between the two women was entirely different. It had gone from tense, to wary, to companionable, all in the space of twenty-four hours. Rose hadn’t realized how much she had missed having a woman her own age to talk to until she was faced with Alice.

“He won’t find it out from me.” She reassured the younger woman, and Alice’s smile turned fairly conspiratorial.

“Alright then. For one: He’s frightened of the mantle he’ll be forced to take up someday. He’ll be head of the Tate family within a decade, I’d say, and he doesn’t like to talk about it. I’m sure the pressure gets to him.” Her words made Rose stiffen slightly. She knew all too well what it was like to have the future of a family riding on one’s shoulders.  “For another, he doesn’t like being alone very much.”

Rose took a sip of her own coffee to hide her snort of amusement at that one. If Alice meant that the man sought out women for his bed when he didn’t have one in close quarters, she could believe that. He had a voracious appetite once loosed….and yet…the thought of Michael sleeping with other girls…it was nowhere near pleasant for her. “And I don’t mean physically alone,” Alice continued, forcing her attention back to the present. “He lives alone, doesn’t keep very many friends…but he’s lonely. I can see that much whenever we meet. He’s convinced that no one understands him. And he might very well be right.”

A low, insubstantial ache began to make itself known in Rose’s chest as Alice explained, and she fought the urge to squirm. That couldn’t be true. A man like Michael was one of the easiest to understand. Unlike most men, he was straightforward with his desires and expectations. He was earnest and kind. He was honest and forthright. “Michael isn’t untenable at all!”

The words burst from her before she could stop them, and, immediately, Rose flushed deep scarlet. Alice, for her part, only stared across the coffee table at her, her expression intrigued. 

“Isn’t he?”

Bloody hell. She’d gone and done it now. Why the hell couldn’t she seem to keep silent when it came to Michael? Her mouth was going to get her in a world of trouble if she wasn’t careful. “That is…I mean to say…” Rose scrambled for a way to recover. “I just…feel as if he’s a very simple man. He wants to help people. There’s nothing wrong with an earnest cause.”

For a long moment, a poignant silence hung between them. Alice’s dark eyes seemed to be watching her intensely – waiting for something. Rose had no idea what that something was, but she sensed that if she backed down now, she would lose any respect she might have gained from Alice. As much as she wanted to excuse herself and flee to the safety of her room, she remained on the couch.

Slowly, a smile began to spread across Alice’s face anew. She set her coffee cup on the table before rising from the chaise lounge and rounding it to take the seat next to Rose gracefully.

“He is earnest, isn’t he?”

Slowly, Rose nodded. She couldn’t prevent her own small smile of assent. “He most certainly is. Just like you, Rose.”

She immediately shook her head. “Oh no. I…I just want…I only meant to-”

“Michael wouldn’t have helped you get to Africa if he didn’t believe your cause was a noble one. He wouldn’t have defied our parents and endured his dressing down if he didn’t think you were doing what was right. Do correct me if you think I’m wrong.” Rose could do little more than gape. At this, Alice’s smile only grew wider. Reaching out, she took Rose’s hand between her own.  “Rose, I’d like to help you make the most of the time you have left here at the manor.”

Rose now found herself quite flummoxed. She had no idea what Alice was referring to.

“You…do?”

“Of course. I have to admit: I find your cause quite admirable. Refreshing in a world where all that matters is money and how those who have it choose to flaunt it.”

“I…thank you.” Rose didn’t think she’d ever encountered someone quite so direct. Even Michael had been a bit skeptical at the way she turned her nose up at spending money.

“I’m going to take a few weeks off from work. I can’t risk returning to the office so soon anyway. If Ferragamo finds out, he’ll choke me.” She seemed to wince at the very prospect. “So, instead, we’ll focus on something that can keep us both occupied, shall we?”

“And…what would that be?” Rose hoped Alice wasn’t going to ask her to be a model for one of her designs. She hated being put on the spot. Worse yet, however, might be if Michael’s sister asked her to design something herself. Rose had never been very artistic, and she had no wish to embarrass herself.

When Alice finally revealed her aim to her, however, Rose’s eyes lit up, her heart all but humming with excitement.

“We’re going to throw a benefit for the Congo. And you’re going to host it.”