Chapter 7

It was, Rose decided, going to be a very long evening. The Hollanders’ ball was in full swing. The music grated on her ears. The inane conversations around her chafed at her spirit.

And as for Conrad, Viscount Tremain…

“Rose,” he said in a voice that was far too loud, “you are by far the most beautiful woman here, my dear, no matter that you are no longer in your first flush of youth.”

Rose gritted her teeth. “Why, thank you, Conrad.”

The wretched man had just praised and insulted her in the same breath. Really, he was beginning to wear on her patience.

She wondered at her younger self’s naivety. Yes, he was still incredibly handsome, but his looks weren’t the only thing that had attracted her after Roxborough’s death. At one-and-twenty, she had succumbed to Tremain’s lures because he was the first man to be kind to her. Or that was what she had thought at the time. Looking back, she understood it wasn’t kindness that had driven him, but ego. He wanted to be the first to seduce the young widow.

Now she saw how—at every window or mirror they passed—Tremain would glance at himself in their surface, trying to catch his reflection. To make sure his dark hair was groomed to perfection, that the latest French fashions and his breeches showed off trim calves and strong thighs to best advantage. That he was tall enough to be imposing, that his jacket fit without a wrinkle.

His face was classical Greek, with a long nose over full lips and high cheekbones. Jet-black lashes set off the blue of his eyes.

But when Rose looked closely into those eyes she saw only conceit. He knew how good he looked. He expected to be worshipped and adored. How had she never noticed before how vain he was?

Now Rose had learned that Philip would not be putting in an appearance. It was all too much. Her head ached and she just wanted to go home. Drake had a cough and she was worried.

She smiled, willing herself to appear calm and collected. “If you don’t mind, Conrad, I’m in need of a private chat with Lady Jersey. Would you be kind and dance with one of the young ladies who is not as popular this evening?”

Outraged conceit lifted his chin in a haughty refusal. “I—they are—”

“You’re the most handsome man here. Everyone will think very highly of such kindness.”

“Of course.” He’d grasped the prospect of looking good in the ton’s eye very quickly. “I shall find you later to escort you in to supper.”

“Of course. Thank you.”

Relieved, she quickly made her way through the throng, trying to ignore the rumbles and murmurs.

The evening was heading toward a total disaster. While Portia’s idea of allowing a select few gossips to learn that the Wicked Widow was looking for a husband held merit, Rose’s encouragement of Tremain had been shortsighted. The man was a bore. In a few more minutes—and before the next set ended and Tremain returned—she would plead a headache, call for her carriage, and go home.

The doors to the terrace stood open, allowing the chill evening air to cool the heated rooms. To get away from Tremain, she’d risk the cold outside to clear her head. She pulled her wrap tightly around her shoulders, stepped out onto the dimly lit terrace—and into the fragrance of cheroot smoke. Philip liked to smoke and she missed the aroma scenting the air of her home already.

“I had not realized that ending our affair would cause such a stir.”

Philip. She whirled to face him as he stepped out of the gloom. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were out here.”

He moved close and ran his finger down her cheek, gazing silently at her as she stood there, mesmerized. “You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known.”

She licked her lips. His eyes flared with heat. “Beauty fades.”

“In my eyes yours never will.”

“You shouldn’t say such things.” She didn’t want the rush of emotions engendered by the seductive tone of his voice. “Why are you doing this to me?”

He stepped back. “I miss you.”

She missed him, too—so very much it hurt. “Do you?”

“Very much. Won’t you reconsider my offer?”

Temptation was a living, breathing thing inside her. Be strong. Be strong. “Won’t you reconsider mine?”

Such longing raced over his handsome features. “If only I could.”

“You could if you chose.” They both knew it was the truth. “You’re choosing not to.”

His face settled into a cool mask. “And you’re here with Tremain. Why Tremain of all men?”

“He’s an old friend.”

“Old lover.”

“A long time ago.” Was there a flash of jealousy in his voice? “Now only a friend.”

“One who needs to marry.”

Not jealousy but definitely something. “Perhaps he wants to marry.”

“Wants?” Philip threw back his head and laughed. “Hardly. He’s in dun territory. He was thrown out of France because of his gambling debts. Even your brother has despaired of him.”

Rose wished she could slap him for his heartlessness. As for Tremain…She fumed at the man’s colossal ego. No wonder he was pleased that she was considering a second marriage. Did he really think he stood a chance with her? She’d take care to nip that delusion in the bud immediately.

“Well,” she said as carelessly as she could manage, “at least something good has come from tonight. Thank you for the warning. I can cross a second man off my list of potential husbands. However”— she eyed him thoughtfully—“if you plan to catalog the flaws of every man I happen to have on my arm in the future I shall find you extremely tedious.” A muscle worked in his jaw. “If women did not overlook a few faults in a man, none would ever take a husband.”

“So you really do mean to marry.”

Had he doubted it? “I thought I made my intentions clear. As clear as you made yours.”

He moved closer. “Perhaps I can make you change your mind.” The heat from his body warmed her against the chill of the November night. “I know your body as well as I know my own. You still desire me.”

As he spoke his mouth came closer, closer.

She could have put her hand up to stop him, but she was weak. She closed her eyes to ease the headache now pounding behind them, and breathed in his scent as his lips pressed gently, deliciously, to hers. When she opened for him, denying him nothing, she was pulled into strong arms and held against a hard body as his mouth consumed her.

Any other man and she would have had the strength to push him away, to let go, to move on with her life. But Philip? Philip owned her heart, and her heart was not willing to let him walk away.

The kiss deepened. The cold brick of the wall pressed into her back as he moved into her, as his hands swept down her body, cupping her breasts, and tweaking her hardened nipples. She moaned into his mouth. His hand slid farther down, over her hip, gathering up her skirts.

When he ran his long fingers up her bare thigh above her gartered stockings she widened her stance to give him better access to the part of her that was wet and throbbing with need.

But just as she was about to beg for his touch, he withdrew his hand. Let her skirts fall. Broke the kiss. Stepped back.

She looked around, wildly, thinking he’d stopped because he heard someone approaching. But they were alone in the cold night air. “Why did you stop?”

“Because I’ve proved my point.”

She didn’t understand. “I beg your pardon.”

“And so you should.” He looked into her eyes, jaw tight. “I could have taken you here, up against this wall, and you would not have cared who might have walked out and seen us. How can you think of marrying another when it is my body you crave, my bed you belong in?”

She wanted to slap him—hard. But he spoke the truth. Until she’d purged him from her life, she couldn’t move on. Her bluff had been well and truly called.

“You knew.”

His bared teeth gleamed white in the dimness. “Portia is a terrible conspirator. She came to visit me, and then Grayson mentioned something and I came to a conclusion. This kiss just clarified it. I won’t change my mind about marriage, ever. I will continue our affair if that is what you choose.”

The sadness in his smile almost broke her. “I miss you, Rose. I always will. If you decide to remarry, it might kill me but it will not change my mind.”

The finality in his words told her she’d lost, and in that moment her heart broke.

She did not wish to spend the rest of her life alone or as some man’s mistress. She wanted a husband, a family. She wanted more children—legitimate, acknowledged, and loved.

“I can see your answer in your face,” Philip said. He sounded quiet. Sad. “I will not bother you again, my darling. I shall do my best to avoid engagements you might attend until I return to Devon for Christmas.”

She wanted to wail, to scream that this couldn’t be the end. She closed her eyes to fight the pain and when she opened them he was gone.

Her head pounded and a wave of nausea swept over her. She wanted to go home. Home to Cornwall. Soon it would be Christmas and they always spent Christmas there. She would leave London early on the excuse she wanted to get Drake away from London for the sake of his health.

She would try and make the celebration a happy one for her son.

He was what mattered most.

The next morning Rose received a missive from Lord Kirkwood, asking after Drake and saying he would call on them that afternoon. He must have heard about the boy’s cough. She replied that she would be delighted to see him.

Drake still had a cough and was excused from lessons with his tutor. However, he must have been feeling better because he got annoyed, as bored little boys do when they are told they cannot go to the park or to visit friends.

So after breakfast Rose took him into the drawing room with her. There they snuggled down before the fire while she read part of his favorite story, Robinson Crusoe. Drake had a vivid imagination and was soon romping around the room, wanting to build a fort to keep out marauding cannibals. Entering into the spirit of the game, Rose helped him pull some of the chairs together and drape a few throws from the window seat over them to create a defensive structure.

“When is Lord Cumberland coming to pay a call?” Drake wanted to know as they huddled together, cocooned in their fort. “I have not seen him since he took Henry and me to the museum. He said one day we should ride together in the park. I want to ride a real horse. Penny’s only a pony.”

Oh, Lord. Rose had forgotten it was not only she who would miss Philip. “Lord Cumberland has had to return to Devon, Drake. But he asked me to give you a big hug and a tickle. Like this.”

As her fingers found his stomach, Drake burst into laughter, squiggling in her arms. “Stop! Oh, stop, Mother.”

She let him be.

He rolled over onto his side. “When will I next see him? Could we not stop at Devon before we go to Cornwall?”

This was so unfair. “I don’t think so, my sweet boy. We have to get home in time for Christmas. We don’t want to make that cough of yours worse.”

“I haven’t coughed all morning,” he said proudly.

He was right, and she pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Lord Kirkwood is coming to call this afternoon. We cannot greet him in a fort. Let’s tidy up before we shock him.”

Drake sighed, but crawled out from under the throws. “I like Lord Kirkwood, Mother, but not as much as Lord Cumberland. Henry said Lord Cumberland might become my father. I think I would like that. I didn’t want to share you with anyone, but Lord Kirkwood explained I’m to go to Eton next September and I don’t want you to be alone.”

Bless him. “I won’t be alone.” She’d only be lonely. “I have many, many friends, and I will be waiting each week for your letters.”

“But are you going to marry Lord Cumberland?”

She didn’t want to dash his hopes. Not yet. “A lady has to wait until she is asked.”

Drake gave a little hop of excitement. “That’s easily fixed. I shall ask my tutor to help me write to Lord Cumberland and I’ll suggest he ask you. He would be lucky to have you as his wife and he would also have me to look after, too. I know he’s a sensible man.”

Heart aching with love and tenderness and loss, it was all Rose could do to smile. “Do you?”

“Of course.” Drake took the folded throws she gave him and walked quickly to place them back on the window seat. “He prefers fishing and hunting to working in his study. He told me so himself.”

“I see.” She smiled at her son’s logic. “One day you will have to spend a great deal of time working in your study.”

Drake smiled. “But not yet. Lord Cumberland said I have to learn how to be a boy first.” His brow furrowed. “I thought that funny because I am a boy. I don’t need to learn to be one.”

She ruffled his hair, hardly able to argue with that reasoning. “Then let us finish tidying this up, my boy”—his cheeky grin made her laugh—“and then we’ll see if Cook will give us scones and tea.”

An hour later she was wiping jam from Drake’s sticky hands when Lord Kirkwood was announced.

“How are you, Your Grace?” Kirkwood bowed to Drake. “I hear you have been under the weather. You look fighting fit to me.”

Drake returned the bow. “I feel perfectly fine, sir, thank you. But Mother worries about me. She fusses.”

Kirkwood smiled and relaxed. “That is what mothers do, my boy, they fuss. And do you know what? We let them.”

“Yes, sir,” Drake said and flashed a conspiratorial smile at Rose.

She laughed. “Then I shall stop fussing and say I think it’s time you went upstairs and read the book Mr. Magnus suggested—as you are feeling so much better. Lord Kirkwood and I have much to discuss.”

“Yes, Mother.” Drake’s smile faded as he started out of the room. When he reached the door he turned back. “I will practice my letters by writing Lord Cumberland that note we discussed.”

“Of course.” She could hardly tell him not to do so in front of Kirkwood. She’d just have to intercept it before it was sent. “What a grand idea.”

Once Drake had left them and Booth had served Kirkwood’s requested brandy, they chatted politely for a few minutes. She asked after his health, how his son Francis was, and the ease of his journey. He inquired after her health and her plans for the festive season. When the social niceties had been observed Kirkwood finally came to the point.

“My dear, I have heard that you and Lord Cumberland have parted ways. To say I was surprised would be an understatement. I really thought you’d met a man who could make you settle down and remarry.”

What could she say? That she had met the right man?

But Kirkwood did not wait for her reply. “This cannot go on, Rose. I understood your need to have some freedom, but I believed you and Cumberland had an understanding. It’s obvious the man loves you. I was waiting for him to propose. And yet you have turned him away.”

It took all of Rose’s self-control to speak calmly. “I would have married Philip if he’d asked, my lord, but he does not wish to marry me.”

Disbelief flashed across Kirkwood’s face. “Then the man’s a fool if he thinks someone like Lady Abigail would make a better wife than you. I did warn you, however, that your reputation might cause a problem in finding a suitable match.”

Of course Kirkwood would assume it was her reputation that Philip found wanting.

“You misunderstand, sir,” she said. “Lord Cumberland does not wish to marry, but I do. That disagreement was the cause for our parting.”

The brandy snifter stopped in its journey to Kirkwood’s lips. “What?”

“Seeing him stand up with Lady Abigail confirmed my feelings for him. Unfortunately, his lordship seems to have an aversion to marriage.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Kirkwood spluttered. “An earl does not have the freedom to avoid marriage. It is his obligation to provide an heir. His duty.” He shook his head. “No, no. There must be another reason.”

She agreed. But what could it be?

“It will be your reputation.” Kirkwood seemed determined for Philip’s rejection to be her fault. “Of course he wouldn’t come out and say so. It’s time to do something about it.”

“Excuse me?” About what?

Kirkwood didn’t seem to have heard her icy question. “Your behavior has cost you Cumberland. That’s too bad, but not the end of the world. Now we must put our heads together and come up with a list of suitable men willing to overlook your past. Drake will start at Eton next September. I want you married by then.”

“No.” Her jaw ached as she fought not to give way to her anger at his callous arranging of her life. Her breakup with Philip had nothing to do with her reputation and everything to do with a man who had a separate agenda.

“I beg your pardon?” Kirkwood stared at her.

“While I will willingly take your advice regarding gentlemen I might find suitable, I shall certainly not be bullied into a second marriage or given a time limit on my freedom to choose him myself. And your assumption that Cumberland needs to provide an heir for the earldom is incorrect. When I told him I had changed my mind, that I would like to remarry and have more children, he said it wouldn’t be with him as he has younger brothers and no need or desire to produce another heir. It appears he stayed with me because of my well-known desire to remain as I am.”

God, even the memory of that conversation hurt.

But if she was hurt, Kirkwood was speechless. Finally, after he’d sat in silence for several moments, Kirkwood said, slowly, “What Cumberland says is true. Thomas is a fine young man—very much like Robert both in looks and personality. Robert had a strategic mind whereas Philip always seemed to muddle through in a clumsy way. I always said it was a damn shame that Robert didn’t let the bayonet find its intended target.”

Rose’s fingers clenched into fists in her lap. “That is a dreadful thing to say.” But fury with Kirkwood warred with a growing realization in her mind. Was Philip’s obsession all to do with Robert? She knew he blamed himself for Robert’s death. Was this some form of atonement? Did Philip think Thomas more deserving than he? “Philip has his faults, but I love him.”

Kirkwood blinked and seemed to realize he’d spoken more honestly than he ought. “I’m sorry, Rose. My observation was unkind. Perhaps Philip’s actions are his way of honorably ensuring the title and estates pass to Thomas. I must say I admire him more if this is so.”

“Why?” Men were absolutely incomprehensible. “Why admire him? He’s wasting his life—a life Robert died protecting.”

“Because Philip is correct.” Kirkwood gazed down into his brandy. “Robert would never have taken a commission if Philip had not enlisted—and Philip had no choice but to go into the army. His last investment came to grief and he lost everything Robert had given him. I hope he’s learned caution since then, or God knows what state the Flagstaff finances will be in when—if—Thomas does inherit.” Kirkwood considered her. “At least his refusal to marry you proves he wasn’t after your money.”

Was that cold comfort really supposed to make her feel better? It didn’t. Her body hummed under angry tension. Philip, Philip, Philip. She was more disappointed in him now than when she’d thought he simply disliked marriage. Imagine throwing what they had away because of Robert. It hurt more to know he put some stupid version of honor ahead of her.

But at least she now had ammunition to fight with. “So you really think he would choose not to have a family just so Thomas or Thomas’s future son can inherit?”

Kirkwood considered for a moment. “If Philip loved his brother, yes. He might not be of Robert’s ilk, but he had enough sense of honor not to go cap in hand to Robert for money to bail him out when his investments failed. He enlisted instead. If I were in Philip’s position, and felt responsible for my brother’s death, I might be inclined to do the same thing.”

Rose had not been privy to the knowledge that Philip had made a bad investment and lost everything before he enlisted. She’d never stopped to think about why he’d gone to war. She’d assumed it was because he felt it his duty to fight Napoleon.

How would she feel if her actions got Portia, or someone she loved, injured or killed? She’d never forgive herself—

Oh! She clapped her hand over her mouth. Oh, Philip! He must be eaten up with guilt. She wanted to call for her carriage and race off to console him. But what good would that do?

“You are thinking,” Kirkwood said, “about how you can make him change his mind. Women struggle to understand a man’s code of honor, so let me just say this: Asking a man to choose between his honor and his love is like asking him which arm he wants removed. The answer is neither.”

“So I should just give up?” She was full of grief and fury at the same time. “I don’t believe that. I want to help him. He deserves to be happy. I deserve to be happy. Philip makes me happy.” When he wasn’t making her miserable. “Living with this guilt day after day can’t be healthy, either.”

“True.” Kirkwood watched her through veiled eyes. “What a pity he never got you with child. He’d marry you then, by God, or I’d call him out myself. I might be old but I’m excellent with a rapier or a pistol.”

She tried not to imagine the meeting. Kirkwood would be no match for Philip. “Are you prepared to give me time to see if I can change his mind?”

He inclined his head. “Of course, my dear. Now I understand you want to marry—and your preference is for Cumberland—then I will do everything I can to help you win him.”

Was that a good thing? She eyed him warily. “You won’t interfere, will you?”

His lips curved. “My darling girl. When have I ever interfered?”

“If you thought I would settle down and marry, you’d interfere to hell and back.” The words seemed to pop out of her mouth without her volition, and she flushed.

“Language, my dear,” he scolded, but with a laugh. “Very well. I will give you until next September. If Cumberland hasn’t seen sense by then we shall put our heads together and find a man worthy of you. Now, I must go.” He placed his glass on the table and rose to his feet—still spritely, she noticed, for a man of nine-and-fifty. “You and Drake will spend the New Year celebrations at my estate, of course. I’m planning a rather large house party. I’m sure I can find room for one more name on the list—and ensure he accepts.”

For some reason his kindness made tears prick behind Rose’s eyes. She stood up and kissed his cheek. “Thank you, my lord. You really have been most kind to me. More than I deserve.”

His own eyes turned soft and slightly sad. “My darling girl. Your father—God rest his soul—although my friend, was a selfish man. Had I been fortunate enough to have a daughter, I would never have allowed her marriage to Roxborough—or any other man of his age.”

She knew he spoke the truth. “If you’d had a daughter, she would have loved you deeply.”

“Thank you,” he choked out and then cleared his throat. “Goodbye, my dear.” He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it just as Booth arrived to show him out.

Alone once more, Rose sank into the chaise longue, mind in a whirl.

Philip and Robert. Kirkwood might be completely wrong about Philip’s motives, but it was the first thing she’d heard that made sense.

Suddenly, the idea of fleeing London held no appeal. But she needed help. Whom did she know who could help her understand Philip’s situation? Not Portia. Not a woman. She needed a man’s perspective. Suddenly, her eyes popped open. Of course! Hadley Fullerton, the Duke of Claymore. Hadley’s brother had stepped in front of a bullet meant for him, and Hadley, too, had gone from second son to Duke of Claymore.

She would talk with Hadley and hopefully he would know what to do.

She glanced at the grandfather clock. Yes, there was time to change her mind. She would go to Serena’s dinner, after all. Quickly, she crossed the room to the desk and took out a sheet of paper. When the short note was written and sealed, she rang for Booth.

“See this is delivered to Lady Serena, please, and have my carriage ready at nine.”

He bowed. “Very good, Your Grace.”

She smiled, suddenly eager for the evening. She would spend it watching Philip, perhaps asking a few pertinent questions to see if Kirkwood’s theory held merit. If it did, then she would enlist Hadley’s help and fight for Philip—and herself.

Her smile faded. And it would be a fight. She did not underestimate how hard it would be to make Philip see sense. Guilt was like a coat of armor. She needed to find a weapon that could pierce through it and yet keep Philip whole. After that, she would find out if he truly loved her.

Wouldn’t it be ironic? To help him release his guilt over Robert’s death, only to learn he didn’t truly love her?

But that was for another time. Tonight she wanted to find out only one thing: Was there hope?