Chapter 6

It had been three days since Rose had ended her affair with Philip, and life had somehow just continued on as usual. It felt wrong. All she wanted to do was sit by the fire and mope, and yet the cards for balls and invitations for functions kept arriving.

She was about to enter the drawing room with a handful of correspondence when Drake and his nanny descended the stairs.

“Henry’s got a boat to sail,” he told her. “But I promise I won’t get too dirty.”

“Have fun. Be good for Nanny,” she said and blew him a kiss as she waved goodbye.

In the drawing room she pried open the seal and pulled out a card. It was an invitation from Serena to a small dinner party in a few days’ time.

That was the moment when she realized the enormity of the changes she was going to have to make. From now on if she went to a dinner party with all her friends, Philip would probably be there. It would be awkward with everyone watching them, and she couldn’t bear to see pity in their eyes.

With a sigh she put the card aside and moved on to the next envelope.

How different losing Philip was to the usual ending of an affair. Typically, she would celebrate by making a list of eligible men and taking her time to assess those she might find intriguing and willing to share herself with.

This time, however, she could not bear to think of sharing any man’s bed but Philip’s.

At the end of half an hour she’d managed to get through quite a few of the envelopes and selected a number of social occasions to attend. They were mostly ones she thought Philip would be unlikely to have on his list.

A knock sounded on the door and Booth entered. “Lady Blackwood would like to know if you are at home, Your Grace.”

“Of course.” Rose had known this conversation was coming. “And I suspect we will need some tea”—and under her breath—“or something stronger.”

A moment later Portia swept into the room with a big smile on her face, embraced Rose heartily with kisses to both cheeks, and then dropped onto the chaise longue opposite Rose.

“I called for some refreshments,” Rose said as Portia spread out her skirts and patted them down. “Will you be visiting for long?”

Portia smiled, a rueful twist of her mouth. “It almost sounds as if you want to get rid of me already. Have you got a previous engagement?”

She felt her face heat. “No engagement. Drake has gone for a walk in the park with Henry and the nannies. I thought I would join them.”

It was the first time she had lied to her friend, but she knew if Portia stayed for long the conversation would stray to her brother. Admitting to herself that their affair was over was painful enough. Putting it into actual words—making it public—hammered home the reality that she would never be a real part of Philip’s life again.

“Oh.” Portia glanced around the room. “When did they leave?”

“Not long ago,” Rose said.

“We’ll have at least an hour, then.” Portia removed her hat and placed it on the seat beside her. “The boys will want to romp all afternoon. Did you receive Serena’s invitation? Won’t it be fabulous to all be together for a change? Well, I mean, without other company so we can talk freely. I don’t think we’ve caught up on everyone’s news properly since we stopped Victoria destroying our husbands and families.”

Here it was, the moment Rose had been dreading. She took the coward’s way out. “Yes, and it’s such a shame I won’t be able to attend. Kirkwood has requested a private supper that night. I’m disappointed at the clash but it can’t be helped.”

“Really?” Portia frowned. “I understood Serena checked the dates with us all before selecting that night.”

“She did.” Rose crossed the fingers of one hand behind her back and pointed to the stack of open envelopes with the other. “I’ve only received the news today.”

“I hope nothing’s wrong. It’s not like Lord Kirkwood to require your attention on such short notice.”

“I’m sure it will be nothing of note.”

Portia clapped a hand to her forehead before declaring, “Gosh, I hope it’s nothing to do with Philip’s behavior at the ball the other night.”

This time it was Rose’s turn to frown. “What on earth would Kirkwood have to do with that?”

“You did mention that Lord Kirkwood had suggested you look at remarrying. I suspect he thought Philip might offer. In fact, I’m wondering why Philip hasn’t. Perhaps Kirkwood took Philip’s behavior as a signal he is not considering you for that position. Silly, I know. Philip would never marry the likes of Lady Abigail. He’s in love with you.”

She tried, she really did, but Portia’s words brought forth the pain of loss, and her eyes instantly welled. Desperately, she tried to blink them back before Portia noticed. But her friend noticed everything and immediately pulled a face filled with horror.

“Oh, dear. Lord Kirkwood has not forbidden the match? Is that why both you and Philip were not at Lady Chillingworth’s ball last night?”

She couldn’t talk through the knot in her throat; she merely shook her head.

“Then what on earth is wrong?” Her eyes narrowed. “The other night my brother took off from that ball as if his breeches were on fire. I thought he’d come to beg your forgiveness.”

Rose sniffed and took out a handkerchief. “He did apologize.”

Portia sat back, satisfied. “So he should. It was badly done of him. Are you hiding because of his dance with Lady Abigail? Who cares what society thinks? I never have. Philip is yours and you know it, so no more hiding. I missed you at last night’s entertainments. Philip attended but stayed only briefly.”

Rose hesitated, not knowing what to reveal. She wanted to carry on as if nothing had changed, but she knew Portia would keep pushing and it would not take her long to guess why they were no longer seen together. She’d rather Portia learned the truth in private than in public. Rose might not be able to contain herself if that happened. Here in her drawing room, it didn’t matter.

She took a deep breath and said, “Philip and I have agreed to end our affair. I just need some breathing room. That’s all.”

Portia’s mouth dropped open. “No. Why?” She looked like she was ready for a fight. “Did you break my brother’s heart? I thought you loved him. I thought you’d marry him when he proposed—”

“I would have.” This time Rose didn’t try to hide her pain. She simply let the tears roll down her face. “But he didn’t propose. He doesn’t want to marry me.”

Portia was by her side in a flash. “I’ll poke his eyes out. How dare he prefer a chit like Lady Abigail.”

She shook Portia’s arms off her. “No. He is not marrying Lady Abigail, either. He told me he has no wish to marry.”

Portia’s mouth dropped open and then closed, then opened again. “Many men seem to think marriage a bore but I would have thought my brother had more sense. He will marry eventually. He needs an heir. I thought he’d marry you.”

Rose wiped away her tears, feeling somewhat better for having gotten the situation off her chest. “He’s adamant. He will not marry. You forget you have brothers—Thomas, it seems, is to inherit, with two more brothers in reserve.”

When the maid arrived with the refreshments, Rose set about pouring the tea.

Portia waited until the servant had closed the door behind her. Then she stood, seized the whisky decanter from the sideboard, and poured a little into their cups. Seeing Rose’s raised eyebrow, she grimaced. “I feel a little fortification is called for.”

Rose couldn’t argue.

Once more settled in her seat, Portia sipped her tea, then sighed. “I don’t know what to say, Rose. I’m so sorry. Just wait until I see my brother. Of course he’ll have to marry.”

“No.” The last thing she needed was Portia scolding Philip. “Please don’t say anything. He has his reasons. I hope one day he’ll wake up and realize he’s been a fool. I only hope that day is not too late for me.” For them.

“Well, it’s not going to be.” Portia’s cheeks blazed with crimson. “Just wait until I tell Mother. She’ll have something to say to him about his duty to the earldom.”

Dear God. That was the last thing she or Philip needed. “Don’t do that. I do not wish to betray his confidences.” What was said between them was private.

Portia’s eyes narrowed suddenly. “What do you mean you hope Philip’s coming to his senses isn’t too late for you? You do think Kirkwood will want you to remarry?”

She shrugged and sipped her whisky-laced tea. It was the first time since Philip left that she’d felt warm. “I suspect he’ll want me to change my ways for Drake’s sake if nothing else. I’m only six and twenty. I like intimacy. I enjoy sex. If I remain a widow, it will mean a lonely life.”

Portia had lost her angry flush. Now her cheeks went pink. “I enjoy bed sport, too, but only with Grayson. I can’t imagine having sex with any other man.”

Rose didn’t take offense. “I didn’t have the luxury of marrying where my heart led so I suspect our experiences in the boudoir have been quite different. I discovered pleasure only after my husband died.”

“Does Philip know Lord Kirkwood might insist you remarry?”

She smiled at her friend. “You are not going to let this go, are you? Yes, Philip knows. Lord Kirkwood is a kind man, so I hope he won’t force the issue. But he is also very fond of Drake, and soon I suspect he’ll tell me to send Drake off to school. Then I will be truly alone.”

She blinked back the sting of tears at the thought of seeing her son for only a few months a year. “I can’t live my life stuck in the wilds of Cornwall on my own. I want a man in my life. I would like more children. If Kirkwood is concerned about the Deverill name he’ll make a push to see that I remarry. He won’t compel me to accept a particular man, but he’ll expect me to select someone.”

Portia’s face took on her thinking look. After a few moments of silence and sipping fortified tea, she said, “I can’t believe Philip would let you marry someone else. Oh! That’s it.” She leaned forward in her chair and excitedly placed her teacup on the table with a rattle. “We’ll put it about that the Wicked Widow is husband-hunting. I know my brother. I know he loves you. Whatever nonsense is stopping him from proposing, his possessive jealousy will never allow you to marry anyone but him.”

But Rose was not so sure. Would the idea of her marrying another man bring Philip to his senses? She knew he cared for her. They were more than compatible in bed—they were combustible. Dared she hope? “He was very determined not to marry.”

Portia waved Philip’s determination away. “I think I know my own brother. Of course he wants to marry. He loves you. He loves children. There is something more afoot here, I can feel it. You have to make him jealous.”

Rose laughed. Could she make him as jealous of another man as she’d been of Lady Abigail? She’d wanted to slap the smile off that perfect, simpering face. “It seems such a childish notion.”

Portia scowled. “So you are simply going to give up? I thought you loved him.”

“I do,” she protested vigorously. “But sometimes love is not enough.”

Portia waved that idea away, too. “Love is always enough. More than enough. Love is all that matters.”

Rose’s heart sank. “Then he does not love me. If he did, he wouldn’t have left my bed knowing I might have to marry another.”

“Oh, my dear girl.” Portia’s smile was that of a cunning fox. “Knowing and witnessing are two very different things. You should have seen Grayson’s reaction when he thought I was seriously considering Maitland as a marriage prospect. A rival tends to crystalize a man’s view on love very quickly.”

Perhaps it was the large amount of whisky in the tea but suddenly Rose’s life no longer felt like it was over. Hope—something she’d lost—began to bloom inside her. She put down her teacup and picked up Serena’s invitation. “Bugger your brother. I’ll attend Serena’s dinner and bring a charming dinner guest.”

Portia’s smile in response was just as mischievous. “I shall make sure Philip is there. I’ll say Grayson has information on a new market for the Flagstaff wool. He’ll be interested in that. And I’ll say you are unable to attend. After all,”—she shrugged—“what’s a lie between siblings?”

Rose laughed. “You are wicked.”

Portia’s smile dimmed. “I just want you both to be happy. Why can’t you be happy together? I love you both so much.”

Emotion welled up in her. “I love you, too.”

Portia blinked and glanced over to where her half-full cup sat, contents gently steaming. “If I drink any more tea I won’t be able to walk with you to the park, and I want to see that handsome boy of yours.”

Rose was more worried about the effects of the whisky. “Thank you, Portia. I don’t know if our plan will work but you’re right about one thing. It’s better than doing nothing.” She got to her feet and walked to her friend, pulling her up to stand beside her. “Suddenly I find it’s a beautiful day and, after our indulgence, I need some fresh air.” She handed Portia her hat. “Shall we?”

“Absolutely, dear girl. And while we walk we shall make up a list of the most desirable single men in London at the moment.”

Rose laughed. “I think I’m going to enjoy this experiment a tad more than poor Philip,” she called over her shoulder as she went to organize her coat, hat, and gloves.

Portia gave a most unladylike humph. “Don’t you dare feel sorry for my brother. He’s an idiot, and idiots deserve all they get.”

Which was true. But as Rose prepared for their outing, she prayed that Philip didn’t turn out to be a stubborn idiot.

Philip Flagstaff, you are an idiot.

He knew he should not have had that extra bottle of brandy, but he’d dined with Arend and Isobel and they were so damned happy. Watching them together, excited at the approaching birth of their first child, he’d been tempted to leave them to their excitement, race to Rose, tell her he’d made a mistake, and beg her to marry him.

But he hadn’t. The last thing he remembered was Arend shoving him—none too gently—into his carriage. He’d have to send a huge bunch of flowers to Isobel as an apology for such boorish behavior.

And he’d lied to them. When Isobel had wanted to know where Rose was he’d told her she was tired and wanted a night in. Neither of them believed him.

Soon his friends would start asking why they were no longer seen together. Why he let a woman like Rose slip away.

Slowly, he sat up and his head began to pound as if a rampaging bull was running through it.

Scrubbing a hand over his face, he reached for the decanter by his bed. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, as dry as stable straw. He took a long slug of spirits, swirled it round his mouth, and then spat it into the privy basin.

His friends would not be his only problem. His mother would take the end of his affair with Rose as a declaration that he was ready to take a wife. How the hell would he stop her parading young debutantes in front of him?

His worst problem, however, would be Portia. His sister would be furious, and she of all of them was unlikely to be fobbed off with high-sounding fustian. She knew how he felt about Rose.

Cursing his sister, his headache, and his life in general, Philip pushed back the covers and rang for his valet. He needed a bath before he escaped to his club for the afternoon. The following week he was expected at Serena’s for dinner and he’d better have a plausible reason for the break with Rose by then. At least Rose would not be attending—a prior engagement with Lord Kirkwood concerning Drake’s schooling.

Another blow for Rose. Drake was her life, and when Kirkwood took the boy off to school she’d be heartbroken. He wished he could be there to help her through it. But there was nothing now that he could do. Their relationship was over.

An hour later, bathed, groomed, and dressed, Philip spent an hour in his study to clear up correspondence before heading for the club. It was safe enough. His mother was out shopping, and at that time of day Portia would be at home with Jackson, his nine-month-old nephew. He loved the boy even though he reminded him so painfully of Robert. The child had inherited Robert’s and Portia’s eyes and mouth.

So it was a surprise when, not long after he’d settled in, Portia strode into his study without being announced and without knocking.

“My lord.” Merton peered over Portia’s shoulder. “Lady Blackwood has come to call.”

“I see that,” he said. “Thank you, Merton.” He waited for his amused butler to close the door before he frowned at Portia. “Your manners have not improved as you have aged.”

“Are you calling me old, brother dear?” She took a seat. “Because let me tell you, I have a great number of names I’d like to call you. For example.” She began counting off on her fingers. “One, stupid. Two, idiot—”

“I hate to be pedantic but they mean the same thing.”

“Three, fool.” She sighed and her little fists clenched in her lap. “Oooh, I’m so angry with you. How could you hurt Rose by telling her such a whisker? Of course you’ll marry. You’re the earl, for goodness’ sake. There’s such a thing as responsibility to the name and the title.”

His humor fled and he ran a frustrated hand through his hair. Goddamn interfering sisters. Of course Portia would rise to the defense of her friend. But he shouldn’t have to explain himself to anyone. “My activities are none of your business. Please just leave it alone.” He made his tone cold and hard. “As head of this household I deserve the right to some privacy. I never once poked my nose into your affairs.”

“I didn’t have affairs.”

“Not those sorts of affairs,” he conceded. “But I did not try and meddle in your cider business. I did not try to stop you doing what you wished. What makes you think you have the right to interfere in mine?”

Portia drooped in her chair, all the fight gone out of her. “Because since Robert died and you became the earl, I’ve never seen you as happy as when you’re with Rose.” She gazed pleadingly at him. “I just want you to be happy, Philip. Rose makes you happy.”

He gave her a wan smile. “I love that you care but please respect my—and Rose’s—privacy. What is done has been done for the best, and I don’t intend to explain my actions to you or anyone. If you love me, then you’ll let me be.”

“But you’re my brother.” Her mouth trembled. “And she’s my best friend. I was so hoping you’d propose.” She sniffed. “Now it’s going to be awkward. But I am not avoiding her at functions just because you might be there.”

God, no. He’d hate that. “I do not expect you to. We have parted friends and I have no intention of cutting Rose, either. We are adults, are we not?”

Portia nodded and perked up. “Speaking of functions, there’s a dinner soon at Serena’s. Grayson said to tell you he has learned of a new wool market and will share the details then.”

Portia had stopped scolding far too quickly. Something was up. “Will Rose be there?”

“Oh, I don’t think so. She told me an old beau had come to town and she thought it would be too awkward for everyone. She did not wish to ruin Serena’s evening.”

An old beau? His hackles lifted although he had no right to be annoyed. “I thought she had an engagement with Kirkwood.” She might have mourned their relationship for a decent period before looking for another lover. Or had Kirkwood put pressure on her now that he had not come up to scratch?

Damn it all. Why was life so complicated?

“She does, but it won’t take all evening. Her beau…What’s his name?” She tapped her fingers as she thought. “Yes, that’s right. Lord Tremain. It’s Viscount Tremain.”

The stirring of the green-eyed monster in his belly took him by surprise. He had to work to keep his fists relaxed, to keep his jaw from clenching his teeth together. He knew all about Viscount Tremain. Tremain was the man who’d introduced Rose to passion.

“He’s in London for the Season.” Portia prattled on. “Rumor is he’s looking for a wife.”

Damn the man to hell and back. But there was no way he’d let his conniving little sister know how much the idea of Rose with Tremain hurt. “Then I wish him every success. Perhaps he’ll ask Rose. She now appears to be keen to remarry.”

Portia did not rise to his bait. Instead, she looked sad. “Perhaps he should. She would make a wonderful wife for any man—especially a man who is brave enough to declare his true feelings.” With that, Portia rose. “Then I shall see you at Serena’s in a few days—and I promise I’ll ensure the ladies do not ask you too many awkward questions. However, I should warn you that you won’t be very popular with the wives of the Libertine Scholars.”

When she’d left the room and shut the door behind her, he thumped his forehead on the desk a few times. Perhaps he should head back to Devon until this died away—but the image of Tremain in Rose’s bed put paid to that idea.

He stood and moved to look out the window. Giving up Rose was the hardest thing he’d ever had to do. No, the second hardest. Burying Robert had been harder.

Robert. He had to keep the reason why he would never marry in focus. He was Cumberland. As the earl, his duty was to husband and increase the estate, and then hand it over to his heir in the best condition possible. His duty was to provide for his family. There was no place in his duty for selfish happiness. Not when his selfish desires and actions had such disastrous results.

While his heart wanted to steal Rose away, to keep her for himself, he could not in all conscience do so.

He pulled out his pocket watch. His mother would be home soon. He’d be wise to make himself scarce and leave for his club before she arrived. He’d have bet the best stallion in his stable that if Portia knew about the end of his affair, so would his mother.

As soon as he walked into the lounge at the club and saw Grayson sitting with Wyndall Herbert, Earl of Easterside—Rose’s elder brother—he sighed. Finding the two of them together was not a coincidence. They were hardly good friends.

Christ, he did not need this.

As he wove through the room to join them, he noticed many of his friends and acquaintances casting varying looks of pity and humor his way. It would appear news of the incident with Lady Abigail and his appearance alone at Lady Chillingworth’s ball had set tongues wagging.

“Blackwood.” He nodded to Grayson as he came up. “Easterside. Unusual to see you both here. I hope you’re well.”

“Take a seat, Cumberland,” was Wyndall’s terse response.

Grayson made to stand. “Perhaps I should leave you to talk in private.”

“Stay,” Wyndall demanded. “I may need a second.”

“Bloody hell.” Philip dropped into a chair and signaled to a servant to bring him a drink. “There is no need for that, Easterside.”

“I agree,” Grayson said. “Cumberland here is a crack shot.”

Wyndall ignored him. “That’s not the point. Most of society knows my feelings about my wayward sister, but I thought she had finally settled down. Perhaps was even considering an offer from you. Imagine my horror when I hear instead that not only did you end your connection but did it in such a way as to humiliate her in front of the ton. I should call you out for that alone.”

By the time he’d finished his tirade, Wyndall was shaking with rage.

Philip kept his tone polite and careful. “I have already apologized to Her Grace for what happened at the ball—which was a result of a lack of attention on my part, and for which I deserve you to plant me a facer. But you are quite wrong that it was my decision to end the connection. I would not have done so. It was Rose’s choice. I’m simply abiding by the lady’s decision.”

That took the wind out of Wyndall’s sails. He was silent for a moment. “My apologies. It seems my sister is up to her old tricks. When the devil is Kirkwood going to stop letting her bamboozle him and make her see sense? Why have you not offered marriage? You need an heir and you are of age.”

Again his body reacted to the thought of Rose in another man’s arms, and his heart beat faster. “No one should be forced to marry when it’s not necessary. I am not ready.”

“You may have no need of marriage yet, but Rose has cultivated a reputation and I see nothing admirable regarding her behavior. She should think of the boy, of our family.” Wyndall glanced at Grayson, then back to Philip. “Your sister was a bit wild, but at least she had the sense to settle down with a fine man.”

Grayson drew himself up, eyes flashing. “Keep my wife out of this, if you please.”

“Funny,” Philip said, “I was about to say the same thing to you. Portia paid me a visit about an hour ago.”

“Did she?” Grayson grimaced. “What did you expect when you upset her best friend?”

He could hardly refute that.

Wyndall stood. “Well, I’ve said my piece. Thank you for your candor. I shall have a word with Kirkwood. It’s about time my sister changed her ways. The next man she chooses will be a husband. Good day, gentlemen.”

With that, Wyndall took his leave.

When he was gone, Philip let out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding.

“Not quite the truth, was it?”

Philip glanced over at Grayson. “I did offer to continue our affair.”

“But she was prepared to marry, and marry you. That’s quite a concession from the woman who for over five years has refused all offers.” Grayson rolled his brandy balloon thoughtfully between his fingers. “I thought you’d jump at the chance.”

“Did you?” He grimaced at his friend’s raised eyebrow. “I’m not the only man to want to avoid the parson’s mousetrap. When we rescued Portia from Egypt you swore black-and-blue she was not the woman for you.”

Grayson grinned. “Touché. You’ll know when you know. But a word of warning, my friend. Be careful that you don’t wake up one day and find you have let the most important person in your life slip away. Women like your sister and Rose, have many options.”

“Like Tremain?” He hadn’t meant to say the name, but Grayson knew everyone in the city. “Did you know Tremain is back in London?”

Grayson’s brows jerked up and almost immediately dipped into a glower. “No. I didn’t. I’m amazed he has the balls to show his face. The word is he’s gambled away everything his father left him and was chased out of France because of his debts. I suspect he’s only here because he’s on the lookout for a wealthy wife.”

So did Philip. “I thought you’d have heard. It was Portia who told me he was back and paying court to Rose. And, what’s more, she took a great deal of pleasure in telling me.”

Grayson cursed under his breath. “I know what she’s up to. She did this to me with Maitland. And it bloody worked. I wanted to beat my oldest friend black-and-blue.”

Philip understood the sentiment. “I’d have no problem beating Tremain black-and-blue for what he did to Lady Claire all those years ago. If he tries to destroy Rose, I’ll—”

“What?” Grayson growled. “You’ll do what? She is no longer yours to defend.”

“She’ll always be mine to defend.”

At Grayson’s look of surprise he wished he could take the words back even though they were absolutely true.

“Is that right?” Grayson glanced over at the mantel clock. “I’m due home. But before I go, let me say this. I’d never tell a man whom he should marry, but from your last statement it’s clear you still have deep feelings for Rose. So why not offer for her? I doubt she’ll refuse you.”

Was everyone deaf? “As I keep saying, I have my reasons.”

Grayson studied him and lowered his voice. “Are you ill, Philip? If you are, you know you can talk to me.”

Not unless being sick with guilt counted as illness. “No. Not that I am aware of anyway. I’m just not ready to take a wife—and I’m not sure I ever will be.”

“Rubbish,” Grayson said. “If you feel this way, then perhaps Rose is not the woman for you. When you find the right woman, you’ll fight to your dying breath to make her yours.”

Grayson shoved to his feet and slapped Philip’s shoulder as he made to leave. “Ah, well. If you don’t feel that way about Rose, then you did the honorable thing by letting her go. But I agree. We should watch Tremain. Rose’s widow’s portion is significant. Not that I imagine Kirkwood would allow such a match. Have a pleasant evening.” And with a nod he left the room.

Philip hadn’t considered approaching Kirkwood. Of course he’d be a good ally against Tremain if the rogue was a fortune-hunter. He made a note to call on the older man soon.

But not tonight. As a scrupulous older brother, he had a card game to attend with Maxwell and his friends. His brother’s luck with the cards was nothing short of abysmal and he’d begged Philip for some pointers. He’d agreed, but it was, Philip knew, a waste of his time. Maxwell had never liked to back down from a challenge, and the most important lesson a successful gambler learned early was to know when to fold.