Chapter Four
Rose perched on the edge of the small truckle bed tucked beneath the eaves in her rented chamber.
Pressure built behind her cheekbones. A lump formed in her throat while the backs of her eyes scalded. She clenched her hands together trying to breathe. She would not cry.
A sob escaped.
She swallowed it down and glanced around the shabby room. At the brave flutter of floral fabric covering the window. At the scrap of carpet beside the bed she’d bargained for at the market. At the worn-out broom she’d salvaged from the rubbish bin at the V&V. She could not help comparing what she had to what the Duke of Westmoor had offered.
She didn’t know if she was upset because he had made such a dreadful offer, or because she had turned him down.
A bitter smile pulled at her lips. Likely a bit of both.
He was such a handsome, charming man. Sometimes. When he wasn’t making tempting offers that undermined her efforts to maintain the standards she’d set for herself so many years ago.
She dashed a tear from her cheek that seemed to have escaped without her knowledge.
What was she to do? Her stomach pitched. This time he would see her dismissed. She was sure of it. She shouldn’t have run. She should have thanked him before refusing.
The thought hit her like a blow.
She should have explained why she did not want to be his mistress. He wasn’t a bad man. He was simply man who expected to get his way in all things. She had met enough of those in her time and he was, after all, a duke. But she did not think him deliberately cruel. If she had explained, he might have understood.
Or not. But at least she would have had her say instead of running away like a coward.
Truth be told, if she had stayed, she might well have said yes. The thought of his kisses and the tender way he’d held her in his arms when they danced had tempted her sorely.
That same temptation had led her into the mistake of meeting him in the garden, of seeing him one last time to tell him they should not meet again. Clearly he now thought her a low sort of creature, given the way she earned a living.
The rosy dreams she’d been clutching to her heart since the hours spent in the garden turned to ashes before her closed eyes.
Not that she’d expected to see him again. She really hadn’t. She’d simply enjoyed the dream. It made the day pass faster and the drudgery of her life seem less hard.
This offer made a mockery of those innocent imaginings. Didn’t she know better than to have dreams? Had she not learned to live day to day? To survive by hard work and keeping herself to herself? She’d let herself be lured into the pitfall of wanting more and look what he’d offered. Hope. It was such a stupid thing.
A cacophony, louder than usual, drifted up from the street below. An argument. Someone run afoul of her landlord, no doubt. Someone unable to pay their rent.
She shivered. She’d seen more than one family evicted from this house for that crime.
Heavy footsteps thumped their way up the stairs. She expected them to stop on the floor below. More than one set, she thought. No one ever came all the way up to her little garret. And yet something about the determination in those steps brought her to her feet.
They did not stop until they arrived at her landing. A fist thumped on her door.
‘Who is it?’ Her voice was not as firm as she would have liked.
‘It is I, Miss Nightingale.’
The cultured accents were unmistakable. Westmoor. How on earth had he found her?
‘’E says ’e’s a friends of yourn,’ the belligerent tones of her landlord added. ‘Shall I throw ’im down the stairs?’
‘I’d like to see you try, my good man.’
‘Would yer? Put ’em up, I says.’
Goodness, they were going to come to fisticuffs on her landing.
She rushed to slide the bolt and open the door.
The Duke, with nary a hair out of place, was grinning conspiratorially at her landlord. Money went from a ducal fist to a grimy grasping hand. Blast the man.
‘Miss Nightingale.’ The Duke removed his hat and bowed.
‘You tricked me.’
‘As you tricked me. May I come in?’
‘I did not trick you.’
A movement on the staircase caught her eye. Old Mrs Carter was at the forefront of a growing group of spectators. Oh, this really was too much. Her reputation was going to be ruined.
She opened the door wider. ‘Please come in.’ She certainly did not want her neighbours listening to the conversation that was about to ensue.
The Duke ducked his head beneath the lintel and entered. The ceiling was too low for him to stand fully upright. Wincing, she gestured to the only chair in the room. ‘Please, be seated.’
He eased his large frame on to the rickety chair as if fearing it would splinter beneath him and looked around.
Shame filled her.
Followed by anger.
She’d been proud of her little room. Her own place, rented with the money she’d earned. ‘What are you doing here?’
He started to rise. ‘A gentleman may not sit in the presence of a standing lady.’
They couldn’t? There was nowhere for her to sit but on the edge of the bed. She perched there and clasped her hands in her lap to stop herself from throwing something at him. Or perhaps to hold herself together from flying into a thousand miserable pieces now he knew the full extent of her poverty.
‘I came to make sure you arrived home safely.’
She stared at him. ‘I manage to arrive home safely every day without any help. What you have done is made every occupant of this house wonder about my respectability.’
He gave an impatient sigh. ‘This is not where you should be living, Rose. You deserve better.’
‘What would be better about being your mistress?’ The words were out before she thought about them. Heat scalded her cheeks. Her stomach twisted in a knot. She fixed her gaze on the patch in her carpet. ‘Please. Go. You can let Mrs Parker know I won’t be working at the V&V any longer. I have found another job.’
She clenched her hands harder and prayed she would be able to do so.
‘Rose.’ His voice sounded grim.
What now? Would he strike out? Like the first gentleman whose advances she’d refused. She’d left that position. And several more after it.
She risked a glance at his face, ready to run or to defend her honour. Not easy when one was already sitting on the bed.
The stern, aloof Duke stared back at her. ‘I beg your pardon,’ he said stiffly. ‘My behaviour led you to misconstrue my intentions.’
Misconstrue? She frowned. Not a familiar word.
‘Misunderstand,’ he said as if realising the source of her puzzlement, ‘from the Latin construere.’
‘What is to misunderstand?’ she asked, quelling her interest in his explanation.
He tugged at his neckcloth. ‘The position I was offering in my house was not as my...’ He pursed his lips as if he had a bad taste in his mouth. ‘It was as something else.’
An odd feeling pierced her chest. A feeling of hurt. Because she wasn’t good enough or pretty enough or something to be his mistress?
‘You want to hire me as a servant in your house?’ She felt queasy at the thought of making up the fire in his room as he slept, possibly not alone. Of cleaning and polishing his floors as he walked passed her, unseeing with his friends. Of said friends pinching her bottom. They were the sorts of things that had kept her moving from one job to another. It was also the reason why the V&V with its rules and regulations for servants and customers alike had been so perfect.
She shook her head. ‘I—’
‘I want to offer you the position of companion to my grandmother.’
As the words began to make sense, she couldn’t help a bitter laugh. ‘A companion to your grandmother? Is this some sort of jest?’
Even she knew such a position was well above her station. She wasn’t even good enough to be his mistress, for heaven’s sake.
‘She’s lonely. She doesn’t go out much. Normally such a position would fall to an indigent relative.’ He shuddered. ‘The only such females available are not those I would wish under my roof. You won’t find it onerous. Grandmama rarely leaves the house, but she needs someone to help write her letters, fetch and carry and make sure she eats. That sort of thing. My duties mean she is frequently without any company at all. Or any...supervision. My sister is busy with her young daughter, or I would ask her. I honestly think Grandmama would take to you. You are honest, kind and, Mrs Parker informs me, one of the few under her supervision who can read and write well.’
Mrs Parker. Of course, that was how he had discovered her whereabouts. Why hadn’t she thought of that? Still, she couldn’t help but approve of a man who so obviously cared about his grandmother. Cared about his family. How could she not? It was all she had ever longed for in the deepest regions of her heart. A home. A family who loved her.
For one blissful moment acceptance hovered on her tongue, then the enormity of what he was asking struck her. Yes, she could read and write, but she was nowhere near well enough educated to mix with her betters. ‘I’m sorry, it wouldn’t work. I wouldn’t know how.’
He gazed at her from beneath lowered brows, his jaw a determined jut.
This was a man to whom people did not usually say no. She steeled herself for an argument. ‘Truly, I cannot. Your grandmother needs a proper lady. I couldn’t possibly—’
‘Rose,’ he said, his voice deep and dark and delicious as he interrupted her speech. ‘You are every bit as much a lady as one who bears the title. You speak as well as any lady I know, act like a lady and no one would think otherwise unless they knew. I certainly didn’t.’
‘I don’t always speak like a lady. I don’t understand all those long words you use. And what if your grandmother learns I am one big fat lie. Wouldn’t she be angry?’
He shook his head. ‘Who will tell her? We shall say you were previously employed by a distant relative on my mother’s side.’
‘And what of your friends? Will you tell them that, too?’
‘What I do, who I employ, is no one’s business but mine.’
‘How arrogant,’ she muttered. Inwardly, she smiled at finding a use for the word she’d read in the newspaper that morning. When he pressed his lips together, she thought she might finally have annoyed him enough to make him leave her in peace.
But, no, he continued to view her with that intense gaze of his, as if he saw right through her. A look seemed to melt her from the inside out.
‘At least speak with my grandmama before turning it down. Who knows, she may not offer you the position. She can certainly be a bit difficult at times.’
The poor man looked...worried. She almost felt sorry for him. Fortunately, his grandmother would have more sense than he had and she would not look at Rose with such hopefulness, either. ‘And when she turns me away, you’ll leave me in peace? Never speak to me again?’
He inhaled a quick breath. ‘I will never speak to you first. However, should you speak to me, I will respond.’
Like that would ever happen. ‘And I will keep my position at the V&V if she does not decide in my favour?’
‘Naturally.’
Strangely, she had every faith he would keep his word. Which was odd, because she rarely trusted anyone. ‘Very well, then. Let us go and meet your grandmother.’
He gave her a startled glance. Clearly he had not expected her to give in so quickly. She smiled sweetly. ‘Is something wrong?’ Like the drab gown she was wearing? Or her rough work-reddened hands?
‘Not a thing,’ he said more cheerfully than she expected. ‘While we walk, I will explain a few of the niceties of meeting a duchess, if I may.’ He gave her a piercing blue stare. ‘You do plan to give this a good shot, I hope.’
Fair was fair. ‘I will do my best.’
‘That is all I ask.’
As he escorted her down the stairs and out into the street, she had the feeling he was smirking as if he thought he had won, though his face showed nothing. Hah. One look at her servant’s garb and his grandmother would show her the door. And that would be that. Life would go back to the way it was before.
The thought gave her a queer little pang in the centre of her chest.
* * *
At the sight of his own front door, Jake breathed a sigh of relief. All during their long walk, he’d half-expected Rose to bolt again. If she had, he had no doubt she’d do everything in her power to make sure he didn’t find her a second time. And then how would he ever be free of his irrational worry for her safety.
He still couldn’t stop thinking about what might have happened to her if some other man had caught her waltzing around in that particular dress with that particular look on her face.
It was a sight no red-blooded male could have resisted. He certainly hadn’t had the strength of will. He couldn’t help thinking about what had almost happened to her at his hands because he had completely misread who and what she was. He’d not had a clue she was an employee.
It had been pounded into his head by his father from an early age that a gentleman never exploited a servant beneath his roof. It wasn’t done. Yet he’d come far closer to breaking that rule than he liked to think.
Of course, he could have ignored her once he did know and simply thanked his stars for a lucky escape. He would have, too, if she hadn’t seemed so damnably vulnerable.
Simply watching the sensual movement of her body while she was washing the floor had heated his blood to boiling. Sooner or later one of the coxcombs who haunted Vitium et Virtus would have spotted her and, rules or no rules, taken advantage.
Jake could not abide the thought. The tightness the idea caused in his gut was not jealousy, could not possibly be jealousy. It was merely the need to protect a good but naive young woman from harm.
When he’d gone to her lodging, he hadn’t quite known what he intended, but the moment he’d seen the bright scrap of fabric fluttering at the window of her shabby room, along with the worn bit of rug so neatly patched on the floor, every instinct within him rebelled at leaving her there.
He’d felt so strongly he’d ridden roughshod over her objections. Was still riding roughshod, truth to tell.
When a footman opened the door at the ducal mansion, Jake stifled a grin at the way the man hid his surprise at the sight of Rose who was also in for a surprise.
While his grandmother could be starchy, she had never considered herself above her fellow man—or woman. She was the direct descendent of a yeoman long-bowman who fought at Crécy, as she would tell anyone who cared to listen.
He waved the butler away when he stepped forward to take his hat and gloves and instead deposited them on the hall table. The less intimidating things seemed, the more likely he was to win this round.
Rose, who had no outer raiment to remove, kept her gaze fixed straight ahead, her chin up in brave defiance.
Yet tension stiffened her shoulders and a twinge of guilt at her discomfort assaulted Jake’s conscience. He pushed the notion aside. After all, she was the one who had issued the final challenge.
‘Her Grace?’ Jake enquired of the butler.
‘In her withdrawing room, Your Grace,’ the butler said.
Jake winged an elbow at Rose. ‘Shall we, Miss Nightingale?’
‘We shall,’ she said, her voice little more than a whisper and tinged with dread.
Damn it all. She was far more nervous than she appeared on the outside. ‘She doesn’t bite, you know.’
She didn’t relax.
They climbed the stairs up to the first floor and into the east wing. His rooms were in the west wing. Or rather that was where he still kept his things. The ducal chambers were also located here in the east wing. He never used them.
The first time he had entered his father’s bedroom he had felt like an intruder. Or an impostor. Or perhaps a very bad actor. The underserving villain in a play.
He opened the door to his grandmother’s suite and ushered Rose in with a light touch to the small of her back.
‘Grandmama, I would like you to meet a young lady introduced to me by a distant relative of my mother’s. Your Grace, Miss Rose Nightingale. Miss Nightingale, Her Grace, the Dowager Duchess of Westmoor.’
Rose sank into a curtsy fit for royalty, but since his grandmother was related to some of those, it was not completely out of place.
Startlement appeared in those ancient grey eyes for the merest moment, then Grandmother smiled. ‘Miss Nightingale. What a pleasure. How delightful. Are you visiting in town?’
‘Miss Nightingale is seeking employment,’ Jacob said, as he informed Rose he would during their walk to his house. ‘Her present position is unsuitable.’ It was the truth. He ignored Rose’s gasp of shock.
Rose blushed, but her gaze held anger when she shot him a glance.
‘My dear Miss Nightingale,’ Grandmama said, ‘anyone instrumental in bringing my grandson to see me is welcome in this house.’ She frowned at Jake. ‘I so rarely see him these days.’
‘Grandmama,’ Jake scolded, with an apologetic smile. ‘Miss Nightingale will think I neglect my duty.’
‘You neglect your pleasures, my boy, you are so busy fulfilling your duties. Ring the bell for tea, do. Miss Nightingale, please, be seated.’ She patted the sofa cushion on her right.
A good sign. If she had been dismayed or displeased she would have pointed to the chair at the end of the tea table. A chair known for its discomfort. No visitor stayed long seated upon that chair.
As long as Rose didn’t decide to reveal exactly where she had been employed all should be well.
He tugged at the bell pull and reclined in his usual armchair.
‘Grandmama, I believe Miss Nightingale would make you an excellent companion. I am sorry we did not give you any advance notice, but it did not occur to me until this very morning.’
His grandmother looked intrigued. ‘What sort of employment have you undertaken in the past, Miss Nightingale?’
Rose lifted that stubborn little chin and Jake had the urge to nip at it. And then to kiss her luscious lips even though he knew by the martial look in her eye she planned to foil his plan.
‘I have been working as a scullery maid.’ She sounded as if she expected to be thrown out on her ear. Extraordinary bravery.
His grandmother stiffened. His stomach dipped. It seemed he did not know her as well as he thought.
The elderly lady narrowed her gaze on Rose, but there was a gleam of amusement in those faded eyes Jake hadn’t seen for many months. ‘A scullery maid.’
Rose nodded firmly.
‘Good honest labour, Miss Nightingale, but beneath you, I think. My grandson was right to bring you to me.’
Rose’s jaw dropped. ‘But—’
The butler entered with his usual troop of footmen who glided about until the tea tray was properly presented before departing on silent feet.
‘Please, Miss Nightingale,’ Grandmama said, ‘do pour. My hands are a little shaky at times and it makes it all such a chore.’
With a startled glance directed at Jake, Rose did as directed, making an exceedingly creditable job of it, too.
‘Where did you learn such skills, Miss Nightingale?’ Grandmama asked gently.
‘I trained as a housekeeper,’ Rose said. Her expression held surprise as she set the teapot back in its place. ‘My age has precluded my obtaining such a position as yet.’
‘Trained where?’
‘The Foundling Hospital.’
‘I see.’
It was his grandmother’s turn to shoot him a look that spoke volumes, or it would have were he able to translate its meaning.
‘Do you know anything about your parents, Miss Nightingale?’ Grandmama asked.
Rose stiffened. Looked uncomfortable.
Jake had the urge to stand between her and his grandmother’s probing questions, but it would not do. If she could not stand up for herself, then her grandmother would dismiss her as missish.
Grandmama’s eyes narrowed. ‘I beg your pardon, my dear. I do not wish to pry. I was merely curious.’
Rose drew in a breath. ‘I know nothing at all.’ From her pocket she drew out a little pouch. A needle case that looked as if it had been stitched by a child. She unfolded it and brought forth a broken mother-of-pearl button.
‘I have this half-token. But no one returned to claim me.’
Grandmama’s eyes swam with tears for a brief instant. So brief, Jake thought he might have been mistaken and Rose did not see it at all, since she was busy tucking away her treasures. At the thought of her always being alone in the world his throat felt deucedly tight.
Grandmama sipped at her tea, her expression thoughtful.
Rose handed him his cup. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. He took a mouthful. Perfect. He glanced at his grandmother over the rim. ‘Well, Your Grace. What do you think? Will you accept Miss Nightingale as a companion? Knowing someone is keeping an eye on you will relieve my mind of a worry while I toil away at the mountain of paperwork on my desk.’
Rose kept her gaze firmly fixed on her hands in her lap. She had not touched her tea. Clearly she expected rejection.
Grandmama shot him a glance. ‘Highly recommended I think you said, Jacob.’
‘Very highly recommended.’
‘By a relative of your mother’s? One you have confidence in?’
‘Indeed.’
Grandmama smiled. ‘Miss Nightingale, do you think you can bear the company of a crotchety old lady day after day?’
Jakes shoulders felt suddenly a great deal lighter.
Rose’s jaw dropped. ‘You actually want me to be your companion? Surely some lady of rank would be better suited—’
‘A lady of rank would likely drive me to distraction within a week,’ Grandmother said. ‘Sniffing about each request. Complaining about lost advantages. Tippling at the brandy when she thinks I am not looking.’
Jaw dropping, Rose looked at him for confirmation.
‘Her Grace is right,’ he said lazily, casually. ‘Cousin Susan, before she went home to her mother, was always half-seas over. It was why Grandmama sent her packing.’
‘That wasn’t the half of it,’ Grandmama said. ‘I caught her snooping about in my correspondence. Not something Miss Nightingale would be about, I am sure.’
Rose shook her head.
‘And you won’t be stealing the silverware either, I’ll be bound.’
‘Grandmama!’
‘Well, that nurse you hired certainly did.’ She adjusted the shawl over her shoulders with a little twitch at the fabric. ‘I’m missing one of your grandfather’s snuffboxes. His favourite, to boot.’
‘Perhaps it is simply misplaced,’ Rose said with a placating smile.
‘Perhaps,’ Grandmama admitted. ‘And perhaps you will help me find it. That is, if you will accept the position?’
Rose’s eyes widened.
Jake watched with bated breath as she considered the offer. Finally she nodded slowly. ‘Yes. I will, Thank you. Thank you both. I will do my very best to please.’ Rose smiled. It was bright and happy and hopeful. It came from within and seemed to shove warmth at the cold empty feeling in Jake’s chest.
‘Excellent,’ Grandmama said, beaming. ‘Jake, you will inform the staff and have Miss Nightingale taken up to her room. The same one Cousin Susan used. Once she is settled, she and I will go through Eleanor’s wardrobe and see what clothes are suitable for making over.’
It seemed Grandmama had found a project. She already looked brighter than she had for weeks.
Rose glanced self-consciously at her drab skirts. ‘Really, I couldn’t impose on your generosity.’
‘Nonsense. You must and you will, for I cannot have my companion looking as if she is underpaid. People will think me a nip-farthing and that I cannot allow.’
‘People?’
‘Well, there are bound to be callers now we have put off black gloves. And morning calls when you are up to snuff.’
The look on Rose’s face said she thought that would never happen. He wanted to grin at her, or chuck her under the chin; instead he simply nodded his agreement.
Grandmama turned on him with a sly smile and a gleam in her eye. ‘It is certainly time the new Duke took up that side of his duties. He needs to find a bride.’
Jacob’s stomach sank to his shoes. Blast the woman. He’d been hoist by his own petard. But he could see from his grandmother’s determined expression that if he wanted to haul Rose out of that dreadful slum, he was going to have to bow to his grandmother’s wishes in this matter. He should have guessed she’d turn matters to her own advantage.
He became aware of Rose watching him with an air of hope. Hope he would turn his grandmother down, no doubt.
‘I shall look forward to it.’
* * *
Warily Rose edged into the stables at the back of the house and passed the first stall. The beast with its head hanging over the halfdoor was enormous. Terrifying. It rolled its brown eyes and blew a hay-scented breath in her direction. Where was the blasted man?
These past few days had moved far too fast for Rose’s comprehension. Her Grace had swept her along on a tide of dressmakers, milliners and hairdressers, not to mention shoemakers and assorted other tradesmen indispensable to the companion of a duchess. The worst part of it all was not understanding why Westmoor, as she was now to call him, really wanted her to take this position. Nor why a footman followed her all the while like a lost puppy, making privacy impossible.
When she had tried to send the young man about his business, he had looked anxious. Her Grace’s orders, he had said. In case she became lost.
Only until she knew her way about, Her Grace had informed her, when she had asked. For example, did she know she was not to visit a gentleman alone? Should a lady ever, even by chance, you understand, be alone with a gentleman, then the door was to remain open at all times with a footman hovering a few feet away.
As if she was some sort of lady.
Finally, she had tracked the Duke down. After seeing him from her chamber window return from his morning ride, she had slipped out of the house by the side door and made her way to the stables.
She inched past the hind end of another large animal, this one nosing around in its manger. To her relief, the next stall contained the man she sought. She blinked. Busy grooming a horse, he had not noticed her presence and she paused, not sure if she dared interrupt. She’d heard much about the eccentricities of the nobility, but this menial work seemed a little odd, even for a duke who owned the most disreputable gentleman’s club in London.
Coatless, with his shirtsleeves rolled up to the elbows displaying strong forearms dusted with dark hair, she had an excellent perspective of a pair of broad shoulders displayed to advantage. And a delicious view of a muscular rear end as he brushed the horse’s glossy brown coat with long sweeping motions. Her insides clenched. Warmth suffused her skin.
She ought to close her eyes or turn away, she really ought, but she stood silently burning up inside, watching the elegant strength of him. Longing crept through her, as it did every time she encountered this man, despite the way he kept his distance.
The way she felt around him did not seem to lessen with familiarity, either. The more she saw of him, the more attractive she found him. Never before had she been so tempted by a man. It was the reason for her need to speak with him. To hand in her notice. She had to leave before she was overcome by desire.
Thank heavens he was not the least affected by her presence. When he noticed her at all, he seemed coolly amused.
The thought gave her courage.
‘Your Grace?’ It came out more of a whisper than actual words. She swallowed the dryness and tried again. Louder. ‘Your Grace.’
He swung around, his eyebrows climbing to hide beneath the lock of dark hair that had fallen forward over his forehead. Something flashed in his eyes, gone too fast for her to be sure what it meant. The sweat trickling from his temple and trailing down his cheek riveted her attention. A sudden urge to taste that trail with her tongue stole her breath and left her speechless.
‘Miss Nightingale.’ His dark brows crashed down. ‘What are you doing out here?’ He seemed to be looking around for someone else. ‘You should not be out here alone.’
The horse stamped an enormous hoof and she leapt backwards.
He patted the animal. ‘Steady, boy,’ he said gently, soothingly. ‘You’ll get your turn. Right now we have a guest.’
He gave her an encouraging smile, causing dimples to appear each side of his mouth, and her stomach to flutter. ‘Old Sev, here, thinks I should be paying attention to him, instead of talking to you.’
She steeled herself against his charm. ‘If you hide from him, the way you hide from me, it is no wonder.’
The frown returned. ‘I do not hide from you, Miss Nightingale. I see you at dinner when I am home. And in the drawing room afterwards. I very much enjoyed your reading from Gray’s “Elegy” the other evening.’
Right. He’d enjoyed it so much he’d bid them goodnight after half an hour. ‘I mean, we have not had an opportunity to speak privately.’
His lips thinned. ‘Nor should we. As my grandmother’s companion—’
‘That is precisely what I wanted to talk to you about.’
He looked puzzled and perhaps even a little angry, or was it something else she saw reflected in his gaze? ‘Is there a problem? The servants lacking in respect? If so—’
‘No, no. Everyone has been most kind.’ Extraordinarily respectful, in fact. As if she was some sort of duchess. Honestly? The only thing making her uncomfortable was him. Knowing he was there in the house, sensing his presence and feeling the disturbing need to seek him out as if there was more between them than employee and employer.
There wasn’t. There could not be. Yet no matter how often she told herself not to think about him, her mind kept going back to his kiss until she could barely sleep of a night. Taking this position had been a very bad idea indeed. The last thing she needed was to be led astray by a nobleman. She knew where that would lead.
He grimaced, put the brush down on the top of the rail and wiped off his hands on a rag. ‘Something is troubling you, Miss Nightingale, for you to seek me out here.’
He left the stall to loom over her. A half-step back and she was up against the central pillar. A snuffling from behind her made her jump and look around at yet another great beast observing her over the top of a half-door.
Westmoor put out steadying hand. A brief warm clasp on her elbow that sent hot shivers racing over her skin. She tried to ignore the reaction.
‘Steady on.’ He spoke in much the same tones as he had used on his horse. ‘They wouldn’t hurt you even if they weren’t all safely gated and barred.’
She inhaled a deep breath. Tried for calm. All she succeeded in doing was breathing in the scent of horses and him. The spicy scent of his cologne overlaid with the clean sweat scent of a male engaged in hard physical labour. A man who bathed regularly, ran a dukedom, yet took pleasure in grooming his own horse.
She gripped her hands together. ‘I want my old job back.’
Please let me go back.
* * *
Normally, Jake would have been far from pleased at being interrupted. The stable was one of the few places people left him alone. Gave him space to himself and his thoughts. His initial delight at seeing Rose in what he considered his domain had taken him aback. He’d been certain the distance he had created between them had solved the problem of his fascination. After all, a gentleman did not importune the females living under his roof.
He stared at her face, at the determination reflected in her eyes and her hands clasped tightly at her waist. He had no wish to keep her here against her will, but nor could he abide the thought of her returning to Vitium et Virtus or her old lodgings. ‘You would really prefer to go back to scrubbing floors and living in that dreadful building rife with rats and dirt and surrounded by thieves and vagabonds than work for my grandmother?’
She stiffened as if insulted. ‘There were no rats in my room.’
She had avoided his question. He moved a step closer. She had nowhere to go given the horse behind her. A suspicion arose in his breast. ‘Is it my grandmother? Has she been too outspoken? Too testy? She’s not the most patient person. Too used to getting her own way. Shall I speak to her for you?’
‘Your grandmother is the soul of patience.’ She gazed at him with pain in her eyes. ‘But I feel like such a fraud. She has to explain the simplest things. A real lady would know these things.’
This was reason for her anxiety? ‘I am sure she is only trying to be helpful.’ He saw from the way she recoiled this had not helped. He shrugged. ‘You catch on very quickly.’ That did not seem to help, either.
He reined in his anger at the idea she wanted to leave and called upon reason. ‘My dear girl, your fears are unfounded. A woman does not need a title to be considered a lady. I promise you no one would mistake you for anything else.’
She did not look in the slightest convinced.
‘And besides, you can’t leave, not when, for the first time in months, Grandmother is acting more like her old self. It is you who has wrought this change. It is not only your help she needs, I realise now, it is your company. She was lonely.’
Her eyes widened a fraction and for a second he saw a crack in her determination. She shook her head. ‘Surely when your sister arrives—’
If only it were so. ‘Eleanor will stay for a short time only and then Grandmama will be alone again.’
Rose gave him a look filled with suspicion. ‘Could you not prevail upon her—?’
‘No.’ He stiffened, realising he was about to be rude when he wanted to be conciliatory. He knew he was overly defensive where his sister was concerned, but he feared he had said more than he should. ‘I beg your pardon. Eleanor would not brook my interference in her life. Nor could I lay my duty on her shoulders. She has enough—’ He shook his head at the urge to unburden himself about his sister. These were his concerns and not to be shared. ‘My sister’s business is—’ Damn it all, now he was being rude.
‘None of mine,’ she finished. ‘You don’t have to mince words with me, Your Grace. But what will she think about the likes of me currying favour with your grandma when she arrives?’
‘I can assure you Eleanor will be as glad to see Grandmama come out of the doldrums as I am.’
She shook her head. ‘It isn’t right. Just look at this gown.’
‘You look...’ He stumbled over his choice of words. She looked divine in primrose yellow. The gown skimmed her lovely figure, emphasising her curves, without being immodest, and brought out the amazing light green of her eyes. They had a gold sunburst in the centre, he realised. Her blonde hair, professionally cut and coiffed, framed her face, enhancing her beauty. ‘You look perfectly acceptable to me,’ he temporised, not wishing her to take umbrage. He might as well have not bothered judging by her glower.
‘Fine feathers do not fine birds make and it will take every bit of my wages to pay for it.’ Her eyes glistened with moisture. She blinked it away.
His heart sank at the sight of her misery. ‘Rose.’ He wanted to hit something. ‘The gown is a gift from my grandmama. Would you hurt her feelings and throw it back in her face?’
She shook her head. ‘No,’ she whispered. ‘I just want to go back to the life I know.’
He leaned his forearm on the pillar, gazing into those worried green eyes, certain she was keeping something back. ‘Tell me what is really troubling you.’
She swallowed the lump in her throat. ‘Your grandma is talking about taking me with her to call on proper ladies. I am sure to put her to shame and then what?’
‘Nonsense. You are making a mountain of a molehill. Nothing could be simpler.’
‘To you, maybe. You were born into it.’ Panic threaded through her voice.
A feeling of triumph went through him. Finally he had discovered the source of her worry. For this he had the perfect answer. ‘Then I will go with you and make sure you do not make any fatal mistakes.’ Though it would be a risky business spending too much time in Rose’s company, for she offered far too much temptation. Hopefully his presence nearby would be enough to steady her, for it would not do to pay her too much attention with the old biddies looking on.
‘She accepted an invitation to a Venetian Breakfast at Greenwich.’
He flinched.
Her expression turned to one of satisfaction. As if she knew she’d played a trump and won the trick. Well, he would not allow it. ‘All the more reason for you to accompany her. If Eleanor were here, she would not go. It will be the first gathering Grandmama has attended since—’ He took a deep breath. ‘Since I came into the title. I must certainly go along and both she and I would be most grateful if you would agree to bear her company.’
She stared at him as if nonplussed. ‘Grateful?’
‘It will be hard on Grandmama, Rose. There will be condolences and sympathy. She will need your support as well as mine, for I cannot be at her side at all times.’
Her shoulders slumped. The urge to kiss away her fears was overwhelming. Especially since there was no one about to see.
‘It is nothing to worry about, I assure you,’ he said instead. ‘A few old dowds and their menfolk having a picnic beside the river. I’ll see you through it.’
‘You promise?’ she said grudgingly. She grimaced. ‘It would please your grandma to have your escort, for sure. She worries that you are becoming reclusive.’
He felt distinctly disappointed that she had not said it would please her to have him along. ‘It is my duty to escort you both.’
Her gaze slid away. ‘Very well, I will stay, but only until she finds someone better. More suitable.’ She narrowed her eyes. ‘And you must promise me you will look for such a person.’
She really didn’t trust him. Or was it men in general she didn’t trust? Trust was something a man had to earn. He certainly hadn’t earned his father’s. Yet he was not prepared to give in on this. Not yet. ‘Let me offer you a compromise. If you are still of the same mind in four weeks, I shall not put forth another objection to your departure. I will guarantee you your old job back and will pay you everything I promised. But please, for my grandmother’s sake, give this opportunity a fair chance.’
She swallowed.
The salary he had offered her as a companion was more than she could earn in five years at the V&V and had been out-and-out bribery, but he didn’t care. One of the few privileges of being a duke was getting what you wanted.
‘Well?’ he said.
Slowly she nodded. ‘Three weeks more then, since I have already almost completed the first week.’
He stopped himself from laughing at her audacity. Damn, but he liked her spirit. ‘It is not exactly a prison sentence, you know.’ He put up a hand to prevent her from saying another word. ‘All right. Three more weeks.’
He stuck out a hand. She clasped it, as if intending to shake on their agreement. Instead, he brought it to his lips and pressed a fleeting kiss to her knuckles. Her little shiver heated his blood. She was not as indifferent to him as she pretended. A heady blood-stirring thought he did not need.
Yet, unable to resist, he flashed her a charming grin. ‘I will see you at dinner, Miss Nightingale, where we shall discuss which invitations we shall answer in the affirmative.’
‘Affirmative?’
‘Those to which we shall say yes.’
Her eyes widened for a second, but nodded. ‘At dinner.’ With wary glances at the horses, and a less-than-happy expression, she left as quietly as she had arrived.
He frowned. Was he being purely selfish in encouraging her to stay? Hardly. Being constantly in Rose’s company and unable to do more than be polite would be hellish.
This was for his grandmother’s sake. Nothing more.
So why was he now looking forward to the dinner hour more than he had in weeks?