Chapter Five
Chin pointed ceilingwards to permit the placing of an emerald in his cravat, an emerald much darker than the colour of Rose’s light green eyes, Jake became aware of a strange sound issuing from his valet.
‘Are you humming, Clacket?’
The sound stopped. ‘I believe I am, Your Grace. I beg your pardon.’ Clacket stepped back to admire his handiwork, his brown eyes bright in his round baby face.
‘And what has you lifting your voice in joy, may I ask?’
Jake felt a bit like humming himself, which was odd. It was only dinner, but the prospect of sharing a meal with Rose always lifted his spirits and without the aid of brandy.
‘Joy, Your Grace?’ Creases formed between sandy brows. ‘I supposed I am somewhat pleased. After all, it is the very heart and soul of a gentleman’s gentleman to see his gentleman departing from his care well turned out. It has been a while since Your Grace has taken much of an interest in his appearance.’
And tonight he had permitted the man to trim his hair and shave him clean before dinner. ‘So you deem me well turned out?’
Clacket pursed his lips and brushed a hand across Jacob’s shoulder as if to smooth the material. ‘Reasonably, Your Grace. Perhaps we might ask for a slightly better fit of the coat, but it would be nothing to take a seam in here or there, the coat being a little less snug than was your wont in the past, but otherwise...’
The coat was a little loose. Before the accident, Clacket would have struggled to get the coat on him. It had fitted like a second skin, as fashion demanded. Now, he slipped it on with ease. He must have lost weight. He frowned at himself in the pier glass. He’d dropped a stone at least. And he looked paler than normal. When and how had that occurred?
He was also hungry. It seemed his appetite had returned with a vengeance. Or was it simply that he was looking forward to crossing verbal swords with Rose? He had no doubt she would fight him every step of the way, when she realised just how many invitations he planned his grandmother would accept.
Invitations that six months ago he would have scorned as being a bore, given as how they tended to be small family affairs for those left in town over the summer. Card parties, the odd musical evening, or picnic, as well as the obligatory morning visits his grandmother deemed essential to a man seeking a wife.
Not that he was. Not yet. He wasn’t ready to tread the path to the altar. But he was ready to get back on the social horse. To show his face in polite society on a regular basis. He’d not been to a single event since he’d thrown the ball for Fred and Georgiana. And curse any of them who muttered behind his back about his culpability. Or about Rose.
Indeed, the best part of it all would be escorting Rose to those events. He could not help but wonder what she would make of it all and was secretly looking forward to hearing her candid opinions.
Perhaps all the gadding about would also help him sleep. Clacket finished inserting his diamond shirt buttons and began the task of tidying up.
Humming under his breath, Jake went down to the drawing room to await the ladies of the house.
Oliver joined him a few minutes later. His friend eyed him up and down. ‘You are looking better than the last time I saw you.’
‘You are not.’ His friend looked rather harried.
‘Why the urgent note to come to dinner?’
‘I need your help.’
Oliver eyed him askance. ‘Spit it out, man.’
‘I have a young cousin up from the country. She’s agreed to act as companion to my grandmother, but she needs a bit of town bronze. A formal dinner will bolster her confidence before we set out into the shark-infested waters of the ton.’
‘Trying to pass a country bumpkin off on to the ton? Can’t be done, old fellow. Sorry. They will spot her a mile off.’
He hadn’t. ‘I’ll trust your judgement on that after you have met her, but I am sure Grandmama or I can help her over any rough spots.’
‘Like a horse? Of all the queer starts you’ve ever had, Westmoor, this takes the cake, I must say, but I’m happy to spend an hour or so with Her Grace. She’s a good old stick and has always been cordial.’ His eyes gleamed. ‘Besides, if you are going to poke a stick in the ton’s eye, I don’t mind being part of the action.’
Not everyone was forgiving of Oliver’s background. As a boy he had taken great pains to never give them an opportunity to criticise him by maintaining the highest standards of good breeding. He would know if Rose was ready to face the ton and would not hesitate to say if she was not. ‘I will abide by your opinion.’ He poured them each a glass of sherry.
Oliver sipped his and nodded his approval. ‘Nice vintage.’ He turned as the door opened to admit the ladies and bowed. ‘Your Grace.’
‘Oliver. How lovely of you to join us,’ Grandmama said. ‘Miss Nightingale, let me make Mr Oliver Gregory known to you. He is a good friend of my grandson’s.’
Rose curtsied the perfect depth for a non-titled gentleman. Grandmama had obviously started the task of moulding Rose into shape. She didn’t want Rose to suffer embarrassment any more than he did.
‘Can I pour you a sherry, Grandmama? Rose?’ Jake asked.
‘Miss Nightingale does not imbibe, Jake. But I will take a glass.’
‘Perhaps some ratafia, or orgeat, Miss Nightingale,’ Oliver said. While his expression was bland, Jake had no doubt he was inspecting her from her head to her heels and his tone indicated he was not displeased with what he saw.
‘Thank you,’ Rose said. Her smile was a little too warm for Jacob’s taste. He forbore from saying so, but once she had her drink in hand he drew her towards the window and left Oliver catching up on gossip with his grandmother.
‘When you reply yes to a gentleman you can be a little more haughty,’ he said. ‘No need to look as if he has offered you a special gift when he is simply doing his gentlemanly duty.’
‘Sorry.’
‘And no need to apologise for anything. A lady is always right. About most things anyway. Under the right circumstances.’
She frowned. ‘I have no idea what you mean.’
And no wonder. He scarcely understood himself. Blast it. He had to stop thinking of her as his lady in red. She was now a female under his protection. Out of bounds. Was that not half the reason he had offered her the position in the first place? The other half, the need to protect her, was an aberration he must ignore. ‘Never mind. You’ll get the hang of it.’
The butler announced dinner and Oliver went ahead with his grandmother, while Jake brought Rose in on his arm.
Arm in arm they watched while Oliver demonstrated how to seat a lady and Grandmother demonstrated how a lady took her seat. Standing there with her on his arm, a strange sense of comfort filled him. Mentally he shook his head and held out Rose’s chair. She accomplished the whole sitting down in skirts to the manner born. He felt an odd sense of pride at her elegance and style. As if he’d had something to do with it. It was all Rose herself. He had been foolish to worry about such a simple thing.
* * *
The rest of the meal was taken up with polite conversation and Jake desperately trying not to bash Oliver on the nose when he flirted with Rose—all in the cause of helping her get some polish, damn him.
By the time they partook of dessert, Rose was flagging. Her eyes were shadowed by effort and her smile strained.
‘And now we ladies will retire for tea,’ Grandmother said with a kind smile for her charge. ‘We will leave these gentleman to their port. Will you be joining us in the drawing room later, Oliver?’
‘I greatly beg your indulgence, Your Grace, but I have a previous engagement elsewhere for the rest of the evening.’ He rose and came around to help Grandmama rise. Jake did the same for Rose.
Oliver bowed over Rose’s hand. ‘A pleasure to meet you, Miss Nightingale. I hope I have the felicitation of meeting you again.’
Rose frowned for a second as if puzzling out his meaning, then smiled her sweet lovely smile that had Jake once more wanting to shove the far-too-handsome Oliver out of the room.
Rose dipped a little curtsy. ‘If you are going to Lady Dearbourne’s Venetian Breakfast you will indeed be felicitated.’
Oliver’s eyes danced. ‘I would not miss it for the world.’
Rose followed his grandmother out of the room.
When the door closed behind them, Jake turned to Oliver. ‘Well, what do you think?’
Oliver gave him a hard look. ‘I think she is a delightful young woman. I have only one doubt.’
Jake tensed, concerned she had not passed muster in his friend’s eyes. ‘And that is?’
‘Your intentions. Are you toying with that sweet innocent female?’
He bridled. ‘Certainly not.’
‘Good,’ Oliver grunted. ‘I saw the way she looked at you. Don’t break her heart.’
Jake bristled.
Oliver cut him off. ‘I really must go, old chap. By the way, my visit to the Club Plaisirs Nocturnes in Paris provided some novel ideas.’
‘Thinking of bringing them to Vitium et Virtus?’
‘I am. We are losing custom.’
‘Boredom setting in. I’m bored with it myself. Not to mention up to my ears in work for the Duchy. Perhaps we should divest ourselves of it.
Oliver grimaced. ‘I’d hate for Nicholas to come back expecting it to be here and...’
It always came back to the same thing. Their hope, forlorn though it was, that Nicholas would return. ‘You are right. We should probably wait.’
A bit of a pall descended on them as Nicholas’s ghost intruded. They’d kept it going in his memory after all.
Jake saw Oliver out and climbed the stairs to the drawing room. Only when he reached the top step did he realise he had left his port untouched in his eagerness to join the ladies. Or one particularly lady.
Damn it.
* * *
Rose lay in bed, looking up at the canopy. Blue silk, no less. How on earth had this happened? When would she wake up and discover it was all a dream?
Nightmare more like. Women like her did not end up under the roof of a gentleman for no good reason. Though his stated reason was for the sake of his grandmother, how could she believe him?
A strange uncomfortable feeling in the pit of her stomach made her roll over on to her side.
Moonlight poked fingers of light through the gaps in the curtain, casting strange shadows in unexpected places and forming bars of brightness across the counterpane.
Sleep seemed further away than ever. She should have brought the book of sermons she’d been reading to Her Grace. She’d been desperately trying not to yawn then, and Her Grace had actually dropped off for a minute or two. Bless the poor old dear, she’d had a very busy day.
Perhaps she should go and fetch the book from the drawing room. Another dose of that would surely have her eyes closing in no time.
Better yet would be a book she would actually enjoy reading. The house boasted a library. Her Grace had pointed it out, but they had never gone in there. Since Her Grace had a store of books in her chambers, there was no need to seek out more. Yet all of them were exceedingly dull.
Feeling too warm for comfort, Rose clambered out of bed and poured a glass of water from the jug on the nightstand. As she sipped she walked to the window and looked out.
The last time she had looked out she had seen the Duke heading out, probably to the V&V in pursuit of more manly entertainments than listening to her read to a sleepy grandmother.
She hated the idea of him going to the club.
There were girls there who would—she pushed the thought aside as an image of Flo came into her mind. She had sent Flo a note saying she’d found employment elsewhere, but little more by way of an explanation, which made her feel guilty and sad. Flo would miss her, she was sure, when no one else gave a fig for what became of her.
Somehow she would find a way to meet her friend and tell her the full story. One day.
She headed back for the bed, then changed her mind. There was no point in tossing and turning for hours. She’d get a book or two from the library and read until she fell asleep.
Another wonderful indulgence of this new life of hers. Books. Hundreds of them.
She pulled on her dressing gown, lit her bedside candle from the one in the sconces outside her door and headed downstairs.
The library was in the other wing. Passing through the dimly lit grand entrance hall, she was surprised at the lack of a footman on duty at the front door since His Grace had gone out.
Perhaps he had his own key.
The corridor to the rooms on the west wing’s ground floor ended at the library, if she recalled correctly. She pushed open one of the great double doors and was delighted to see shelf upon shelf of books lining the walls in highly polished glass-fronted shelves. She lifted her candle to better see the titles.
At a sound her heart gave a hard thump. Her breath caught in her throat. She whirled around.
‘Your Grace,’ she gasped.
Chin resting on his palm, he stared at her from behind a table piled high with ledgers. His shirtsleeves glowed a startling white in the light of the moon coming through the window as he rose to his feet. ‘Rose.’
So intent on her task, she hadn’t seen him on the other side of the room. ‘Why are you sitting in the dark?’
He made a soft sound and arched his back in a stretch. ‘The candle must have gone out.’ He sounded surprised. ‘I must have nodded off.’
She drew closer. ‘You were working? I thought you left the house after dinner.’
‘Keeping track of my movements, Miss Nightingale?’ Now his voice sounded frosty.
‘Not especially. You do pass right beneath my window on your way to the stables. I happened to be looking out when you headed that way.’
‘I beg your pardon. You did indeed see me. I had intended to go...to go...well, out, but I changed my mind.’
She couldn’t stop the glad little feeling that lifted her heart a fraction. ‘What are you working on?’
He dragged his gaze from her face to the papers and account books. ‘This month’s reports from various properties and tenancies the Duchy owns.’
‘Do you not have employees to do that sort of thing?’
He nodded and a small smile curved his lips. ‘I do, but they are employees. It is important to check their work from time to time.’
As the housekeeper always checked the maid’s work once a day to make sure no one was shirking their duties.
‘And what brings you to my office in the middle of the night?’
His office? ‘I was told this was the library.’
He shrugged and glanced around. ‘It is more comfortable than the estate office where my man of business and my secretary are in and out all the time. Here, I can work without interruption.’
Unless someone like her started prowling around at night. He didn’t say it, but she could imagine the words coming from his mouth without any difficulty.
‘I should go.’
‘Please don’t. You came for a book. Perhaps I can help you find one.’
She gazed longingly at the lovely full shelves. ‘I didn’t expect quite so many to choose from. I am not even sure where to start. I’ll come back another time.’
‘I insist you take something with you.’ He came around to her side of the desk. He lit his candle from hers. ‘What did you have in mind?’
He was so tall.
And his shadow danced across the books, stretching up to the ceiling the closer he came. The scent of his cologne filled her nostrils. The warmth of his body penetrated her flimsy robe.
A small shiver passed down her spine. Not fear, but something altogether different. Pleasurable. She forced her mind to focus on their conversation. ‘Something other than the books of sermons your grandmother enjoys.’
He smiled slightly. ‘We have all kinds of books. Travelogues. Atlases. Flora and fauna. The Farmer’s Almanac. La Belle Assemblée. Or if you would like something a little more entertaining, there are novels by Walter Scott or Fielding.’
She forced herself to listen to his words, rather than the dark and delicious cadence of his voice that seemed to beckon her closer. With some effort she kept her distance as he wandered the shelves naming the various works. So many books. She had no idea where to start.
‘Of course there is always dear old Hannah More, if you feel in need of a bit of moral uplifting.’
‘“Forgiveness is the economy of the heart...forgiveness saves the expense of anger, the cost of hatred, the waste of spirits,”’ she quoted and chuckled ruefully. ‘I have read lots of her work,’ she said. ‘They provided them at the—’ She cut herself off. Her Grace had told her never again to mention the Foundling Hospital.
‘It’s all right, Rose. You don’t have to pretend with me.’
‘I shouldn’t have to pretend at all.’
* * *
Jake did his absolute best not to look at Rose’s sumptuous figure wrapped about in a lace so sheer he was sure as she entered the room he had seen... No, he was not going to think about it. He was a gentleman. She’d given him her trust.
Even as he quelled the urge to stroke a finger down the rope of plaited hair lying over her left shoulder and breast, he could not prevent himself from inhaling the scent of lavender from her evening ablutions rising from the warmth of her body,
That was too much to ask of any man. Especially with a woman as attractive as Rose. In the light of their candles, her skin had a translucent quality. Like very fine china with a light behind it, yet the glow was all her own.
He would not give in to his urges.
He hoped.
For that would be a betrayal.
‘Are you in the mood for entertainment or sleep?’ he asked, forcing himself to focus.
‘Oh, something of each, I think.’ She smiled. The pretty curve of her lips took her face from merely lovely to beautiful, the gold in her eyes seeming to reflect candlelight. ‘I am not being very helpful. And I certainly do not wish to disturb you at your work. I really did think you were out.’
‘No matter.’ He had gone to the stables, found all there asleep including his horse and come back again. Restless, he had decided to work on some of the paperwork he had not got to during the day.
For a moment he thought he was dreaming when Rose floated in, for he had dreamed of her more than once. Dreamed of kissing her.
But a gentleman did not kiss a lady companion.
‘I decided my time would be better employed going through one more ledger before I retired.’
She glanced at the desk. At the brandy decanter and the empty glass. Her gaze skittered away. ‘Your grandmother worries about the hours you spend working.’
He grimaced, putting distance between them, as much for his own sake as hers. ‘I have a great deal to learn and not much time to do it.’ If the Duchy wasn’t to end up in a great deal of debt. His father had worked equally hard, but Jake was fast coming to realise that his father did not have much of a head for business. He had simply followed the methods his own father had employed.
Methods that were no longer working as well as they had once done.
Each year the income had declined and each year it had declined more than the year before. There were improvements that needed making, in farming, in buildings, in husbandry. All of which took money. And the coffers, while not empty, were not up to the task, either.
Rose wandered the shelves, cocking her head from time to time to read a spine that caught her eye. The wall opposite the windows did not contain any cabinets, because of the fireplace. As she walked past it, she glanced up at the portrait covered in black crepe above the mantel and then over at him with sympathy in her gaze.
‘Another picture of your family?’
Grandmother must have told her about the one in the drawing room. ‘My mother. My father couldn’t bear to look at it.’
Understanding filled her face. ‘Your father and brother were killed in an accident, your grandmother said.’
He stiffened. So Grandmother had gone into detail. He wondered what more she had said. Whether she had spoken of who should really have been in the carriage with Father that night.
The coldness he’d felt when he learned of the accident rose up like a fog. Surrounding him. Chilling him to the bone. Guilt pressed down on his shoulders. He turned away, headed for his desk. Pushed papers around. Aware of her watching him. Aware of her sympathy.
‘You miss them,’ she said. Not a question.
Yet for some reason he could not quite fathom, he answered, ‘Like the very devil.’ He closed his eyes. ‘I beg your pardon.’
‘It is all right, Your Grace,’ she said, her voice soft but clear in the silence. ‘You don’t have to pretend around me, either.’
He shouldn’t have to pretend at all.
A moment later she was by his side, slipping her arm around his waist, leaning a cheek against his shoulder and giving him a squeeze. Never in his life had he felt such comfort. He brushed his lips against her temple, felt the beat of her heart against his ribs and knew without a doubt this was a supremely bad idea.
As they turned towards each other she tipped up her face. She was a petite woman, barely coming up to his shoulder, and while robust, there was a fragility about her. Perhaps that was the reason he felt such a need to protect her from her world.
A heartbeat later, their lips met and he wasn’t thinking at all.
He was feeling. Relishing the soft curves pressed against his chest. Enjoying the way her waist dipped beneath her ribs as his hand roamed her back. Tasting the honeyed sweetness of her mouth as their tongues tangled and danced.
A sweet sigh brushed against his cheek and she moved closer into his embrace until they melded into one.
He’d missed her kisses like the very devil, too. He just hadn’t let himself realise it. ‘Rose,’ he said, drawing back to look down into her face. ‘This is a bad idea.’
‘Yes,’ she agreed softly, moving not one inch and gazing at his mouth with a hunger that drove claws into his own need.
And when she lifted up on her toes to press her lips to his, he took what she offered.
* * *
To Rose, the sensation of being held remained a novel experience. Few people in her life had put their arms around her as far as she recalled. And only this man had ever embraced her with such gentle care. His touch seemed to reach into her very soul. And the way his kisses made her feel was heaven on earth.
A heaven she hadn’t known existed, or that it could be shared with another. Her body trembled and yearned and her heart seemed to want to pound itself free of her chest. She twined her arms around his neck, for support and because she wanted to touch him, too. The feel of his silky hair against her fingers was enchanting and wicked.
Pressed against his chest, her breasts felt full, heavy, sensitive, and the only thing between them was her night attire and his shirt. The heat of him through the fabric was lovely. His hands on her buttocks as he drew her close were firm yet gentle. No rough pawing and scrabbling, simply a closing of the distance between them in a way that made her melt helplessly against him, submitting to his strength.
The way he nibbled at her bottom lip sent a piercing sensation arrowing deep into her body. And when his tongue swept her mouth, hot shivers raced across her skin and between her thighs flutters and tiny pulses made her moan.
This was the delight between a man and a woman that the wardens at the Foundling Hospital had warned against. And that the girls at the V&V had whispered and giggled about. Why had she never understood?
Could anything so heart-stoppingly beautiful be evil? But this was only the beginning. The start. Against her belly, she felt the hard ridge of his arousal. The male flesh that, when joined with the female, made babies.
Something that ought only to happen between wife and husband, if those babies were not to be cast out unwanted and alone.
Before, when she’d thought he was going to ask her to be his mistress, she’d fled. Now held in his embrace, his kisses made her weak, needy and full of a longing she was not sure she had the strength to resist after all.
For long moments she let herself whirl in the maelstrom of sensations, heat, jolts of tension and tingles in nameless places. But this man was a duke who needed to marry and get himself sons. Over and over his grandmother had talked of his wedding with such wistfulness it pained Rose to hear it.
While he might enjoy dallying with her—indeed, it was clear the enjoyment was mutual—he could never marry a foundling. A bastard without a name. He would marry someone of his own class. A noble girl with noble connections.
And if she let this thing happen now, between them, he would eventually cast her off, as he had cast off many before her according to her friends at the V&V. She’d paid close attention to the gossip after their dance. She’d learned about his mistresses and what he gave them when he bid them farewell.
None of his women had ever complained about his generosity, according to the girls, and none had ever lasted more than a year. She might not be worldly, but she knew what happened to those women. Ultimately they ended up in places like the V&V, plying their trade.
She’d sworn she would never tread that particular road even if she was starving. Yet here she was very close to...
She broke their kiss. ‘Your Grace,’ she pleaded.
The haziness in his gaze dissipated in a flash of understanding. He straightened, his lovely blue eyes full of regret. Gently, reluctantly, he held her arms firmly in his hands, as if he sensed her weakness, and stepped back with a grave smile. ‘Choose as many books as you like. I will see you in the morning.’ He left without a backward glance.
Rose watched him leave with a heavy heart. Knowing he had more sense than she did, more control, did not help settle the unsteady beating of her heart, or the sense of loss as he left. Not in the least.
Nor the embarrassment curdling in her stomach.
By her boldness, her wantonness, she had ruined what should have been the simple offer of sympathy for a man who felt the loss of his family keenly.
Women in his class of society did not do things like comfort a man with a kiss. Nor did they wander the halls in the middle of the night dressed in their nightclothes. She had taken pride in having standards and yet she had succumbed to the first handsome man who had shown interest. She had let herself down. Flooded by the heat of mortification, she picked a book at random and returned to her room. She didn’t bother to open it, but simply blew out her candle and huddled beneath the covers.
Why, oh, why had she kissed him? Had what she had seen in his expression been regret or disgust? A painful certainty curled up in a tight hard ball in her chest. Whatever it was, an impetuous kiss had likely ruined her one chance to make more of her life.