Chapter Eight
To Rose’s relief, Jake had seen her and his grandmother into the town coach and had ridden on ahead. She wasn’t quite sure how she would have managed if he had travelled with them in the carriage. Awkward did not begin to describe the way she felt. It wasn’t that she regretted their lovemaking, exactly. It had been something beyond her girlish imaginations. Quite wonderful, in truth. But she did feel as if she had let herself down. She had always assumed she was far too smart to let her attraction for a man overcome her good sense. That she was no better than the mother she had blamed for her situation came as a disappointment.
In addition, she did not like the feeling of keeping secrets from his grandmother, who was regarding her intently. Not in an unfriendly way, more a sort of knowing glance, as if at any moment she might wink. Imagination, surely? Or a guilty conscience. Her Grace would probably toss her out on her ear if she so much as guessed what Rose and Jake had been up to.
Not Jake. His Grace. Using his name would be a terrible slip in public. Besides, it had all ended rather badly, so it wasn’t as if it would continue. If only she hadn’t made such a stupid comment. Of course he hadn’t dreamed of being a duke. Still, there was no reason for him to get so stuffy about it. She hadn’t meant anything by it. She could only hope he wasn’t regretting offering her this position.
A feeling of excitement took up residence in her stomach as the carriage turned into the drive. Her Grace had tried to explain what a Venetian Breakfast entailed and it sounded like it might be fun. She would just have to be careful what she said and did and not make any more silly mistakes where Jake was concerned.
He was waiting to greet them when the carriage set them down at the front door and escorted them around the side of the house. The Marquis and Marchioness of Dearbourne met them on the terrace and directed them to lawns that sloped down to the River Thames at the back of the house where the guests were assembling.
The scent of late-summer roses swirled around them. Bunting fluttered from bushes and poles in the light breeze on what had turned out to be a day of blue skies and a few puffy clouds.
The drive had been a scant five miles from the ducal town house to Dearbourne Villa, but Rose, despite her misgivings, had enjoyed every moment. It was the first time in her life she had been what she thought of as out in the country, though Her Grace had assured her this was, by most, considered as an extension of London. Why, the old lady had exclaimed, they were going nowhere near as far as Windsor.
The villa was not as grand as the Duke’s mansion, but it was no paltry affair, either. It had the look of a fairy castle, in fact. Pennants flew at the top of turrets and one could almost imagine armed knights standing on the tops of walls decorated with crenulations.
Since Jake had very properly taken his grandmother’s arm, Rose was free to wander along behind them taking in the sights. There were tables set out in the shade of trees that clustered at the edge of a field that the Marchioness had called the lawn. There were also open-sided tents in bright colours, providing shade and seats as well as blankets for those who liked to sit on the ground.
Some of the tents shaded tables full of bottles and glasses, while footmen and maids strolled among the guests, looking dreadfully hot, offering trays of full glasses or carting away the empty ones.
Rose could not help feeling sorry for those servants and their heavy clothing in the summer heat, while the ladies were in the lightest of muslins. Some of the gentlemen lounging on the blankets had stripped down to their shirts and waistcoats.
Al fresco. Rose savoured the exotic Italian words.
Jake organised a chair for his grandmother beneath one of the canopies and offered Rose the one beside her. Instead, she took one to the rear and shook her head when he looked as if he might argue with her choice. She leaned forward to murmur in the Dowager Duchess’s ear, ‘Is there anything you need, Your Grace?’
‘A glass of champagne wouldn’t go amiss.’
Jake grinned. ‘Leave that to me.’
He strode off, looking every inch the nobleman. Utterly gorgeous. Rose hoped her face didn’t betray her thoughts. She fixed her gaze on her hands. The last thing she wanted to do was draw attention to her feelings about him. ‘Do you need your shawl, Your Grace? Out of the sun, you might find the breeze a little cool.’
‘Not at the moment, my dear, but thank you for your kind thought.’ She gestured with her cane at some ladies and gentlemen wandering around with what looked like mallets. ‘Have you ever played pall mall?’
‘I have not, Your Grace.’
‘You should try it. It is all kinds of fun.’
Rose frowned as one of the gentlemen put his hands around a lady to help guide her mallet as she swiped at the ball. Games. When did a maid have time for such games? Or an orphan for that matter?
The Duke returned with a waiter bearing several glasses. He handed one to Her Grace, then attempted to offer one to her. ‘No, thank you.’
‘Try it,’ Her Grace said with an encouraging smile. ‘You will find it refreshing.’
‘I prefer not,’ she said, surprised at the old lady’s warmth of tone.
‘Persuade her, Jacob,’ the old lady said.
Jake frowned. ‘Miss Nightingale must decide for herself.’ He sounded so aloof the chill of his voice sent a shiver down Rose’s back.
His grandmother frowned. ‘Jacob, really—’
He waved the waiter off as if he hadn’t heard. Of course he wouldn’t encourage his grandmother’s companion to indulge in strong spirits. It had been something they had complained about with regard to her predecessor. And as for his coldness in front of his grandmother, she was glad of it. The old lady saw too much. More than once she had asked Rose if she didn’t think her grandson a most handsome fellow.
He sipped at his drink, arranging himself beside his grandmother’s chair. Rose could not see his expression, but she could well imagine the aloof look on his face.
A few minutes later, the Marchioness bore down on them. With her was a young lady in a white sprig muslin. Glossy chestnut locks framed the girl’s oval-shaped face shaded by a wide-brimmed straw hat decorated with flowers. She looked lovely and fashionable. The trim on the hem of her gown, a festoon of lace held in scallops by pink silk roses, was gorgeous. The gown must have cost a fortune.
‘Your Grace, allow me to present my niece, Lady Alicia Pettigrew.’
The young lady curtsied deeply and batted her eyelashes at the Duke as she rose.
‘My lady,’ Jake said coolly.
Her lips curved in a friendly smile. ‘How lovely to meet you, again, Your Grace.’
She had a slight lisp and spoke in little more than a whisper.
He blinked as if trying to recall her. ‘Indeed. Delightful.’
‘This is my companion, Miss Rose Nightingale,’ Her Grace said into the uncomfortable pause.
The young lady nodded and Rose inclined her head in acknowledgement of the other’s superior status.
‘Lady Alicia is seeking a partner for a game of pall mall, Your Grace,’ the Marchioness said pointedly.
‘It would be my pleasure,’ the Duke said, looking anything but pleased. He hesitated, glancing briefly at her, then set down his glass and held out his arm to Lady Alicia. ‘Shall we?’
It took great effort not to show any emotion. Indeed, she was not sure what emotion it was that made it hard to breathe and had her stomach twisting. Gladness that he had not asked her to join them?
‘Don’t they make a lovely couple?’ the Marchioness cooed.
Her Grace pursed her lips. ‘You might say that.’
The Marchioness looked affronted. ‘I do indeed. And she is very well connected, you know. I hope you will excuse me, Your Grace, more guests are arriving.’ She bustled off.
‘Do you think they make a lovely couple?’ Her Grace asked, watching her grandson with narrowed eyes. ‘I suppose he could do worse. The Pettigrews are a family almost as old as ours. Not to mention the gal has a considerable dowry.’
Was that hope in her voice? Rose gritted her teeth and ignored the clench of pain around her heart. Was Her Grace making a point? ‘She is lovely.’
‘Lovely.’ The old lady turned slightly in her seat with a strange smile on her face. ‘They do say beauty is in the eye of the beholder. There’s no accounting for people’s tastes.’
Did she like the match or did she not? Rose couldn’t make up her mind. Not that it was any of her concern. Except it was, because if Jake did decide on a lady to marry, Rose would not be remaining under his roof. She clenched her hands in her lap. She just couldn’t.
An elderly lady of enormous proportions wearing a turquoise dress and a wide-brimmed hat tottered over, waving her fan. ‘My word, Your Grace, it is warm today. How are you? I heard you were out in company again. About time, too.’
‘Sit, Elizabeth, and tell me your news,’ the Dowager Duchess said.
The woman collapsed on to the empty chair and dived into a discussion of people Rose had never heard of. Her gaze drifted off to the game of pall mall.
They did make a lovely couple. Rose wanted to take the mallet and bash Lady Alicia over the head with it.
The girl stumbled over what could not have been more than a pebble, or perhaps a worm cast. Rose glowered as Jake caught her before she fell to her knees and set her back on her feet. A trill of laughter wafted across the lawn to grate against Rose’s ear.
She could not bear to watch them, yet try as she might her gaze still wandered in that direction. He was her lover and while she accepted the fact that they could never be more...she certainly did not want to watch him flirt with another. It hurt.
She stared at her gloved hands gripped in her lap until there was a lull in the ladies’ conversation. ‘Is there anything I can get for you, Your Grace?’
‘Nothing at all, thank you, Miss Nightingale.’
‘Would you mind if I went for a short walk? I feel the need of some exercise.’ She needed to be as far from Jake and Lady Alicia as possible. At least until she got her emotions under control.
‘I do not see why not.’ The expression on the Duchess’s face held concern. Rose had the feeling the old lady knew why she needed to get away. Surely not? ‘Young people, always so restless,’ Her Grace said to her friend. ‘Stay within sight of the house, Rose,’ she added in a low voice. ‘And do not be gone too long. They are sure to serve food at any moment.’ Her Grace spoke louder. ‘Take your parasol. The sun is very bright today.’
Parasols and gloves and delicate little slippers not at all suited to walking conspired against anything but the daintiest steps, when she wanted to march off at great speed. As far away as possible if the truth were told. But she did not want to cause Her Grace any embarrassment, so she strolled towards the river. Fortunately the grass was dry and would not mire the hem of this very expensive gown. She shuddered every time she thought about the cost.
She wandered towards the bank. The Thames here was very different to the busy river running through the city. Here, there were boats, but none of the tall ships that docked south of London Bridge and none of the ferrymen shouting for custom. It smelled a great deal better, too. It was quiet and it was peaceful.
Slowly she began to calm. Seeing Jake with that other woman had been a painful tug on her heart, even though she had known it would happen. Perhaps she simply needed time to get used to the idea. After all, she was merely an employee. They could certainly never be more than lovers.
It wasn’t as if he’d made any promises. As someone abandoned as a baby, she knew better than to expect loyalty from anyone in her life, least of all a man. After all, only a woman lacking the support of a man would give up her child as her own mother had done. And while she might not be all that different to her mother when it came to Jake, she certainly was going to do her very best to ensure no unwanted children would result.
The day was too lovely for such dark thoughts. She took a deep breath. Tried to focus on her surroundings. The air here in the country smelled fresh, like a bouquet of flowers, and if this was not exactly the countryside, it was as close to it as she was ever likely to get.
And yet she couldn’t quite shake off her unhappiness or the need to avoid the company of those clearly enjoying the day.
* * *
When Jacob returned to his grandmother, after a very tedious forty-seven minutes with the vapid Lady Alicia, he was pleased to find her surrounded by a group of her cronies and having a grand conversation. Of Rose, however, there was no sign.
When his grandmother caught sight of him she waved him over. ‘Are you looking for Miss Nightingale?’
He smiled at the assembled grande dames and bowed. ‘Good afternoon, ladies. I see you are looking in fine fettle. Our debutantes should beware.’
They smiled with girlish pleasure and there were even a couple of giggles. ‘You always were a charmer, Lord Jake,’ one of them said, flailing her fan.
Her grandmother gasped. The lady who had spoken flushed. ‘I beg your pardon, Westmoor. I haven’t seen you since...the accident. My condolences.’
She lowered her voice on her last words. Was she another who doubted his honour? ‘Where is our dear Miss Nightingale?’ he asked cheerfully, as if he had not noticed the inflection in her voice.
‘She went for a walk.’ His grandmother frowned, looking around. ‘Quite some time ago, now. Not long after you left. I asked her not to wander too far, but I no longer see her.’
Jake’s heart gave an uncomfortable thump. She should not have wandered off alone. Nor should Grandmother have allowed it. ‘I’ll find her and bring her back to you safe and sound.’
Grandmother’s face paled. ‘She walked towards the river. I did not think to warn her about the current.’
‘Please, Grandmama, do not concern yourself. I am sure Miss Nightingale simply went a little farther afield than she intended.’ He bowed and strode down the sloping green sward towards the jetty where several young men lounged about, no doubt hoping to encourage some unwary female to board one of the punts.
Was that where Rose had gone? This urgent need to find her surprised him. In all his relationships with women, he had always been the one in control. With Rose he felt like a ship lost at sea.
How easily she’d abandoned him to Lady Alicia, while she went off having fun. Disgruntlement stirred in his chest. And worry.
Rose was too much the innocent to be safe around these young rakes. Rakes not unlike himself only a few months ago. He had no trouble imagining the sort of things they might get up to.
‘Westmoor. How fortunate to meet you here.’
Inwardly, Jake groaned as he realised the source of the hail-fellow-well-met voice with its distinctive lisp. This was a man he’d prefer not to meet anywhere, though he wouldn’t give the fellow the cut direct since he was also one of the Marquis’s guests. Nor did he wish to appear overly anxious about Rose. Damn the gossipmongers.
He tamped down his impatience and gave a sharp nod to the thickset fellow. ‘Bowles.’ He’d known Nash Bowles since university. The man lived on the fringes of society. His reputation was, if not tarnished, then not highly polished. He was rumoured not to have paid his debts. Worse yet, he had attempted to entrap Fred’s wife into marriage and Nicholas had held him in low esteem. All of which put him beyond the pale as far as Jake was concerned.
Now the blasted man was eyeing him with a narrowed gaze. Like a predator spotting prey? Damn his impudence.
‘I have a business proposition for you,’ Bowles said sotto voce, glancing around as if he was imparting some great secret.
‘Really, Bowles? At a party?’ The man was an idiot. He moved them a couple of steps away from anyone who might be within earshot. ‘Send a note to my man of business, why don’t you?’
Bowles smiled with the great bonhomie that some ladies found charming. It set Jacob’s teeth on edge. ‘I want to talk to you about Vitium et Virtus.’
Here? The man wanted to discuss the club in a public place, with ladies present. He glared. ‘I have no idea what you are talking about.’
The man bridled a little, then caught himself and flashed another of his oily insincere smiles. ‘With Bartlett gone, you have need of another partner, I should think. What if I told you I learned things in Europe that would bring in fabulous wealth? Special offerings for those with unusual tastes.’
Jake kept his hands loose at his sides. He would not let this jackanapes make him lose his temper. He curled his lip in a perfect imitation of his father when disgusted. ‘Not interested.’
Bowles shifted from foot to foot, glancing about him. ‘Think about it. That is all I ask.’ He bowed. ‘Good talking to you, Your Grace.’ He sauntered away, with a strangely graceful gait for so thickset a man. He flourished his cane as if he wasn’t the most irritating man in London.
Jaw clenched, Jake watched him make his way across the lawns, bowing here, and pausing to exchange a word there. Gall. The man certainly had gall. Jake shook his head. He wasn’t going to let an idiot like that ruin his day. What was ruining his day was not finding any sign of Rose.
She was nowhere near the jetty. Nor was she one of the ladies lounging beneath parasols in the little flat-bottomed boats being wooed by eager young gentlemen in straw hats.
Rose would not have got into a boat with a stranger.
His stomach settled at that certainty. He looked along the bank. Upstream the edge of the river became reedy and the path petered out. Downstream the path meandered into a small stand of trees intended to look natural, but carefully planted to provide dappled shade. He chose that direction and set off with a lengthened stride.
Around a bend in the path he found her seated on a wooden bench looking out over the river to the fields on the other side. Though she sat with shoulders straight with her hands in her lap, she looked so forlorn his heart wrenched.
And the relief he felt was out of all proportion to discovering her whereabouts.
She did not turn her head when he sat down beside her, but he had no doubt she knew that it was he.
‘Rose,’ he said softly.
‘Your Grace,’ she replied, her voice calm.
‘Jake when we are alone, remember?’ he said in teasing tones, unsure of her mood.
‘Are we alone?’
‘It would appear so, unless you are hiding some other fellow in the bushes hereabouts.’ He gave her a gentle shove with his shoulder.
She cast him a glance of disdain. ‘I’m not hiding anyone.’
‘Nor am I.’
‘You and Lady Alicia make a very striking couple.’
He winced. ‘I would much rather have played pall mall with you, you know, but—’ Curse it, how did he put this without making things worse?
She lifted her little chin and looked him in the eye. ‘But we both know she is the sort of girl you are expected to marry.’
Thank God she understood. Even so, her understanding didn’t provide any sort of relief. It made him sad. ‘At the moment I have far too much to do learning how to manage the Duchy without adding a wife to my list of duties.’ At least that was what he kept telling himself, despite his grandmother’s urgings.
She stared down at the white linen. ‘Your grandmother wouldn’t agree.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I suppose her anxiety is natural after what happened.’
He froze as guilt rose in his gullet, making it hard to breathe. ‘Are you saying you agree with her?’ Damn it, did he have to sound quite so defensive?
‘I beg your pardon. I should not have said anything. I know you do not like to speak of it. I understand how dreadful you must feel.’
‘I doubt that you do, actually.’ And now he sounded harsh. How the devil had they ever got on to this topic?
She stiffened. ‘I, too, lost my family.’
He gazed at her, shocked for the moment. It simply hadn’t occurred to him she would see her orphaned state as that sort of loss. Not when she’d never known her parents. ‘Rose. I am sorry.’
She gave a brave little smile. ‘Of course, they may still be living. I sometimes wonder.’
He had the urge to find out for her. ‘Do you know their names? Does the Foundling Hospital have records?’
She shook her head. ‘Only my last name. There is no other information. It must have been a difficult thing to do, give up a child.’ She glanced up at him, doubt in her eyes.
‘Of course it must have been difficult.’ He honestly couldn’t imagine it. ‘There has to be some way to find them.’
She shook her head sadly. ‘It is not the way it works. If the mother wants you, she comes back. Otherwise...’
Surely not? Perhaps a man in his position could do what another could not. But he certainly didn’t want to make a promise he could not keep.
She gave him a smile. ‘So you see, I do understand a little of what you feel.’
He winced. They were back to him. And it wasn’t the same at all. Unlike him, she had no reason to blame herself for their loss. They had abandoned her. ‘I really prefer not to discuss my family, Rose. It is not the same case at all.’
Her wide eyes and startled gasp said he had hurt her.
‘I beg your pardon. I did not mean to pry.’ The coolness in her voice made him want to curse, as did the little sniff that made him think she might be trying to hold back her tears. The last thing he wanted was to hurt her.
What he wanted was to hold her, pull her into his arms and kiss her silly. Yet while there was nothing risqué about sitting side by side on a bench in so public a place, anything more would land them both in trouble. And there was nothing he could do about the future.
The most comfort he could offer was a promise. ‘I swear I will not make an offer of marriage without letting you know first. Not that I intend marriage in the near future. I scarcely have time for the work of the Duchy as it is.’ He handed her his handkerchief. When she did not refuse it, or throw it back at him, he could only assume she was satisfied.
He breathed a sigh of relief. ‘I am glad that is settled.’ He risked a brief kiss to her temple.
She shivered and leaned into his shoulder. The slightest movement unlikely anyone else would notice. ‘Lady Alicia is pretty.’
He hated hearing the sadness in her voice. ‘Rose, at this sort of event, a gentleman must do his duty unless he wishes to be thought the worst sort of cur. Her aunt made it impossible for me to refuse. Honestly? I was bored nigh unto tears.’ A thought occurred to him. ‘How old are you?’
‘Twenty.’
Barely a couple of years older than Lady Alicia. ‘You have more sense in your little finger than she has in the whole of her body.’
‘She’s never had to do for herself.’ For all that she defended the other girl, she sounded pleased.
Rose would never have to do for herself ever again. When it was time to let her go, he’d make sure she would want for nothing. Not that he would say anything of the sort. Instinct told him that Rose would see such an offer as a bribe. He would have to find a way to accomplish it without hurting her pride.
Since he wasn’t marrying any time soon, there would be lots of time to figure it out. ‘Shall we go back? We don’t want to start tongues wagging.’
She blew her nose and offered him his handkerchief.
‘Keep it,’ he said, smiling down into her face, seeing her courage in the lift of her chin.
She tucked it into her reticule, picked up her parasol and put her hand on his arm, the way any perfect young lady would, and while he desperately wanted to kiss her, Jake knew that any sign of disarray would be noted and commented upon and he would not have Rose embarrassed for any number of kisses, though the temptation be nigh irresistible.
They strolled back along the path and out into the open.
Rose nodded at the house where flags and turrets and crenulations abounded. ‘It is almost as grand as the Tower of London, isn’t it? It must be very old.’
Bless the girl for not making a scene and for trying to make the best of it.
Now he had to decide if he should destroy her image or... Rose was always honest with him. It was one of the many things he adored about her. ‘The Marquis had it built scant five years ago.’
Her jaw dropped. ‘Really?’
‘A sort of Gothic-revival design.’
She frowned. ‘He wanted to live in a castle?’
‘Like a knight of old. Luckily we weren’t asked to dress up in medieval costume and masks.’
She frowned. ‘Why would they do that?’
‘Why do the very rich do anything? For amusement.’
They were approaching the riverbank where punts and rowboats hung with bunting bobbed merrily against the jetty. Several gentlemen and ladies milled about, waiting their turn to board. One of them waved. ‘Your Grace. We are having a race—will you join us?’
Curiosity was rampant on Rose’s face. For one wild moment he thought about asking her to take part with him. He grinned at the young man and shook his head. ‘Sorry, lads. My grandmother requires Miss Nightingale’s services.’
She glanced up at him with regret in her eyes. ‘Thank you for your discretion,’ she said softly. A bell rang off in the distance. She smiled. ‘It seems food is about to be served.’
Damn. He would make up for it later. When they were alone.
* * *
Exhausted by her day by the river, Her Grace had retired the moment she arrived home, taking her dinner on a tray. So Rose and Jake had dined alone in ducal splendour. Or as alone as anyone could be attended by several footmen and the butler. The servants had hovered around them like the flies that had hovered over their picnic, darting in every now and then to remove a dish or add a new one. She and Jake had spoken very little.
With the prospect of the night before her, Rose had barely been able to eat a mouthful. Jake hadn’t fared much better. Then, when he’d bid her goodnight, he’d leaned forward and whispered in her ear. ‘Leave your hair down for me.’
Now Rose sat on the edge of her bed in her dressing gown, transfixed by indecision. Did she go to him? Or would he come here? Her heart pounded in her chest. Her mouth was so dry she might have swallowed coal dust. Questions buzzed around and around in her brain. Had her fit of the megrims beside the river made him regret taking up with her? How could she have as good as admitted to jealousy when she knew very well they would never be more than lovers? Why did he never want to talk about his family?
Should she apologise for bringing it up? Or should she try harder to get him to speak of what troubled him?
Her door creaked open.
Jake sauntered in, a bottle of wine and two glasses dangling from one hand. He wore only his shirt tucked into his pantaloons, but his hair was damp, as if he’d come from his bath.
She had also bathed, but had not washed her hair, since it had been washed first thing this morning.
He lifted the bottle. ‘Care for some champagne?’ He set the bottle and the two glasses on the table by window, where two armchairs made a cosy little nook. When she was not waiting on his grandmother, she liked to sit there and read, since Jake had commandeered the library for his office.
She perched on the edge of one of the chairs.
He gave her a charmingly boyish grin. ‘Don’t worry, my sweet, I am not going to descend upon you like a ravening wolf.’
‘That’s a relief, I must say.’
He laughed. ‘Did I hear a note of regret, my dear? It really isn’t my style, I’m afraid, but I can always give it a go.’
She grinned and eased back into the chair, relaxed by his teasing. Now she knew the answer to one question. He would come to her. Obviously. Of course, no one would take notice of the Duke wandering around his own house. Or if they did, they would say nothing if they valued their positions. And since, as his grandmother had complained from time to time, they ran on a skeleton staff with many of the rooms shut up and the furniture under holland covers, he was unlikely to run into anyone at all.
He popped the cork and poured them each a glass and raised his in a toast. ‘To us.’
‘To us.’ She sipped. Tart and a tickle on her tongue. ‘So that is what champagne tastes like.’ She made a face.
‘The more you drink, the better it gets.’
She wrinkled her nose. ‘Are you trying to get me tipsy?’
‘Not at all.’ He pulled her to her feet and sat down in her chair, lifting her on to his lap. ‘Well, perhaps a little. You looked nervous when I came in.’ His fingers cradled her jaw and he gazed down into her eyes. ‘You aren’t afraid of me, are you, Rose? I would not hurt you for the world.’
Not physically, at least. Though she had no doubt she’d be devastated when he married. But if this was all she would ever have of him, shouldn’t she take it? ‘Not in the least bit afraid.’ She inhaled a shaky breath and wondered if that was what her mother had thought, too? Well, at least she wasn’t leaving the issue of conception to chance. Or to him.
Then there was no more room for doubts, for he was kissing her, tenderly at first, gently, but when she parted her lips his tongue went questing and tasting and the sensations inside her were almost more than she could bear.
She twined her arms around his neck and went questing on her own account, inhaling the clean scent of him, soap and something earthy. His cologne. Stroking the inside of his mouth with her tongue, she was entranced by the slide of their mutual tasting.
Sensations rippled through her body, heat, tingles, shivers. Her skin felt alive and aching for his touch. Her palms wandered the breadth of his shoulders, her fingers slid through the tendrils of his hair at his nape. His heart slammed a beat against her breasts and made them feel full. She pressed hard against him.
Breathing heavily, he eased away from her, brushing her hair back from her face, gazing into her eyes with a slumberous heat that she felt all the way to the place deep between her thighs.
Even if she had wanted to resist him, she couldn’t. And not because of the attraction, the primal desire she felt for him, but because she sensed he needed her help to forget his duty and responsibilities for a short time.
It made her feel important. To him.
Something she had never felt before. She’d been useful, yes, but never had she felt as if it was she who was needed, not just because of what she could do with her two hands, but because of who she was as a person.
This was how it must feel to be part of a family. To mean something to another person. And she was going to make the most of it while it lasted. She would not think about the future.
She brushed the errant lock of hair back from his forehead and kissed the tip of his nose.
He grinned and gave her an affectionate squeeze. ‘That’s more like my Rose.’
His Rose. It sounded wonderful. Heart-wrenchingly so.
She pushed the thought aside. She would enjoy the moment. And if that was what her mother had done, then so be it. For if she had not, Rose would not exist at all, now would she?
He reached around her, picked up her glass and handed it to her. She took another sip. Fewer bubbles, less tart on her tongue. ‘You are right, it is quite pleasant when you get used to it.’
‘Like many things.’ He nuzzled into her neck, kissing and nibbling until shivers raced this way and that all over her skin. ‘I want to lick you all over, you smell so good,’ he said against her skin.
The idea sounded intriguing. Her insides fluttered alarmingly. ‘You wouldn’t!’
He groaned. ‘I would. In a heartbeat, were you ready for such games. The very idea of it makes me—’ He choked off what he had been going to say.
She pushed away from him. ‘Makes you?’
‘It arouses me to the point where I can no longer think.’
There was no mistaking the bulge of his erection beneath her. She burrowed a hand between them and shaped his length with her fingers. He arched into her hand, eyes closing, his expression intense as if he would savour every touch.
Recalling some of the talk she’d heard among the girls at the V&V, she set her glass down and slid one knee between the outside of his thigh and the chair and then twisted to straddle him, holding his face between her hands and kissing his lips. She shifted forward to seat herself on his lap.
His hips lifted and the contact of his hardness against that particular spot was startling, and so delicious, she wiggled herself more firmly against him.
He groaned and cupped her nape and deepened the kiss, while rocking his hips in a rhythm that had her moaning into his mouth and trying to get closer. In a surge of movement that took her by surprise and made her squeak, he rose from the chair. She clung on for dear life.
He took the two steps between the chair and the bed and, leaning forward, lowered her on to the counterpane. Reluctantly, she released him and lay back. With a smouldering glance at the way she lay sprawled before him, he toed off his shoes, and stripped out of his clothes.
She let her gaze wander over his magnificent body. A virile healthy male who was rampantly aroused. ‘I want to lick you all over, too,’ she whispered.
His member jerked.
Her gaze whipped up to his face.
He nodded. ‘Your words caused that.’
And if she suited the deed to the words? She reached out to trace a fingertip down the hard length until she encountered the soft springy hair at the base. Then she cupped him beneath, wondering at the softness and vulnerability. He must trust her to let her handle him in this way.
He put his hand over hers and showed her how to caress him firmly, curling her fingers around his shaft and sliding them up and down. He released her hand and she tried it for herself, keeping her grip firm, revelling in the hard shape of him beneath the surprisingly silky skin.
He grabbed her hand and raised it to his lips. ‘Enough or this will be over too soon.’ He climbed up beside her and pressed one thigh between hers while his hands buried themselves in her hair.
* * *
Her eyes reminded him of the soft green that heralded spring. Alive and lively, but mysteriously opaque. He’d done his best to stay away from her, to be honourable, but one crook of her finger and here he was. No other woman had ever had him dancing on a string the way this one did. Though there was no triumph in her expression. Or greed. Only affection.
She asked for nothing, when others would have bargained for the moon. Had she done so, he might have tried to get it for her, too.
He shook his head at the astonishing thought. If he ran true to past form, now that she wanted him the way he had wanted her, he would grow bored very quickly and be ready to move on.
Not that he’d ever really encountered another woman like Rose. She was innocent, but wise beyond her years, intelligent, but ill schooled, lovely but without artifice. And she was his.
For now.
Most humbling of all was that she had chosen him to be her first lover.
Guilt racked him. He’d been selfish the last time. Presuming and unthinking when he should have known better. This time he would make it perfect.
She reached up and stroked her small hands over his shoulders. Down his back. His skin shivered at her touch.
He bent his head and took her lips, kissing her until neither of them had breath. His heart pounded against his ribs. His body fought for control, but this time it was all about her. About Rose. He shifted his attention from her lips to her ear, his tongue tracing the delving deep. On a soft cry, she arched up, pressing her lovely soft breasts with their hardened peaks against his chest.
He cruised down her throat, tasting her collarbone, licking at the pulse points on his way, until he nuzzled into her lovely cleavage, intent on gifting her with every bit of his skill. She deserved that and more after he’d been so careless the first time, thinking her experienced.
It still made his stomach knot when he recalled how thoughtless he’d been. And how awed at her gift.
She shuddered and moaned, her fingers digging into his back. Encouraging him to greater efforts.
He smiled.
‘Why are you laughing?’ she asked, her voice husky with passion.
‘I’m smiling because I am happy.’ He licked first one nipple, pausing to watch it bead into a tight little nub, then the other. He cupped her breast in his hand and swirled his tongue around that hard little peak, flicking at it until she squirmed beneath him, then taking it into his mouth, letting her feel his teeth in a gentle graze before suckling.
Her hips rolled against his groin, so sweet an appeal it almost undid his good intentions. He shifted away and let his hand drift down her flat belly to the sweet little triangle of blonde curls, stroking and petting while she moaned and tried to increase the pressure of his hand on her mons.
He pressed down with the heel of his hand and when she sighed her approval he gently parted her folds, one fingertip slipping inside her warm damp heat. Hot silky smooth softness. Still so damned tight. He caressed and stroked until she opened her thighs wider, giving him deeper access.
A quick learner his Rose. He licked and teased the other nipple. She pressed down on his nape, telling him silently what she wanted. He suckled. Drew hard. She cried out and her body tightened, before climaxing in a rush of heat and dampness and tight muscles around his finger.
Breathing hard, she lay lax, looking up at him from beneath lowered lids, her lips parted in a smile of surprise and pleasure. Something in his chest tugged. As if a part of him had attached itself to her.
Not possible. He had no wish for deep attachments. Never had. People he cared for always abandoned him when he needed them most. His mother, Ralph, even his father. All right, so it wasn’t their fault, but the pain of it had been intolerable. He refused to go through that again.
When he married, it would be to a woman to whom he would not be emotionally attached. As long as he liked her, that would be all that mattered.
He didn’t like Lady Alicia and her ilk. A woman like her would drive him mad in half a day, but there were other women he’d met who were not so silly. Sensible women. He was sure of it.
But he really liked Rose.
He froze as he realised the depth of that liking. At how deep she had got under his skin in such a short time. The way Georgiana had with Fred. Their happiness was almost painful to watch when one stood on the sidelines.
His father and Ralph would turn in their graves if they knew he was wishing for such a thing. Typical irresponsible Jake, they’d be saying. He could hear their voices in his head.
He could no longer be that man. He had a duty to the title. He’d sworn to do his best. Rose as anything more than a mistress was out of the question.
But he would do his best for Rose, too. Here in this bed and hopefully outside of it where he’d find out what had happened to her family. She’d like that, he was sure. It was something he could give her that no one else could.
Right now, though, he needed to be inside her, buried in her warmth and surrounded by her loving self. Tenderly, he eased his knee between her parted thighs and nudged them farther apart. She welcomed him into the cradle of her hips. Deep satisfaction filled him, a sense of belonging as he entered her body.
‘That’s better.’ She sighed, lifting her legs around his waist, opening to him, arching up to kiss him deeply.
He slid home to the hilt and gave himself up to the pleasure and the bliss and the peace of mind that he only found with Rose.
* * *
Later, when they lay in each other’s arms, his mind once more turned to the future. Her future. It seemed he could not prevent himself from being concerned. He spooned around her and knew she was smiling, and she snuggled back against him.
‘Have you thought about where you would like to open up your dressmaking shop?’ he asked.
‘Near Bond Street.’ She yawned. ‘Somewhere ladies will feel comfortable. Cork Street, perhaps. Nothing too large to start.’
He tucked the information away. ‘You will need to advertise.’
She glanced over his shoulder. ‘You are very interested in this enterprise that may never come to pass.’
‘I have every faith in you, Rose.’
She sighed. ‘I will try to get La Belle Assemblée to use one of my gowns in their articles on fashion. One can advertise, but their recommendation would be the best.’
‘Grandmama would be able to assist you there.’
‘Do you think she would?’
‘I know so. She is very fond of you.’
‘She might not want me to leave.’ A little pause. A little hitch in her breathing. ‘But I expect she would see it as for the best, once you marry.’
He wasn’t going to touch that with a barge pole. He didn’t even want to think about it. ‘She will want what is best for you.’ Even if he did have to explain.
She sighed. Not unhappily. A sound of contentment. ‘Go to sleep, Jake.’
He close his eyes and drifted off.