Withered Rose (Desperate And Daring Book 7)

by Dayna Quince

  She didn’t want to find out, but she suspected she wouldn’t have a choice. Lady Belfrost was adamant that Rose meet her great nephew, but Rose was determined not to—so determined in fact, she wasn’t above telling a little fib or two.

  Chapter 2

  Gabriel Richard Connor was delighted to feel his toes again. He’d almost lost two of them to frostbite while climbing the Swiss Alps and now he’d become quite attached to them. He wiggled them in his boot just to be sure they worked properly.

  He was waiting in the drawing room for his great aunt after having dried himself and changed into fresh clothing. He sat by the fire, enjoying its heat, and thinking of a lovely companion he would like to see again.

  He looked toward the door as the tea tray was brought in and set down, followed by his aunt. He stood, and she beamed at the sight of him, clapping her hands, and fluttering about until he came to her side and dropped a doting kiss on her cheek. She looked well for three and seventy.

  “How you’ve grown!” She held his face with both hands and inspected him as a mother would.

  “You haven’t been eating enough, I see.”

  “I’ve been eating plenty.”

  “Bah, you’re thin. You look like a scarecrow.”

  Connor flexed his arms and stood straighter, feeling the shifting muscles of his back. His wide shoulders made it almost impossible to wear a coat properly. His tailor, whom he only visited when strictly necessary, bemoaned the unyielding contours of his body. Connor shrugged. He was no scarecrow, and he had little use for an expertly cut coat when exploring a rainforest or riding a camel across an endless sea of dunes. He relished his strength. When funds ran dry, a man could use his body as currency. Hard labor was a valuable commodity in any language.

  He glanced at the empty doorway and hid his frown. His aunt followed his line of sight.

  “Are you expecting someone?” She raised a brow.

  “No, of course not.”

  She moved to sit on the sofa and poured two cups of tea. That settled it. No one else would be joining them for the moment, but there was always dinner.

  “Now,” she said as she handed him his cup, “dare a great aunt wish that her great nephew’s immediate future included the procuring of a wife?”

  He sighed. “You’ll be disappointed to know my immediate future only includes a visit with you.”

  “I’m not disappointed. I wished for this visit. Next, I shall wish for you to find a wife.” Lady Belfrost smiled smugly and took a sip of tea.

  He raised a brow. “As you wish, but once I leave here, I’m off to find a new adventure.”

  “Marriage is a grand adventure.”

  He stopped himself from snorting with skepticism. “Speaking of marriage, where is my great uncle?”

  “He is away on business. He always plans a trip this time of year to avoid the storm.”

  “Storm?” He took a sip of tea.

  “Well, though it seems to rain frequently enough here in the Lake District, there is always a week or two of downpour that puts all the other days to shame. The excessive dampness makes his joints hurt, so he plans to stay away during that time.”

  “You know when it’s going to happen?”

  “I’ve lived here for most of my life. I can pinpoint when the rains will occur.”

  Connor looked out the window. It was raining steadily. He hadn’t planned to be here more than a week, but by the looks of it, he may be trapped for far longer. Damn. He set down his cup. “I wish I’d known this before. I would have altered my travel arrangements.”

  “I thought you knew about the rains, but then again, you visit so infrequently.” She lifted one shoulder daintily.

  He chuckled. She was like a hen with a worm. Always reminding him of his lack of attendance. Always bemoaning the time he spent away, and not playing the dutiful heir, settling down and begetting children, year after year. He didn’t begrudge her. He could admit he felt guilty, but there was still plenty of time for those things when he inherited. Until then, he wanted to enjoy the freedom and youth he had now to see the world.

  “I don’t have anything to offer a wife.”

  She shocked him by putting her tongue between her lips and blowing. “Pfft. That’s pure bollocks, Gabriel. You will inherit someday. That is promise enough for a genteel woman, and you have many admirable tributes.”

  Connor raised a skeptical brow. He had nothing to offer a gently bred young woman. His marks at university were barely passing. The only thing he was good at was wondering the earth and getting himself out of trouble.

  “Name one thing.”

  “You’re adventurous spirit, for one.”

  “Which you hate.”

  “I don’t hate. Hate is such an awful word. I loathe the time you spend away, but you always return in one piece, thank the heavens, and you always have an exciting tale to tell.”

  Connor finished his tea in one gulp. This line of conversation was beginning to chafe. They’d had this argument more times than he cared to count. “Hide your daughters. I’ve got an engaging story to tell about an angry bull and convenient places to be gored by a horn.”

  Lady Belfrost laughed. “There, you see? Add your good humor to the list of your attributes.” She stood, and Connor followed suit. He supposed it was good he could still remember how to be a gentleman.

  “I need to check on my companion, Miss Owens. She got caught in this afternoon’s shower and may have taken ill.”

  “Miss Owens, yes. We met when I arrived.”

  “Did you? Why didn’t you mention it?”

  “I didn’t think it important.”

  She gave him a queer look and then went into the hall. Connor moved closer to the fire and sat. He was still chilled, but he turned the chair a hair so he could see the door, and dammit if he didn’t hope that Miss Owens would still show herself in the drawing room for tea.

  * * *

  Rose stiffened at the light knock on her door. She set her book down softly, careful not to make any noise that would betray her reading. She stood and sniffed, cinching her robe tighter before opening her door a crack. Lady Belfrost stared back at her with raised brows.

  “I’m not well, my lady. It could be catching.”

  “You were fine at breakfast.”

  “To be honest…,” Rose lied, “I had a little soreness in my throat this morning. I did not rest as I ought to have, and now a chill has taken hold of me.”

  “Oh, dear. Let me have a look at you.” She pushed her way into Rose’s room.

  “You really shouldn’t. What if you become ill as well?”

  “Nonsense. I have the constitution of a Scot. Let me have a look at you.”

  Rose stepped back from the open door and let Lady Belfrost inspect her. She put a hand to her cheek. “You do feel a mite warm.”

  “I feel cold.” Rose shivered.

  “Come to the fire. Your hair is still damp. Did you have a bath?”

  “No, my lady.”

  Lady Belfrost wagered her finger at her and pulled her to her chair by the fire. She picked up Roses brush and began to brush her hair.

  “You shouldn’t. If I am ill then you should stay away from me,” Rose pleaded. She was strangely moved by the action. She hadn’t had anyone brush her hair for her since she was a young girl, but all the same, Lady Belfrost was her employer, not her maid, and certainly not her mother.

  “Lady Belfrost, please.”

  Lady Belfrost stopped brushing and sighed. “If you don’t allow me to fret over you, I will only worry later. A little rain has never caused you to become ill before. It rains here all the time!”

  “The rain today is different,” Rose murmured. She looked down to hide her guilt. She was never very good at lying or hiding her feelings.

  Lady Belfrost set down the brush on the arm of the chair. “I shall make your excuses to Mr. Connor. If you feel at all capable, I should love for you to join us for dinner. I would like you to meet him. He i
s very interesting.”

  “If he is related to you, I have no doubt about that. I shall rest now in hopes of feeling better later,” Rose bargained.

  “Very well.” Lady Belfrost hesitated. “At the very least, I need you well for tomorrow evening.” Lady Belfrost left her in peace.

  Rose sighed and curled her legs under her robe. Guilt racked her. She needed to muster the courage to face him. He’d probably ignore her from here on out, but it wasn’t his attentions she feared. It was her own. She was afraid of herself, afraid of her wild reaction to him, and afraid to be such a blatantly pathetic creature in front of him. She may be a lowly companion, but she still had her dignity.

  The following morning, Rose woke and dressed, appearing in Lady Belfrost’s room as she usually did, with newspaper and breakfast tray in hand. But when she entered, Lady Belfrost was not in bed as usual. She was at her vanity with Glennis tending her hair.

  “Rose? Are you well?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Rose set the tray down. “You are up and about earlier than usual, I dare say.”

  “I must breakfast with my nephew, of course. I must soak up every moment of his visit.” Lady Belfrost smiled at her reflection.

  “Very well. I will return this to the kitchen and eat it myself. Ring for me if you so desire.” Rose picked up the tray and retreated to the door.

  “Leave the tray for Glennis and join me downstairs.”

  Rose paused with her back to Lady Belfrost and winced. “I don’t want to intrude.”

  “Nonsence. You must have a proper introduction to my nephew, and we can enjoy a lovely breakfast together.”

  Rose turned and set the tray down on the nearest surface. She folded her hands in front of her and waited dutifully as Lady Belfrost stood. “If that is what you wish.”

  “Don’t look so resigned.” Lady Belfrost approached her and chucked her under the chin. “I hope I didn’t frighten you with my earlier warning. My nephew is excellent company. He has many stories to tell of his travels.”

  “Warning?” Rose murmured as she turned to follow Lady Belfrost from the room.

  “Never mind that, dear.” Lady Belfrost chattered all the way down to the dining room about her nephew, and Rose remained silent. She couldn’t remember the warning Lady Belfrost had given her. She looked up as she entered on Lady Belfrost’s heels and her heart skipped.

  He stood, and his eyes settled on them, a smile coming to his lips. A full body flush overcame her, and she abruptly remembered the warning. Mind her maidenhead lest she lose it. Oh, heavens. She understood how something like that could happen. He greeted his aunt with a doting kiss and then his eyes fixed on her.

  “Good morning,” Rose managed to say.

  “Good morning, Miss Owens. You look very dry.” His smile widened.

  Her mouth certainly felt dry. “As do you, Mr. Connor.” He looked magnificent in proper attire—a hunter green jacket over a cream waistcoat, snowy white cravat, and black breeches. She could stare at him for hours, which was precisely what she was afraid of. She was going to make an utter fool of herself.

  She tore her gaze away and claimed her seat beside Lady Belfrost. She smoothed her damp palms over the black wool of her gown and took a measured breath.

  “May I fill your plate, my lady?” Rose stood. Usually Richard, the footman, served them, but Rose needed something to do, a distraction of any kind.

  She tried to ignore the erratic pace of her heart as Mr. Connor stood again.

  “You must allow me to help,” he said.

  Lady Belfrost beamed. “How gracious of both of you.”

  Rose steeled her nerves and approached the buffet with Mr. Connor. She briefly met Mr. Connors eyes as he handed her a plate and began to select servings.

  * * *

  Connor chewed the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. Miss Owens was as startled as a doe, and he didn’t want to frighten her away. She was wearing a black dress, and he wondered if she was in mourning. He pondered the best way to approach the subject gently, but then decided to just ask.

  “Are you in mourning, Miss Owens?”

  The spoon she held clattered as it slipped from her hand into the egg dish. Her cheeks flushed with pink.

  “Yes, my father passed last winter.”

  “My condolences,” he said solemnly. He considered her black dress, as dark as a raven’s wing. She was still dressing in full mourning almost a year later? He wanted to ask her how she became a companion.

  He heaped food onto his plate and assisted her in filling his aunts, all the while watching her. The skin around and beneath her ear looked temptingly soft. Her dark chestnut hair was coiled tightly in a bun on her head. A style far too severe for her age. He cleared his throat and looked down at his plate, stacking more bacon over his eggs. She remained silent beside him until they returned to the table.

  “It’s good to see you eating heartily, Gabriel. You are far too thin.”

  He smiled indulgently at his aunt. “Yes, Aunt.” He felt Miss Owens look up from her plate and watched as her eyes wandered over him. His body grew several degrees hotter under her scrutiny. Her green eyes met his, and he winked at her. She quickly looked away, but she could not hide her blush. He watched it spread over her neck as he took a bite of bacon.

  He continued to watch her as she accepted tea from the footman. The lad poured and then stepped back but didn’t leave her side. Connor watched the lad eagerly stare at Miss Owens in infatuation. He couldn’t blame the boy. She was interesting to watch. Her gaze was frank and perceptive, always waiting and anticipating. There was something deeper in her eyes, a perpetual shadow. He wondered at the cause, noting that her smiles were weak at best. She was attentive and caring toward his aunt, but not… happy. It was a shame.

  They finished breakfast and moved on to his aunt’s morning room where she sifted through letters and talked of her acquaintances. Miss Owens sat nearby, head bent over needlework. He was desperately curious about her, but she didn’t look the least bit interested in talking to anyone. He looked to his aunt, who was busy reading a letter aloud, waving her hand about as if orating a great passage. His eyes cut back to Miss Owens. He took in her drab attire, the unyielding sad black of her gown that he was sure she used as a shield. She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear as he watched and returned to her careful darning of what looked like a wool stocking.

  Was it her stocking? He imagined her slipping her pale leg into the stocking, her fingers gliding over her soft skin as she guided the material over her calf and knee. The heat of arousal simmered through his veins, blood filling parts of his body that would soon become awkwardly noticeable. He had to rein in his imagination.

  It would be easier if she weren’t such a damn mystery. He needed to speak to her privately, to get his questions answered. Only then could he focus again. He could never resist a mystery or resist the pull of the unknown. He was an explorer by nature. If something seemed unknowable or unattainable, he had to accept the challenge. Breach it, explore and conquer. It was his addiction.

  He twisted in his chair so it would be harder to stare at Miss Owens and refocused on his aunt. She’d finished the letter and raised a brow. “Well?”

  Inwardly, he panicked. Had she seen him ogling Miss Owens? “Beg pardon, I didn’t catch the last bit.”

  “The roses, they bloomed late this year. The garden is positively magnificent. Would you like to see?”

  “Of course.” He stood at once. Movement. Action. A walk was just what everyone needed. He looked out the window, pleased to see it was not raining.

  “I’ll fetch your shawl, ma’am,” Miss Owens said and left the parlor.

  “I’ll need my cloak,” Connor blurted and followed her into the hall. If she knew he was behind her, she didn’t show it. He climbed the back stairs after her.

  “Miss Owens.”

  “Yes, Mr. Connor,” she said flatly.

  “I was wondering about something.” She didn’
t even turn to speak to him but kept climbing the stairs. Growing impatient, he closed the distance between them upon reaching the landing and touched her elbow. “Miss Owens.”

  She stopped and faced him, her irritation evident. “Yes, Mr. Connor.”

  “I need to speak with you privately.”

  “That isn’t at all proper, but in case you haven’t noticed, we are presently alone.”

  He narrowed his eyes for a moment and then straightened. “Yes, I do see, but the hall isn’t a suitable place for this discussion.” His eyes shifted over her, taking note of her quick shallow breathing. Was he making her nervous?

  “I can’t imagine why you would need such a thing. There is nothing we need to discuss, privately, or otherwise.”

  He stepped back to give her more space. He didn’t want her to be frightened of him. Perhaps part of her sad backstory included a man, a dangerous man.

  “I don’t mean privacy in the strictest term. What I mean to say is I’d like to speak with you without the presence of my aunt because I would like to discuss my aunt.”

  “Why?” she frowned, some of the tension leaving her.

  “Because I care for her. I want to know how she is doing and feeling, but I know she won’t tell me herself. She’s getting on in years.”

  “Yes…” She held his stare. Connor wasn’t sure what she was thinking. Her green eyes gave nothing away.

  “So will you indulge me and consent to find a way for us to speak privately?” He hoped his smile appeared innocent and not overly hopeful, even if his pulse quickened by the mere idea of being alone with her.

  Her eyes cut to the side. “She will wish to rest around two. We can meet in the library.”

  “Excellent.” He nodded. She dipped slightly and continued down the hall.

  He smiled to himself as he descended the stairs and returned to his aunt. She looked up at him curiously as he entered.

  “Did you change your mind about the cloak?”