Withered Rose (Desperate And Daring Book 7)

by Dayna Quince

  She turned and spoke to the room, to the cowering occupants, and then she must have sensed him. She turned to him, her wild smile contagious. This was Rose happy, and it only took a brilliant thunderstorm to do it. That was a hard act to follow.

  Gabriel didn’t have the ability to shake foundations and split the sky with light, but he made a silent vow to himself to make her smile that way at him. He helped her close the window, plucking a leaf from her hair. They turned to face the room as the others stood.

  Mr. Daniel strode forward and took Roses hand. He bowed over it and kissed her knuckles. Gabriel felt his hackles rise.

  “That was brilliant, Miss Owens. I’ve never seen such a thing.”

  “I can’t take credit for the storm, Mr. Daniel,” Rose muttered as she pulled her hand away.

  Gabriel wanted to claim her hand for himself, but instead, he poured them both a drink. She was soaked through, and dammit if he couldn’t see the shape of her nipples through her dress. It must be a trick of his imagination because it was black wool, virtually impenetrable to cold, wind, and lustful gazes.

  He pressed a glass into her hands as Lady Belfrost draped a blanket over her shoulders.

  She nodded her thanks and cautiously took a sip. She didn’t like all the attention she was receiving, but she bore it until she begged to be excused to change. They all agreed they ought to retire.

  They parted ways on the landing, the Daniels to the guest wing, and he, his aunt, and Rose up the stairs to the family wing. Of course, Rose would sleep in the family wing. He now realized how much his aunt treated her like an adopted daughter and less like an employee. He pretended not to notice with extreme interest that she entered the room across from his while his aunt continued down the hall.

  He closed the door and locked it. If he could, he’d nail it shut. Not because he feared entry, but because he knew, the more he thought about Rose just across the hall, the more tempted he would become. Would she have a hot bath? Would she wish to wash the rain from her hair or be content to let it dry by the fire? He forced himself to move about the room, undress, and then lay his clothes over the chair, climbing in naked under the coverlet.

  The sheets were soft and clean, a true luxury when one spent so much time sleeping in tents. Sometimes having something over your head was a luxury itself. The sheets slid over his skin in tantalizing softness and thoughts of Rose came to his mind unbidden. His body hardened all over.

  He quit the bed and put on his trousers again, roughly buttoning the falls over his erection as if to scold it. He climbed back in bed and blew out the candle, throwing one arm over his head and willing himself to sleep.

  The clock ticked from the mantle, the fire popped in the hearth, the rain and wind shook the window, muffled by the thick curtains. All these things seemed unusually loud, determined to keep him from rest, but nothing was as loud as his own thoughts. They betrayed him the most.

  Was Roses skin as soft as these sheets? He rolled the fabric between his fingers. He closed his eyes and wondered. In his mind, he pictured the pale skin above her collarbone. It would be achingly soft under his hands. He would be devastated if he touched her, acutely aware of how rough and undeserving he was to be touching something so soft and perfect. He would be ruined. Every woman he touched thereafter would be found wanting. He would never be satisfied again.

  He groaned and cursed himself. He was only making it worse. One lesson that he never seemed to remember was that when you make something forbidden, you make yourself want it more. So, instead, he embraced his want. He wanted Rose. He wanted to peel the damp black wool from her, kissing every inch of exposed flesh.

  He reached into his trousers and took hold of himself, stroking the fantasy to life, easing his pain the only way he could. In his mind, he removed her dress, her damp shift following, and then those pesky wool stockings that he decreed far too rough to touch her silky skin. He laid her back on the bed, feasting on her with deliberate bites, starting at the soles of her feet. She would giggle, and her skin would flush a lovely pink. She was warm now, and when his wandering mouth reached the apex of her thighs, she was wet and moaning his name, her voice scratchy. Scratchy? He grimaced.

  Scratching.

  Gabriel snapped out of his fantasy and froze. There was scratching at his door. He looked at his clock. It was half past eleven. Could she… He leapt out of bed and adjusted himself, so his erection was not blatantly obvious. He threw his shirt over his head, not bothering to tuck it in or button the neck. He approached the door and opened it slowly.

  Mr. Daniel stood there. Looking first baffled, and then guilty.

  “My apologies, I got lost.” He shifted to leave, but Gabriel grabbed him by his jacket and marched him backward into the hall.

  “You’re not lost, Mr. Daniel. Her room’s right there.” He stopped when he had Daniel up against her door.

  “Why don’t we bid her goodnight? It was her you were hoping to see, wasn’t it?”

  “The footman, he must have been confused…” Mr. Daniel pleaded.

  “I think he knew exactly what he was doing. You see, everyone in this household is in love with Miss Owens, even the barn cats, I’m sure. So why would the footmen, any of them, give you proper directions to her room? That is not how we like our lovely Miss Owens to be treated. She is not here for your base needs, nor would she willingly except them.”

  “You misunderstand,” Mr. Daniel pleaded.

  “Do I? Did you mean to propose? To pledge your undying love? Let us see what her answer would be.” Gabriel knocked on her door.

  He grinned as Mr. Daniel struggled in his hold. They could hear her footsteps as she approached.

  Her door opened a crack and then more to take in the spectacle before her.

  “Miss Owens.” Gabriel greeted her warmly. Her hair was down, flowing in waves around her shoulders. And she was dressed in an innocent pale blue dressing gown with dark blue sprigs all over it. Gabriel wanted to close his eyes and saver the image so he could remember it later when he was alone, but instead, he gave Mr. Daniel another shake and spun him to face her.

  “Mr. Daniel was searching for you. I’m sure he has something exceedingly important to tell you, don’t you, Mr. Daniel? What other reason could he have for coming to this floor at this hour?”

  She folded her arms and turned a hard glare to Mr. Daniel. “Well?”

  “I’m sorry. I thought…”

  “I don’t think thinking was involved, do you, Miss Owens?”

  “I do not, Mr. Connor.”

  “Be gone with you, pup. Don’t wander this way again or approach Miss Owens with anything but reverence.” Gabriel let go of Mr. Daniel, and he scampered back toward the stairs. Gabriel watched him with a smirk. Then he turned back to Rose. She’d closed the door a little, but she watched him. She wasn’t smiling, and her eyes were wandering over his chest. He looked down at his open collar.

  “My apologies. I wasn’t prepared to receive company when he came scratching at my door. They don’t make lovely dressing gowns such as yours for men my size.” He was acting like an idiot. Anything to distract her and himself from the slow spread of heat over his skin. He shouldn’t stand here any longer. He needed two locked doors and an empty hall between them if he was going to maintain any sort of control. Only two feet remained between them, and those scant two feet felt like an open invitation, the first step to a grand adventure.

  He took a step back.

  “Wait,” she said.

  He did, damning every second that he stood there wishing she would invite him in.

  “Thank you for what you did.”

  He raised a brow.

  “With Mr. Daniel,” she clarified. “I don’t know what I would have done in that situation had I faced him alone.”

  “Well,” he stepped forward, breaking through the empty air between them and only stopping when he was directly before her. He braced his hands on the door jams, holding himself back. He had to.

/>   She put a hand on his chest to stop him, the shock of it blasting through him. He took a deep breath.

  “Don’t ever open your door at this hour when you hear scratching. It’s never something good.”

  Now she raised a brow. “I’ve heard otherwise.”

  The sound of her warm, taunting voice went straight to his groin. He thickened in his trousers. Part of him wished she would notice, wished she would see the need in his eyes. But he was also certain of her innocence, even if she’d heard about things that come scratching at doors in the middle of the night.

  “That’s different. Those occasions are prearranged.”

  “Oh,” she said softly.

  He stepped back. He’d tasted enough temptation for one night. “Goodnight, Miss Owens.”

  “Goodnight, Mr. Connor.”

  He didn’t look back as he returned to his room and locked his door.

  Chapter 6

  The next morning, Rose entered the breakfast parlor with trepidation, but only two people were there to greet her.

  “Are the Daniel’s sleeping late?” she asked.

  “They left at first light. It wasn’t raining at the time, and they wanted to take advantage of the lull in the storm,” Lady Belfrost answered.

  Relieved, Rose filled a plate at the buffet and took her seat. She cautiously glanced at Mr. Connor and wondered if he would mention Mr. Daniel’s visit to her room to Lady Belfrost. She hoped not, but if he did, she was confident she could put to rest any worries Lady Belfrost might have. She’d done nothing to encourage Mr. Daniel, and Mr. Connor was there to diffuse the situation.

  She’d had trouble falling asleep after the incident. Mr. Daniel hadn’t frightened her in the least, but after he’d gone and only Mr. Connor remained, she’d feared herself. She could still feel the heat of his skin on her hand, the light dusting of hair that tickled her palm. The way he stepped forward was as clear in her mind as the teacup in her hand. She’d had every intention of stopping him as he loomed in her doorway, but the moment she touched his skin, her whole body had come alive, anticipation and expectant energy possessing her as she waited for him to do something she couldn’t.

  He hadn’t done it.

  She was left disappointed, and thoroughly confused with herself. She shouldn’t want him to do anything at her door. Or in her room. Or to her body. But when he didn’t look back and closed his door with such finality, the sound of it reverberated through her like an angst-filled shock wave. She was left wanting.

  Wanting something she shouldn’t want. Needing something she most definitely didn’t need.

  Aggravation had made sleep difficult, but she somehow willed herself to sleep at some point in the night and woke feeling somewhat rational.

  She should be glad of his control. Lady Belfrost’s warning to Rose was superfluous. He had no intention to seduce her or else he would have. He’d had the perfect opportunity last night. They had both been barely clothed, if he had stepped into her room and Rose had closed the door and allowed him a few liberties—well, no one would have been the wiser.

  But the point was moot. Because he didn’t, and she hadn’t, and she wasn’t the least bit disappointed—she growled to herself in her mind. She looked down at her tea and scowled. She was glad—she was more than glad. She was damn happy she wouldn’t have to give another thought to Mr. Connor and guard herself as Lady Belfrost had warned.

  She forcibly turned her mind away from thoughts of Mr. Connor. “What is on the agenda today, my lady?”

  Lady Belfrost set her teacup down and smiled. “I’m so glad you asked. I thought it would be wonderful to take a picnic to the hunting lodge. It’s fallen to disuse, and I’d like both of you to help me redecorate it.”

  “I’m afraid I haven’t any skill in decorating,” he said.

  “Don’t be afraid, Gabriel. I’ve sent for a decorator, but I will need help taking an inventory of what needs replacing. Since it will one day be yours, your opinion is of great importance to me.”

  Rose watched as Mr. Connor smiled uncomfortably.

  “I’d hate to change anything of my uncles.”

  “Don’t worry. He hasn’t been there in years. The pain in his hands makes shooting unbearable. That side of the property is overrun with game.”

  That settled it. After breakfast, they would prepare for a small trip to the hunting lodge. Rose had only seen it from a distance. It wasn’t a very friendly looking structure. She went to her room to change into her walking boots and put on her warmer cloak. Returning to the hall, she waited for the carriage and asked for another blanket and foot warmer for Lady Belfrost. The rain was already returning, and the air was damp and cold.

  Just like the day of Mr. Connors arrival, the day would be miserably wet. Mr. Connor handed Lady Belfrost into the carriage and turned to Rose. Surprised, she let him hand her in, not ready for the sudden physical contact. It was only his hand on her elbow, but at once, she was overwhelmed with his nearness. A hot flush spreading over her skin as she took her seat, she adjusted her skirts to avoid meeting anyone’s gaze. He climbed in, shrinking the interior of the carriage significantly, and they rolled down the drive. They were only on the road for ten minutes before turning down a lane that was rarely used. It was horribly rutted, and the carriage rocked side to side as they cautiously followed the lane.

  Rose kept her eyes glued to the window and the passing scene. The thickets of trees were growing thicker. The road smoothed and widened as the trees arched over the road, protecting it from the worst of the rain. The carriage slowed to a halt, and a groom opened the door.

  Rose waited impatiently, barely noticing Mr. Connor’s touch as he handed her down. She couldn’t take her eyes from the hunting lodge. It looked more like a garrison than a lodge, a haunted, menacing garrison, long abandoned by its guards and left to rot. The stone walls rose above the trees like a giant.

  The sound of rushing water pulled her attention away from the lodge and to the small stone footbridge that was its only means of entry. The crumbling stones looked held together by leaves.

  “My lady, I think this task would be better served in the summer.” Rose cautiously stepped forward toward the bridge. Water rushed beneath it at dizzying speeds. Branches the size of small trees was tossed against the pillars repeatedly.

  “This is a perfect time. We’ve been cooped up in the main house for far too long. This will be an excellent diversion,” Lady Belfrost said.

  “I’ll cross first and make sure the bridge is indeed sound,” Mr. Connor offered.

  Rose watched him approach slowly. She wanted to protest. She wanted to order them to turn the carriage around and take them all back to where it was warm and safe, but it wasn’t her place to speak.

  “Please, be careful,” she whispered.

  He looked back at her and winked. She didn’t think he could hear her above the roar of the water.

  “This is what I live for.”

  Lady Belfrost laughed.

  He thrust his arms out from his sides for balance and stepped slowly, with one foot in front of the other like an acrobat.

  Rose rolled her eyes. He teetered on an imaginary rope, wavering his arms, and then steadying until he’d crossed the bridge.

  “Do exactly as I did. There may be booby traps,” he said with urgency.

  Lady Belfrost did a weak imitation of his antics, giggling like a young girl. Rose stomped across the bridge defiantly, holding his gaze and trying to ignore the way his silly grin made her stomach feel like it was filled with butterflies.

  “Well done, Rose. Not as light hearted as I’d like, but more spirit than you’ve had for more than a year.” Lady Belfrost clapped and turned away.

  Rose was caught off guard by the comment. She frowned at Lady Belfrost’s back. What on earth did she mean?

  “She means you’re a bit of a dundgeon,” a deep voice whispered in her ear.

  A shiver raced down her spine, but she wasn’t cold. In fact, she cou
ldn’t even feel the chill in the air anymore. She stepped away from him, giving him a warning glare. “I am not.”

  He shrugged.

  She turned back toward the lodge. Its unwelcome façade warned them away without words. Lady Belfrost wasn’t the least bit intimidated. She marched forward and removed a key from her reticule. Rose stood back and looked up the front of the lodge. It was only two floors—the top opened to the air and more of a look out.

  Lady Belfrost was struggling with the door, and Mr. Connor had to forcibly turn the key and then use his shoulder to push the door open. To Rose, it was a sign. This fortress did not want visitors. She entered slowly behind them, followed by the footman who was enlisted to carry their picnic and see to their comfort. Rose shivered as she entered the front hall. If possible, it felt colder than the outside. Lady Belfrost instructed the footman to start a fire at once in the drawing room. They huddled close as the flames greedily consumed the logs and stretched their hands out to the warmth. Feeling adequately toasty once more, Rose circled the room. A thick layer of dust covered everything.

  “This place is filthy. Why hasn’t Mr. James kept it up to par?” Lady Belfrost asked nobody in particular. “Well, there is the kitchen, the larder, and four bedrooms upstairs. Not very large for a hunting lodge, but it will do in a pinch,” Lady Belfrost went on.

  Rose opened the drapes to let in more light and was rewarded with a waterfall of dust. She coughed and waved away the dust, running from the cloud. She bumped into a wide chest.

  “My apologies,” she said hoarsely.

  “Think nothing of it.” He held out his handkerchief.

  She took it and dabbed at her watering eyes. “Thank you.”

  She watched as he examined the room with interest, touching various things, examining books on the bookshelves. Rose tried not to stare after him, but he seemed to be everywhere she looked in the room. She brushed off the sofa and sat, pulling a sketchbook from her bag. Lady Belfrost wanted her to draw a general sketch of the rooms for the decorator to take back to London. She was happy to immerse herself in the task.