Withered Rose (Desperate And Daring Book 7)

by Dayna Quince

  Rose snarled. She stepped closer to the water but safely out of its reach.

  “I see you survived the night,” Lady Belfrost yelled across the roar of the water.

  “I’m giving my notice, effective yesterday, Lady Belfrost. I expect a glowing reference to give to my next employer.”

  “Rose…” Lady Belfrost pouted.

  “How long before the water recedes?” Mr. Connor appeared beside her.

  Lady Belfrost shrugged helplessly. “Days?”

  Rose felt her knees go weak. “Days?” she said to herself.

  “We’ll need more food,” Mr. Connor said.

  “Days?” Rose said louder. “How many days?”

  “If the rain stops… perhaps three, maybe more.”

  Rose began to pace. “You trapped us here knowing this?”

  “I didn’t know precisely how long,” Lady Belfrost said.

  “Who have you told about this?”

  “Only the necessary staff.”

  “Why would you do something so maddeningly stupid to us?” Rose shouted angrily.

  Lady Belfrost didn’t answer. She hung her head.

  “We need supplies if we are to last that long. Blankets, dry wood, lamp oil, food—”

  “Is there another way back?” Rose shouted over him.

  “No,” he answered.

  “What do you mean?” Rose turned to him.

  “I walked the length of the property yesterday. The creek bed splits around the lodge and joins itself on the other side. We’re surrounded.”

  Rose stared at him in shock. “Surrounded?”

  “I’m afraid so. Until that bridge is passable by foot, we’re trapped.”

  Rose shook her head lamely. She looked back to Lady Belfrost who was wringing her hands anxiously. Rose lifted her chin and turned away. She went back into the house. A short while later, Mr. Connor returned. Rose was sitting in her chair by the fire. He came to stand before her and put his hands on his hips.

  “I hope you don’t plan on pouting the entire time we’re stuck here.”

  “Pouting?” She clenched her teeth.

  “Be angry, curse, throw things if you wish, but unless you want to freeze or starve, there are more important things to do.”

  “Please enlighten me then.” Rose stood and put her own hands on her hips.

  His eyes skimmed over her body and back to hers. “Find any and all usable blankets. We need to find a way to cover your windows. We also need to stock any rooms we want to use with wood. The carriage will return with food, lamp oil, and other necessities. I instructed them to pack more clothing for us both.”

  His productive attitude was having a calming effect on her. Perhaps she was pouting, but if she had a job to do, she couldn’t dwell on her feelings. She nodded. “Right, blankets. Anything else?”

  “Check the rooms again for oil lamps. Perhaps we overlooked them in our initial inspection.”

  “Very well.”

  He stepped forward and touched her chin. She looked up again, all her nerves and emotions shivering like leaves in a breeze as he drew near.

  “You’re cold and wet. Change first. If you catch ill, you’ll be dead before we can leave here.”

  She swallowed and nodded. She stepped away and hurried from the room. She was shivering, but she couldn’t tell if she was cold or simply shaken by his nearness. She pinched her arm. She needed to focus. Now wasn’t the time to be lost in thoughts about him and their fate.

  They needed to prepare for their stay here. Food, warmth, and at least the shelter was already provided. She went to her room and changed into her old dress. It was stiff and scratchy, but it was dry. She searched her room for a lamp but found none. She did find a tattered footstool that would make sufficient kindling. She set it near her smoldering hearth and went to search the other rooms.

  * * *

  Later that afternoon, Rose watched from her room as the carriage returned. Two footmen stepped out and began to unload supplies. Mr. Connor was out there barking orders, but she couldn’t see him. They tied something to the end of a long rope, and numerous attempts were made to throw it over a branch. Rose went downstairs to watch from the doorway of the front entry. She stepped outside and closed the door, not wanting to lose any of the precious heat they had created from burning broken furniture. There was a stockpile of chopped wood in the lean-to beside the lodge, but it was small. They had to be economical with their supply.

  As Rose watched, Richard, the youngest footman, threw the rock over the water and Mr. Connor caught it. The footmen fed him more rope. He looped the rope around the tree and over a low branch and tossed the rock back. The footmen did the same with a tree on the opposite side.

  They rigged a basic pulley system and fixed a basket to the rope to carry supplies over the water. Rose stared at the basket longingly but knew it would not bear her weight. She was stuck here, no matter how she wished otherwise. She stepped forward to help unload the basket. She carried an armful of food to the kitchen as the basket was pulled back to the other side. She opened a bottom cabinet and pulled out a bowl. A mouse jumped from the bowl and onto her skirt.

  Rose screamed a blood-curdling, hair-raising scream, dropping the bowl. The mouse leapt from her skirts and scurried under the stove. Rose started to laugh, her heart pounding in her chest like a rabbit.

  Mr. Connor came running through the swing door, looking as if he was prepared to defeat Lucifer himself. The sight only made Rose laugh harder.

  “What happened?” he asked as he looked around frantically.

  Rose tried to catch her breath, but she was laughing so hard she was crying, and in her mind, she could see the mouse, clinging to her skirt in terror over and over. The poor little creature. She hadn’t meant to scream. She wasn’t afraid of mice, but she had been so surprised when it jumped at her that her scream came unbidden. She felt ridiculous for having screamed at a mouse.

  She wiped her eyes as Mr. Connor stood to stare at her as if she’d lost her mind.

  “I’m sorry. I was startled by a mouse, that’s all.”

  “A mouse?” he said incredulously.

  “I know. It’s preposterous. It jumped at me, and I screamed. It just came out of me.”

  He frowned at her, then shook his head and walked out of the kitchen.

  Rose giggled some more, then resumed what she was doing—carefully this time, shaking cabinet doors and thumping loudly to give any rogue mice a chance to flee before she spotted them. She crouched low and looked into the back of a cabinet, a bottle catching her eye. She reached in and pulled it out into the light. It was a full bottle of whiskey, thickly coated in dust. Rose opened it and sniffed.

  It smelled warm, with a hint of honey. She looked around, not sure what she was expecting to find. There were no servants here to spy. She took a sip. It was smooth on her tongue but burned fiercely down her throat. She coughed and grimaced. It was awful! She set the bottle down. Perhaps Mr. Connor would like it. As she turned away to resume her task, she felt an odd warmth in her stomach. It was pleasant. She considered the bottle again. Perhaps if she mixed it with a nice cup of tea. She made a fresh pot, added a splash of whiskey, and while it tasted strange, she felt warmed from the inside out. She felt the strain leave her muscles as she continued to unload the supplies Mr. Connor carried in.

  The carriage eventually left, and Rose and Mr. Connor took stock of their surroundings. They had enough wood to keep them warm through the night. Rose was in a fresh dry gown, and she was feeling very amused by everything. She felt loose in her limbs, and unhelpful giggles kept bubbling up inside her. She had to swallow them down and remind herself how distraught she ought to be. It was hard when Mr. Connor was so distracting. He wore a thick knitted sweater like seamen wore and tight buckskin breeches. The navy blue of his sweater was lovely with his sun-kissed skin and reddish blonde hair. She imagined he would be quite at home on the deck of a ship. The most distracting thing of all was how wide his shoulders
looked in that sweater. She kept pulling her eyes away from him at dinner as he tried to make conversation with her, but they always returned to him, lingering on his hands, so large and skillful, his thick forearms, and his chest. He was good at telling stories, but all she wanted to do was watch him. It didn’t matter what he said.

  He was unlike any gentleman she’d ever known. He spoke like a gentleman, acted like a gentleman, but he looked like a laborer with a body shaped by hard work, not leisurely sporting activities. The teacup he held looked so fragile in his hand as if all he had to do was squeeze it, and it would crumble in his hands like paper.

  He was filling the lag in conversation with a story about his time in a jungle. Rose couldn’t remember the name of the country of which he spoke. He spread his arms wide to indicate the length of something.

  Rose licked her lips. She wanted to feel those arms around her and not because he was pulling her from a river.

  He dropped his arms as stared at her.

  “What?” she asked nervously. Was it obvious she hadn’t been listening to a single word but ogling his masculine beauty?

  “You look a bit… jug-bitten.”

  Rose gasped. “I am not.” She suppressed a giggle. It wouldn’t help her cause.

  He raised a brow. “What have you been drinking?”

  Rose stood and fetched the bottle from the kitchen. “It was awful alone, but in tea, it’s quite tolerable.”

  “Whiskey?!” He held up the bottle, then uncorked it and sniffed it. “You’re going to regret this tomorrow.” He chuckled. “How much did you drink?

  “Enough,” Rose taunted.

  His lips twisted as he set the bottle down. “Do you plan to be drunk the entire time we’re here? Because let me tell you, that was my plan, but there isn’t enough whiskey for the both of us.”

  “We should have them toss a few bottles over the river, shall we?” Rose grinned.

  He sobered. “May we talk about last night?”

  Rose groaned. The bubbly feeling in her head rejected the notion of serious conversation. She didn’t want to fight with him. She wanted… she wanted to be seduced. She turned her back to him and walked away. He followed her. She made a loop around the sofa, a wing chair, and then a table. It was ridiculous—she was being ridiculous, but the beauty of having too much whiskey was that she didn’t care.

  “You know what I think?” He stopped chasing her and collapsed into the wing back chair. “I think you’re afraid of me.”

  “Pish. I’m not afraid of you.”

  “You’re afraid of something.”

  Myself. “Everyone is afraid of something.” She watched him from the corner of her eye.

  “I know you think I’m some dull-witted explorer, but I happen to be an expert in facing fears.”

  She leaned back against the wall beside the window, sliding her hands across the smooth surface of the wallpaper. “I don’t think you’re dull-witted. Someone dull-witted could not survive your travels as you have. Something would have eaten you at some point.”

  He gave her a droll stare. “You’re missing my point entirely. You’re also missing the opportunity this situation offers.”

  “And what is that?”

  “This could be the catalyst for the change you need. It’s obvious you are unhappy as a companion. You’ve given up on life when it’s only just begun.”

  “I haven’t given up anything. I didn’t choose for my father to become ill. I didn’t want to become a companion. I had no control.”

  “Take control.”

  “You say that like it’s so simple. As if all I must do is pick up that pillow on the chair, and suddenly, I’ll have everything I’ve ever wanted. That just isn’t true for me. I can’t escape as you can. There will be talk, and that talk will travel further than I can afford.”

  “It is that easy. Don’t you see that none of it matters? People will think what they want to think. I could tup you on every surface of this lodge, and no one would know. Or we could play chess.” He shrugged.

  Rose felt heat wash through her at his words. “No one would believe that. I would still be ruined.”

  “Believe what? The tupping or the chess?”

  She covered her face with her hands. Her cheeks felt like glowing coals. “Either… both.”

  He snorted. “You don’t believe I can play chess, do you.”

  By the sound of his voice, she could tell he’d moved closer. She wouldn’t look up from behind her hands. She felt like a raw open wound, all her feelings on display, and nothing to hide behind. If he saw how much she wanted his nearness, his touch, he’d laugh at her.

  She squeaked in surprise when his hands were suddenly on her. He grabbed her by the wrists and pulled her hands away from her face. “Do you?”

  He was angry with her. Good. He thought that she thought he was an idiot. She was the idiot, a giant, pathetic, and wanton idiot. She took a deep breath and lifted her chin. “I believe you can play chess. I don’t believe you’d tup me.”

  His eyes widened.

  She’d shocked him. Good.

  He recovered quickly. He held her gaze and each wrist in hand. He raised them slowly above her head, pinning her to the wall. He raised one brow. “You don’t believe I’d… make love to you?”

  She frowned at his choice of words. It was hard to think with him so close. With every inhale, she took in more of his scent. He shouldn’t smell so good when they’ve been denied proper baths for almost two days. “However you chose to phrase it, no.”

  He cocked his head to the side. “Why not?” His voice was deeper now. He transferred both wrists to one hand and with his free hand, ran a single finger slowly over her exposed wrist.

  She swallowed, desperately trying to ignore how the sound of his voice made her feel warmer. “You’ve shown yourself to be a gentleman.” And she was a gentlewoman, which is why she shouldn’t want to melt against him.

  “Ah, yes. I am quite gentlemanly.”

  He stepped closer, his thigh pressing between her legs. She was forced to widen her stance. She could now feel his breath on her lips. She couldn’t help licking them. She wanted him to notice her lips. She wanted him to kiss her.

  “But what else?”

  “What else?” It was difficult to think. Her head was muddled. “You… you had a chance, and you didn’t take it.”

  His eyes moved over her face. “I did?”

  “When you stopped Mr. Daniel.”

  He nodded once, his eyes focusing on her lips. “I remember. You were standing there like a gift, tied with a pretty bow.”

  She swallowed. Her mouth felt dry, and her tongue felt clumsy. She started to panic. If he kissed her, she was bound to muck it up. She wanted it—him—too badly. Her humiliation would be so much worse if they kissed, but… she could not stop it, even if she wanted to. Her ship was going to sink, and she was going down with it. She dropped her gaze to his lips. Lifting her chin just a tad. It was an obvious invitation.

  His lips twitched with a ghost of a smile, and then she lost focus as his lips touched her own. She didn’t let herself melt into him, but it was a fight with her own body. She pushed herself back against the wall. If she let this go further than a kiss, she’d lose all control. She’d never be able to stop wanting more. It was her curse. See the line, cross it, draw a new line, and then cross it. Over and over, she’d done this in her life, risk after foolish risk, and it had led her nowhere a young gentlewoman should be. His lips swept across her mouth, and she opened slightly, just a small taste. Line one already crossed. He swooped in, claiming her mouth, and Rose lost all will to resist. She decided right then that her next vocation would be that of a nun. She would give her life to the lord. It was the least she could do for the sins she was going to commit with this man.

  Her body arched off the wall, and his thigh pressed harder between hers. She groaned, her tongue tangling with his. Desire spread through her blood like a raging fever, hot and welcome. She’d be
en here before, once upon a time, when the world was not so harsh and unforgiving. She’d tasted lust before and let herself be swept up in passion. It felt so long ago now, and she was not that girl anymore. He broke the kiss. She dropped her head away from the wall and panted into his neck.

  “Do you still believe I won’t make love to you?” He let her arms fall to her sides. Her hands filled with painful tingles. She nodded, her heart skipping inside her chest.

  “Then you’re right. I won’t make love to you. I won’t tup you against the wall or anywhere else.”

  Rose fell back against the wall. She should be relieved, but she wasn’t. She was sick with need and disappointment. Why? She wanted to cry, but she had pride. She remained still as he laid his hand against her cheek.

  “But damn do I want to. I want to, Rose. Believe that. But I won’t. You’ve made it quite clear you don’t want to marry me. I don’t want to marry either, especially when someone is trying to force us. But I can promise you this—I want to do everything I can to you without crossing that line. I want to kiss every inch of your body. I want to suckle your breasts and leave bites around your blushing nipples. I want to bruise the satin skin of your neck with my kisses. I want to slide my fingers inside your heat and watch you come apart in my hands. I want to taste you, Rose, like you are the ambrosia of the gods, carefully and sweetly, and then roughly, so you know that no matter what happens when we leave here, I wanted you, you wanted me, and we claimed that want, owned it, because no one can tell us what to do or what to feel.”

  Rose put her hands on his chest, the heat of his skin under his lawn shirt unbearably tempting. “Show me.”

  “I can show you, but you have to trust me.”

  “I trust you.” She pushed off the wall and into his arms. They came around her, and he lifted her and carried her to the sofa. He lay her down gently and followed, easing over her, resting his weight on one side. He brushed her hair away from her neck and kissed her there where her pulse jumped wildly.

  “You’ve been kissed before?” he asked. His voice was gentle and just barely above a whisper.

  Rose nodded. She didn’t trust her voice. She didn’t even trust herself to touch him again, afraid of looking too eager. She balled her fists against his chest and let him lead. She tried not to pull away when he took one tightly furled fist and gently pried her fingers open and pressed it to his chest where she could feel his heart thumping.