“I’m certain the fittings can be rescheduled,” James said and leaned closer.
Rose resisted leaning back, as if the closer he moved, the more he could tell her lies. She remained still for another minute then broke eye contact. She couldn’t look at him and continue to lie. Not to James.
“I’m certain I could change the appointment,” she said and forced her fingers to uncurl from her lap. She reached across and took his hand. Her fingers curled over his, and she hated herself that much more. “But I’m equally certain you’d find something else you wanted to do together on that day as well,” she said and wondered if her smile looked as horribly fake as it felt.
His grin was fast and real. “Yes. I am a heinous criminal. A rake of the worst sort, desiring to spend time with my wife.”
Instead of easing the vice around her chest, his words—said in jest, with the warmth of love behind them—tightened it. Rose swallowed again but couldn’t take a deep breath. She looked back at her plate, but the food held no interest.
Turning to him again, she pushed back her chair and stood. Closing the short distance, she brushed her fingers over his lips. Even that move, one she’d preformed dozens of times since coming to trust James, made her feel a fraud.
“You are nothing of the sort,” she said honestly. “Simply an obstacle between me and a gown I wish to wear to the duchess’s ball.”
The words tasted like ash and choked her; she’d had her last fitting days ago. Mayhap they should’ve left when James first proposed to do so. Missing one of Isabella’s balls was nothing compared to the weight of Rose’s lies.
“Bested by a gown.” James sighed and tugged her closer. He turned in his chair, breakfast forgotten, and settled his hands on her hips. “I suppose I have no recourse.”
Rose leaned down and pressed her lips to his. “None.”
He sighed and tightened his hands on her hips. The kiss lingered but didn’t deepen, and slowly she pulled away. Rose looked down at him for a long, long minute. Her fingers brushed gently over his cheek and for a heartbeat, as she watched him, all she felt was love and tenderness.
But then reality intruded, and her guilt once more gripped her in its iron fist.
Swallowing heavily, she stepped back. James’s fingers tightened for a beat then released her, though his gaze followed her as she moved from his embrace.
She turned to leave the dining room, her half-eaten breakfast forgotten. Rose moved around the table and what she saw, changed.
A pair of hands—her hands she knew though did not know how—lifted a small piece of paper. Her lips kissed the quarter sheet, carefully folded into a very small square, and slipped it into the crack in the stone wall. She turned and looked around her but saw no one.
The countryside, wild and empty and full of heather, spread out before her. She drew in a breath and felt her lips pull into a secretive smile. She smelled fresh air and horses, and other scents she knew but didn’t recognize.
Rose blinked, coming back to herself in the dining room of her townhouse. She gasped in a breath and smelled the scent of sausage and egg and toast. Tasted tea on her tongue. Her fingers curled around a chair, the dark mahogany wood solid beneath her fingers.
“Rose?” James asked.
His hands cupped her shoulders and he bent so his face was even with hers. He looked worried, a hint of fear in his eyes.
“Yes?” she asked, her voice faint.
Then she caught herself. Rose knew what that was. She almost could admit it to herself. But she swallowed and looked up at James and straightened in his grasp. She even managed a smile and a small shake of her head.
“I’m fine,” she said and offered a light chuckle. “Just…” She didn’t think seeing a mouse would work as an excuse. “Just a bit dizzy,” she said.
The look on his face, and the realization of exactly why she’d be dizzy, hit her at the same time. He thought her pregnant.
Struggling for breath, she leaned into him and kissed him softly. “I’m fine, James. Honest.”
He nodded, but only looked half convinced. But he released his hold and she stepped away, forcing her feet to carry her from the dining room and into the hall. Once there, she looked toward the gallery.
James had told her of the crack in the wall that first day, their wedding day. That had to be it, had to be the reason she had that…whatever it was in the dining room. His words, his conviction, in his dreams was so powerful, she started to see things as well.
Rose purposely turned and started for the stairs. They really should’ve left for the Continent. It would’ve been far better than the mire of lies she currently lived.
* * * *
WHISTLING, JAMES LEFT the architect’s offices, new plans firmly in hand, and swung into his horse’s saddle. Rose had the carriage today, and he’d decided to enjoy the sun and warmth of late spring. Digby was to meet him at the club later, after his meeting with Hawkhurst, and take the plans home while James surprised Rose at her seamstress.
It was a short ride to Langston & Biddle’s, and he enjoyed the air. It was clogged with people and shouting and the normal London feel of rushing, but James didn’t mind.
Tossing the reins to the club’s boy, he swung out of the saddle and strode into the club. He nodded to the steward and several gentlemen sitting in various chairs, but ignored the calls to join them.
Hawkhurst, and his recent decision to join in with the new bazaar, awaited him. Most fortuitously, Hawkhurst already owned the building next to the recently burnt bazaar. The offices there had to be vacated after the fire, and only when the other man learned of James’s desire to rebuild did he agree to join the venture.
“Hawkhurst,” James greeted as he settled in his normal chair. “I have your set of plans.”
Immediately a footman brought him a tray of scones with his favorite Scottish orange marmalade. James thanked the man but pushed the plate aside and set his plans on the low table.
“Thank you.” Hawkhurst nodded and accepted the pages. “It’s good we threw in together before it was too late. I’ve just come from Granville’s townhouse with the signed contracts.”
He picked up a sheaf of papers and handed them to James. He didn’t bother to read them; he knew what they said, and Hawkhurst had no qualms about signing them as is.
“Lady Octavia was most disturbed,” Hawkhurst added with a frown.
Surprised, James set the marmalade knife down and looked at his friend. “Lady Octavia was not the epitome of grace?” he asked, positive he heard the other man wrong. “I find that unusual.”
“Each time I’ve seen Lady Octavia, for quite some time now,” Hawkhurst said haltingly, “she has been less than friendly. I wonder what I’ve done to warrant such reaction.”
James didn’t know what to say. He’d never seen Octavia anything but gracious. Even with those she did not particularly like, she was polite. Never, ever had he seen her outright hostile to the point someone commented upon it.
“Lady Octavia isn’t one to take small slights to heart,” he offered. “Have you ever slighted one of her friends?”
“To my knowledge, no.” Hawkhurst shook his head and sipped his wine. Then he shrugged. “Perhaps I have unknowingly committed an error that offended her.” He met James’s gaze and looked utterly sincere when he next spoke. “How can I remedy such a thing?”
James stared at him. “Much groveling and begging? Perhaps flowers and ribbons?” he asked and bit into his marmalade-covered scone.
Not that he knew Octavia to be won over by such frivolous items as flowers and ribbons, but it couldn’t hurt Hawkhurst to try, if he was truly interested in remedying their relationship. James narrowed his gaze at the other man. Was he? Why?
To maintain peace between business partners? Or was there more?
James certainly wasn’t a man to question another’s love interests. But Octavia was a very good friend. And he was protective of his friends.
“I’d like to find
a way into Lady Octavia’s good graces,” Hamilton said with unflinching smoothness.
James nodded. “Have you been invited to the Strathmore ball?”
“Yes,” Hawkhurst said.
“Request a dance from her,” James suggested.
Hawkhurst looked as if James had a brilliant idea, which of course he had, and he brightened considerably.
The question James did not ask was why Hawkhurst wanted to move into Octavia’s good graces. He approved of the match, to be sure; Hawkhurst was a good man from a good family and, even more importantly, knew how to conduct business.
He’d also been of considerable help with Selina’s father and the bad business at the Old Bailey.
There had to be a reason Octavia slighted Hawkhurst. She wasn’t one to normally do so; in fact, she often made what could be considered borderline inappropriate choices in friends. Never, in her entire life, had he known Octavia to dislike anyone for no reason. Her reasons were always good and always apparent.
And yet she’d never said a word to him about any bad business between her and Hawkhurst.
Still, one dance. It couldn’t hurt.
“That would most likely take her by surprise,” Hawkhurst agreed.
“Surprise, sometimes, is a good thing,” James agreed.
He grinned, uncaring what it looked like, and stood.
“I must get these plans to Kendrick. The addition is on the side he’s building.” James did not wish to see his father-in-law, but had no choice. Still, a quick stop then off to find Rose. Mayhap by now she was already home and they could spend the rest of the day together.
James quickly made his way to Kendrick’s.
“I’ll inform Mr. Kendrick you’re here,” the butler said.
“No need.” James waved the man away and quickly strode to the study. He really only wished to drop off the plans and leave. No need for niceties.
“Kendrick!” he called. “I have new plans that need to be addressed.”
He entered the open door and saw Kendrick behind his desk. He crossed the room but stopped dead. Slowly, shock freezing his blood, he turned to the small table off to the side. A man sat there, with papers spread over the table. Beside him sat Rose.
Rose. He didn’t know if he said her name aloud or not. Her own gaze was as frozen in shock as he felt.
His wife sat at a table in her father’s house, with her father’s business spread around her. Not at the seamstress. Not shopping.
She’d lied to him.
Chapter Sixteen
“SEE TO THEM. They’re new.” That was all James said to her father.
Then he turned to her, his expression completely unreadable. “We’re leaving.”
Rose hadn’t argued. She hadn’t really known what to say but merely stood and followed him. James hadn’t touched her as he stormed through her father’s townhouse and out the door. He hadn’t even looked at her.
The entire ride back to their townhouse had been done in tense silence. James’s anger beat through the carriage like a living thing, all sharp edges and fisted hands. Rose sat straight as the carriage moved through London’s streets, and she watched him. Though he didn’t once meet her gaze, she was under no illusion he was unaware of her stare.
Her guilty stare. It ate at her, the nausea from earlier unabated and now threatening to rip through her heart. Part of her knew she was in the right—justified in seeing her father and helping his business. But she’d straight-faced lied to her husband.
It was the lie that curled like poison through her.
The carriage pulled to a stop and before the footman opened the door, James did. He pushed it open and exited, his body vibrating with energy. He still did not look at her, and his blank stare broke her heart.
Feeling sick, Rose exited, spared a glance for the driver, whom she’d made complicit with her lies, and followed James into the house.
He didn’t go to his study or the library, or—thankfully—either of their bedrooms. No, he kept to an impersonal room. The front parlor. With her head high, though she felt ill, Rose followed him.
“James,” she began the moment the pocket doors closed behind her, “you must understand.”
He turned to stare at her, that cold, hard blankness that ripped through her. She swallowed and took a breath, hoping to keep the guilty nausea down.
“I didn’t tell you I went to see Father because I knew how you’d react. Forgive me for lying, but I didn’t want to upset you,” she told him very openly and honestly.
It did not escape her notice how she was honest with him after the fact.
“And discovering my wife lied to me for…how long?” he demanded, anger seething through each word. “How could that not be upsetting?”
“It’s only been a fortnight,” she acknowledged. Hearing her own words did not help, and she knew it. “Father hired a nervous young man as his new clerk,” she said and knew she justified her actions. “I know Father, and he likes his things in a particular manner. I simply instructed this new man.”
“And you found that held more import than your husband’s wishes?” he demanded, but his cold anger cracked, and now the heated rage seeped through.
“No, of course not,” she acknowledged. “I simply did not see the harm in it. I thought my instructions to the man would take only days, not such a long time.”
James crossed the room in two long strides, his eyes blazing as he stopped directly before her. He didn’t touch her but simply watched her as a predator would its prey.
“You found it an acceptable risk to place yourself in harm’s way to instruct a servant?” His voice lowered, a quiet thrum beating beneath each word. “If you had simply informed me, I’d have sent my own clerk to instruct this man. There was no need for you to have taken up the task yourself.”
Rose narrowed her eyes at him. Her back straightened and her own fingers fisted in the fine material of her gown.
“I do not think in that manner, James,” she spat at him. “When I see a thing must be done, I believe I must accomplish it myself. No other knows my father’s needs as I do.”
Rose stopped and took a deep breath. Softening, she reached out but didn’t touch him. She knew his dislike of Robert. Rose also knew his fears, unfounded though she thought them to be.
“Nothing untoward happened, nor will it,” she said softly. “My father might be a difficult man, one without certain social graces, but he is still my father. Someone whom I must believe would never harm me.”
“You forget,” he shot back, “he sold you.”
Rose jerked back, both at his words and his tone. Her gaze flew to his in shock, and she nearly gasped at the unfamiliar look, the pure anger, the hatred, the unraveling control, on the face of the man she loved.
“Is that the mark of a loving father?” His words echoed in the hollow silence.
“His arm was twisted by a very persuasive gentleman,” she reminded him in an even tone. Rose wasn’t angry, not truly—she saw both sides of this argument. Had hoped James would as well.
James may have twisted Robert’s arm, but Robert did have a very valid point—her marriage prospects would never have been as great as they were with James Hamilton.
“Who has since taken great care of me,” she reminded him.
He released a frustrated breath, and all his anger left him with that release. His hands curled over her shoulders, thumbs brushing the base of her neck. He pulled her closer, just a step, but it warmed the cold guilt in Rose.
“How can you not see that man is a danger?” he asked, the words quiet, desperate.
“I haven’t had a lifetime of dreams or visions that frighten me,” she reminded him, the words a bare whisper between them.
“But you’ve seen that soldier,” he reminded her, his eyes intense now, piercing. “You’ve felt a moment of all I’ve felt these last years.” His hands tightened on her shoulders, just a squeeze. “I’m trying to protect you, Rose. You said you’ve fallen in l
ove with me.” His voice dropped further, a little harsher, a little more of a promise—a vow. “Why is it so difficult to understand I want to protect the woman I love?”
Rose swallowed, her hands coming to rest around his wrists. She felt no anger from him, not anymore, but simply desperation. It coated every word, every movement. Every look he gave her.
“Your reasoning is unreasonable. There is no danger now,” she insisted. “If a ghost from the past experienced danger, then that danger is long dead.”
He looked at her for long, long moments. Suddenly he straightened and stepped back. His hands dropped from her shoulders, and cold seeped in where his warmth once lay.
“Do not leave this house without my knowledge.”
Without another word, his eyes refusing to meet hers as they stared over her head, he turned and left.
Stunned, Rose watched him.
She had plenty more arguments—after all, she knew her father better than anyone. Knew Robert to be rough, of course, but he was no threat, not to her. James simply didn’t understand him, didn’t understand what it was to make something of one’s self as Robert had.
Gasping for breath, she tried to inhale deeply. But the vice banding her lungs refused to release and her heart ached, a weight in her chest. All the trust they’d built over these past weeks now lay shattered at her feet. Yes, she was guilty of lying to James, and she’d apologized for that even as she still felt that guilt churn in her belly.
But she was not entirely in the wrong.
Alone in the parlor, Rose watched the door James had recently exited. Should she go after him? Offer more apologies and explanations? She didn’t know. She didn’t know what to do.
So she rang for tea. Rose tried to sit, but nervous energy beat through her. She was nervous, yes, she admitted; she didn’t want to lose what they’d built these last weeks. Also she felt anger on his dismissal of her own feelings on the matter. And unease.
Not fear, never of James.
As she paced circles round the settee, she admitted she was uneasy over his reaction. It wasn’t sane. Still, deep in her bones, Rose knew he’d never hurt her. He had his own demons and his own nightmares that haunted him.
Improper Wedding: Scandalous Encounters Page 12