Chapter Eighteen
THE CLOSER THE carriage moved toward Robert Kendrick’s house, the more agitated James became. It drummed just beneath his skin, harsh and grating, yet he knew it was the right thing to do. However, keeping a daughter from her father, especially when an injury was involved, wasn’t exactly the right thing to do, either.
But he had to.
He needed her away from that man and safe in their house.
James’s only regret was that he promised to see to Kendrick himself and not stay with Rose. That, too, scraped along his nerves, adding to the ball of agitation that roiled through his gut.
Dread slithered up his spine the moment Barrett appeared at the door. It had then closed his throat when Barrett spoke. The unreasonable, illogical feeling James always felt whenever Kendrick was around Rose had tripled.
This was no longer simply a feeling for a woman in a dream. It was an all-consuming love for Rose. For his beloved wife. It was that need to protect her and care for her and love her, his Rose, for the rest of their lives.
After all the struggle they’d been through and the hard-won affection they now had, James refused to risk it—risk Rose—not for anything.
He pinched the bridge of his nose as the carriage rolled to a stop. He had no desire to be here, but he promised Rose. James breathed deeply through his nose, unclenched his fist from his lap, and exited the carriage. Squaring his shoulders and wearing his best expression of haughty disinterest, he climbed the steps.
Anything was better than her being in this house—he’d spend a week here if it meant Rose was nowhere near Kendrick.
The butler—James had never bothered learning his name—opened the door.
“Mr. Kendrick is expecting his daughter,” the man said.
James ignored the man and walked into the house. “I’m here,” he snapped.
The butler looked surprised but took James’s hat and walking stick. James didn’t need to be told where Kendrick was—he heard the man quite clearly. Hell, the entire block no doubt did.
Sitting in his study’s chair, with a poor maid attempting to place a pillow beneath his right leg, Kendrick yelled at the clerk, Francis something or other. Kendrick looked suitably injured—his right cheek was bruised and his right arm in a sling.
“Tell that fool,” Kendrick snarled at Francis, “he will be docked four days’ pay!”
“You’ll not dismiss him for this, sir?” the maid asked.
James scowled. What sort of household did Kendrick run, with the maids offering advice? Then again…he did have Digby. And honestly James didn’t care what happened in this household so long as Rose never set foot in here again.
Kendrick waved the maid off with another sneer as the woman once more tried to set the pillow beneath his raised ankle.
“No,” Kendrick snapped. “But I will get those days of free work out of him.”
“I see you’re in decent spirits,” James said, announcing his arrival.
“Hamilton,” Kendrick said in a marginally less snappish voice. “Where’s Rose?”
Swallowing his anger, and the ever-present need to slam Kendrick’s face into his desk, James forced himself to take another lazy step into the room. He uncurled his fists, again, and glanced from Kendrick to Francis, then to the maid.
“She is where she should be,” he said disinterestedly. “Home. I’ve come in her stead.”
Kendrick’s eyes blazed with anger and he narrowed his gaze. “Is she ill?” he demanded. “Why is she not here to attend to her father?”
Sighing in exasperation, he pinned Kendrick with his own glare. “I do not wish it. Now,” he said and swept his gaze over the room once more, “I’ve come to see to your well-being. As you’re not at death’s door, I shall take my leave, sir.”
Not offering a bow in farewell, James turned.
“What issue do you take that you forbid a daughter from tending to her father?” Kendrick demanded. “Rose needs to be here. Have her sent to me,” he commanded.
James turned very slowly, his temper straining against the thin reins of his control.
“I allowed you to marry her, not to keep her from me!” Kendrick snapped, clearly used to having his every order obeyed.
“I do not want Rose exposed to the likes of you,” James said very slowly and very evenly.
He did not step forward. If he did, he knew what little control he had would snap and Kendrick would be far more injured than he already was. With his hands once more fisted at his sides, he watched the other man. Several words crowded on his tongue, but he swallowed them down.
“You are no longer of her station,” James said.
“She is my daughter,” Kendrick barked. “And however far she rises, will always be my daughter!”
James felt another tether of his control snap.
“Has she got it into her head she is above tending to her family?” Kendrick demanded.
Another tether snapped. James clenched his jaw, suddenly grateful Rose was not here—not only to stay away from her father, but from him as well. Rage clawed at his throat, and he saw red, a thick crimson of violence.
“Her time is mine,” James said coolly despite the hot anger. “And I prefer she spend it in other pursuits.”
“What is this?” Kendrick banged his hand on the chair. “I am an injured man, and I need the comfort Rose can provide.”
James forced his shoulders to shrug. “Comfort is cheap to purchase,” he managed. “Find it elsewhere.”
Turning on his heel, he left. Behind him, Kendrick roared in anger, but James ignored that, too. He wondered for a moment if he ought to feel bad for the servants; they would no doubt experience the brunt of Kendrick’s wrath, but he did not have it in him.
Not now, when he saw the true man beneath the father Rose continued to protect. All James worried about was Rose and keeping her from that man. Permanently.
Whether or not his dislike of Kendrick came from a dream or not, James genuinely did not like the man. How had Rose, his beautiful, kind Rose, come from such a monster, from that household? He snapped at his driver to leave as quickly as possible, and settled onto the bench.
He needed to see Rose and reassure himself she was, indeed, safe.
The ride back to his townhouse took far longer than the ride from, and by the time the footman opened the doors, James itched to see his wife.
Barrett greeted him immediately upon entering, and James barely stripped his hat, gloves, and coat off before looking for Rose.
“She is in the library, sir,” Barrett said to James’s retreating back.
Nodding in response, he lengthened his pace. He couldn’t take a deep breath, and panic creeped along his nerves. James slammed open the library doors and frantically scanned the room for her.
“I was about to call for a carriage,” Rose said instantly.
But she was there and unharmed, and he crossed the room to gather her close.
“Be glad you did not,” he said against her hair. He breathed in the lavender scent of it and let it wrap around him. “The man is fine. In need of a good bathing, but fine.”
He breathed out slowly, and the vice around his heart eased. Tightening his arms around her, with one hand rested on the nape of her neck and the feel of her skin against his, further eased his panic.
“That house-woman should have him scrubbed,” he added.
Rose pulled back slightly. She didn’t look angry—concerned, yes, but not as if she planned to storm out of here and see Kendrick anyway.
“What happened to him?” she asked, and he heard the faint tremor in her voice.
How could she be so concerned over that man? But James swallowed the question and offered a soft smile.
“It was nothing, an injured ankle and a few bruises,” he offered, but couldn’t quite keep the unhappiness out of his tone. “He will continue breathing for some time yet.”
“He is my—” Rose began. He glared down at her, but she continued
anyway. “Family. What little family I have.”
He cupped her cheeks and tilted her head up slightly. “You have me,” he promised. “I am your family. And we will make our own lives together with our children and their children. You do not need him.”
The soft look of happiness Rose had started to give him vanished with his last words. She stepped back, out of his embrace, and glared up at him.
“I’ve never been very close with my father, not as other daughters are,” she admitted. “But now that you will not allow me to even visit him, I feel the need to strengthen our connection.”
“Why?” James demanded. Rose narrowed her gaze and he tempered his tone. Clearing his throat, he tried again. “He is a nasty little man. One who couldn’t begin to approach your grace.”
All the anger and fight left her in one breath. “I’m glad he’s all right.” She sighed. “We have to deal with nasty little men and gossipy women for the rest of our lives. You cannot shield me from that.”
She cupped his cheek, her thumb sweeping along his lower lip. “Nor would I wish you to. James,” she began but then sighed again and shook her head. “I see I shan’t change your mind today. You’ve told me he is in no danger, so let’s put him aside and enjoy our day.”
He hadn’t known the relief he’d feel until she spoke, and now it rushed through him like a flood. He didn’t want to talk about her father at all. He’d talk to her about anything else in this entire world other than her father.
“Let’s.” Rose shook her head and obviously set aside her annoyance over his behavior. “Let’s begin our day,” she said and took his hand. “Show me how to play billiards?”
Shocked into a laugh, James shook his head. “That is not a proper pastime for a lady of society,” he said as snootily as he could manage. The laugh gave him away.
“Well then,” Rose said slyly, “don’t tell anyone.”
James tugged her toward the room. “I like how you think, Mrs. Hamilton.”
In the ensuing hours spent teaching Rose the finer points of billiards, and touching her far more than need be, James felt the tension ease from his shoulders. It was the two of them again, laughing and talking, the ease of their relationship back where it should be.
He heard the knock on the door but ignored it. Barrett knew not to interrupt them unless it was personal. Digby could deal with the day’s normal business.
Giving her an easy smile, he pressed his lips to hers, slowly deepening it until she responded. He nipped her lower lips and caressed her cheek, hoping she didn’t feel the tension tightening through him. Nothing good had come from people at their door today.
“I’m curious as to who’s calling,” Rose said with a cheeky grin. “Since my husband is dominating the game.”
Before he had the chance to respond, she sauntered out with a definite sway to her hips. James growled and planned how to finish the game and get her back to bed.
“I’m here to see Miss—Mrs. Hamilton.”
Rose stilled.
James knew that voice, had hear it only this morning. It belonged to her father’s maid.
“Mrs. Hamilton is not receiving visitors,” Barrett said as imperially as words could sound.
Rose cleared her throat. She stood stiffly beside him, but made no move to touch him. She did not move away, either, and for that he was grateful.
“Let her in, Barrett,” Rose instructed softly.
She nodded to the butler then to Sally. James stood in the doorway and watched Rose half turn to look at him. She still didn’t say anything and silently motioned Sally to the parlor. She stopped in the center of the room, leaving the doors open.
James followed and waited by the open pocket doors. He leaned against the wall and watched, slow, hot anger burning in the pit of his belly. Folding his arms over his chest, he leaned against the wall and affected as much an air of nonchalance as possible.
He was quite certain he did not fool Rose.
“Is something wrong with Father, Sally?” Rose asked.
“Yes,” Sally said and faltered then nodded again. “Yes, there is. He’s in a terrible temperament.”
“Mr. Hamilton said my father was fine,” Rose insisted. Her eyes flew to his, but he saw no condemnation in them, only concern.
“He’s in such a mood!” the maid insisted, looking nervously over her shoulder.
“His moods are of no concern here,” James said from his position.
It was a testament to the strength of his will and to his belief in Rose, that he said those words with a coolness he did not feel.
“Will he die?” James asked and again was proud of his control.
Sally jerked back in gasping shock. “No,” she hedged.
James pushed off the wall and stalked across the room. He stood next to Rose and rested his hand on the curve of her hip. He impassively watched Sally for several long minutes until the already fidgeting maid looked as if she’d rather flee back to Kendrick’s than remain here.
Good.
“Then anything you have to say is of no concern in this house. Leave,” he instructed.
Sally hastily bobbed and turned to do just that. James ignored her and turned to Rose. She looked up at him, clearly torn between concern and anger. But his own distrust refused to leave him, and he purposely clenched his jaw to keep from saying something he knew he’d regret.
Rose huffed a breath and left. James let her go. He didn’t know what to say to her. Scrubbing his hands over his face, he turned to Barrett. His butler remained stoic under his scrutiny for several long moments then nodded and left.
He didn’t like that woman coming to the house. To lure Rose away with ridiculous things about her father. Oh, he had no doubt Kendrick was in a foul mood, but that was no reason to fetch Rose to him as if she were supposed to go running whenever he called.
It hit him then, a solid punch to his gut that stole his breath and squeezed his heart. And he knew, with utter certainty, he lost her to something like this. To her father calling for her under flimsy pretense.
His dream, all those dreams of the past, haunted him for years. But now, faced with Rose in his life and in his heart, those dreams terrified him.
He would not lose her. No matter what he needed to do, no matter what it took, James would not lose her. If he had to lock every door and secure every window, he would.
Chapter Nineteen
FATIGUE TUGGED HER limbs. Last night, after yet another fight over her father, Rose agreed to let it go, and they’d spent the evening and most of the night making love. Despite making up with James, it was exhausting constantly fighting over the same things.
Now, with James shut in his study with business meetings, Rose decided to visit with Octavia. She needed out of this house and the voice of another woman, and one of reason, to share her concerns with.
“Barrett,” Rose said as she tugged on her gloves. “Please remind Mr. Hamilton I’ll be visiting with Lady Octavia. I shall return by early afternoon.”
Barrett cleared his throat and looked very uncomfortable, no doubt because he’d been forced to deal with her father’s maid yesterday. He remained rooted to the spot, however, his back stiffer than normal.
“Barrett,” she said then sighed. She knew how to open a door herself. “I wish to start my day.”
The door was locked. Rose frowned and tugged the handle again. No, it was truly locked. Confused, she turned back to the butler.
“Why have you not unlocked the door?” she asked, still confused. “Please open it.”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Hamilton,” Barrett said, refusing to meet her gaze, “but Mr. Hamilton wishes you to stay home today.”
All confusion vanished. Rose stood straighter, all the anger she intentionally put aside during their arguments now bubbling hotly to the surface. She agreed—she’d argued with him last night and agreed to his request not to visit her father.
She purposely, purposely put her anger and frustration with James aside, thin
king him to be reasonable.
“And what?” she demanded. “He’s ordered you to lock all the doors to keep me in?”
Barrett shifted uncomfortably for a heartbeat before resuming his normal stoic pose. He didn’t answer.
Rose narrowed her eyes and stormed out of the foyer. She ignored the study—and James—and stalked toward the kitchens. She ignored the servants there, many of whom scurried out of her way, and tried that door.
Of course it was locked.
Mrs. Shelley gently cleared her throat. Rose whirled to look at the head housekeeper, who also looked uncomfortable. It wasn’t her fault, Rose knew that, but she glared at the other woman nonetheless.
“These were Mr. Hamilton’s orders,” she offered and sounded sincerely contrite.
It did nothing to alleviate Rose’s mood.
Hands clenched into fists, she took several deep breaths. He’d locked her in her house! His behavior went beyond paranoid. Rose tried to calm herself, but the more she thought of it, of what James had done, the angrier she became.
She thought they talked it through. Thought they’d reached a compromise. She’d promised, promised him she’d tell him where she went and wouldn’t see her father again without him to escort her.
“Thank you, Mrs. Shelley,” Rose said through clenched teeth.
Fuming, she retraced her steps through the house to the study. She didn’t bother to knock; James did not deserve the courtesy of it.
“James,” she said, interrupting his meeting.
“Gentlemen,” James said the instant she entered. He straightened, his gaze meeting hers in an instant. The men he met with stilled and stared at her, but Rose ignored them.
“Our meeting is over,” he said in an authoritative voice. “Barrett will escort you out.”
“We have not discussed—” one of them began.
“We will this week,” he said, his gaze still on hers. “I’ll meet you at the club.”
Rose stood in the center of the doors, refusing to move as the men filed out around her.
“I suppose the wife is more important than his business,” the man muttered, no doubt just loud enough for her to hear.
Rose ignored him, too.
Improper Wedding: Scandalous Encounters Page 14