Rogues to Lovers: Legend of the Blue Rose

by Laurel O'Donnell

  She jerked her attention to the side of the cottage.

  His face all grim angles and lines, Chester, holding Timothy, sprinted past where the rose bushes used to be. Timothy clung to him as he bolted away from the shuddering and groaning building.

  “Timothy!” Simon scrambled to his feet, and as he lifted Prentice to his hip, ran to his son.

  Chester lowered Timothy onto the grass.

  The child lay back, coughing. Face crumpled and eyes squeezed shut, his small chest rose and fell rapidly as he strove to suck in fresh air.

  Chester, too, lay sprawled on his back, one arm across his closed eyes. Smudges of soot covered his hands, and sparks had singed his shirt and trousers in several places.

  His dear face too.

  Eyes overflowing, Eden dropped to her knees beside them. She pressed a kiss to Timothy’s reddened cheek.

  “My darling, I’m so very, very glad you are safe.”

  Simon squatted next to his son and touched his cheek just below a penny-sized burn.

  “I’m sorry I disobeyed you, Father.” Lower lip quivering, Timothy did his utmost to be a stoic little fellow. “I know I deserve to be punished.”

  “I’m the one who’s sorry, son. I’ve been such a bitter fool, and I almost lost you.”

  Simon swiped at the wetness on his face as he gathered his son into his arms.

  “We’d best move farther away.” Chester labored to stand, and Simon offered him his hand.

  After the merest hesitation, Chester accepted his assistance.

  Eden picked Prentice up, and Simon gathered Timothy in his arms. They hustled across the lane to the orchard beside Simon’s nervous mount. They’d no sooner turned to look at the fully engulfed cottage than the roof gave way, shooting sparks and flames skyward ten feet or more

  “I owe you a debt of gratitude, Sterling.”

  So formal and stiff. Simon didn’t look at Chester.

  Even now, when his son had almost died because of his petulance, was his pride preventing him showing genuine appreciation? Would he have done the same for Chester if their positions had been reversed?

  Eden would’ve liked to think Simon would, but frankly, she doubted it.

  Chester had risked his life for the son of the cur who had killed his brother. No question who the better man was. A scrumptious warmth spread from her heart outward. Had their circumstances been different, Chester was a man she could’ve loved.

  Did love, though he’d never know it.

  How different Simon and Chester were. Though both had similar backgrounds and education, Chester had chosen the nobler path whilst Simon stuck to his rigid protocols.

  “I’m relieved he’s all right. Nonetheless, I’d have a physician examine him, Andrews. He has a few burns, and he inhaled smoke.”

  Chester untied his neckcloth. He wiped his face, wincing when he encountered the raw places.

  At last Simon dragged his attention from the burning cottage. He looked between Eden and Chester, a tinge of his former haughtiness appearing.

  “If the offer to join the house party is open, I will inform my wife we are to attend.”

  His enthusiasm matched that of a person about to have their coffin nailed shut. Nevertheless, he’d made an effort. That was something.

  Chester inclined his head. “I’ll have an invitation delivered tomorrow.”

  How would the Duke of DeCourcy take the news? His nemesis within Perygrim’s walls?

  Perhaps Wynby ought to remove anything that could be used as a weapon including hairpins and toothpicks. Pickle forks too?

  “I’d better see my sons home.” Simon lowered Prentice to the ground before untying his horse.

  “Dr. Chamberlain is supposed to call at Perygrim at one o’clock. I can have him stop at Gablecrest when he is done,” Eden said as she pulled her nephews into her arms.

  “I would appreciate it.” Simon nodded as he mounted. “Sterling, I can hold Prentice before me, if you can lift Timothy behind me.”

  In a trice, the three sat atop the patient roan.

  Prentice grinned, bending to peek at his brother.

  “We’ve never ridden with Father before, have we Timothy?”

  There were a great many things the boys had never done with their father.

  For an instant, Simon appeared flummoxed. He looked over his shoulder at Timothy, then at Prentice’s upturned face.

  “Is that something you would enjoy?”

  “Yes, Father.” The boys nodded eagerly.

  If Simon finally started being a loving father to his sons, then Briar Knoll burning to the ground was worth it.

  “Walk on, Reuben.” He clicked his tongue and gave a final nod while the boys waved farewell.

  Eden watched them until they were out of sight. Reluctantly, she focused on the fire once more. The cottage was so old and shabby, the fire was quickly reducing it to rubble.

  “Are you all right?” Chester laid a broad hand on her shoulder.

  “I should be asking you that.”

  “I’m fine. Just a few small burns. This though . . .” His gaze swept the blazing building. “You must be devastated.”

  A distraught, strangled laugh echoed amongst the trees, and it shocked her to realize it was she who was cackling like a madwoman.

  “The agreement between my mother and Walter Andrews was wrapped in an oil cloth and hidden atop one of the rafters.”

  “That’s what you came for?”

  Chester slung his cravat over his shoulder before draping an arm across hers and drawing her into the protective crook of his chest, smelling of sweat and fire.

  “It was.”

  Two nights ago, she’d awoken in the early morning hours, a long-forgotten memory jarring her awake. Now she’d never know the truth of it.

  He kissed her crown, his warm breath in her hair, comforting. “Is it really such a loss, since you’ve already decided on a new course?”

  Something odd in the timbre of his voice gave her pause, and she angled her head to better examine his face. Did he worry she’d changed her mind about becoming Perygrim’s housekeeper? For certain, the position wasn’t her first choice, but when a person was reduced to nothing, they couldn’t be particular.

  At least now she knew everyone would be fed and have a warm place to sleep.

  If his grace became difficult, she’d have to reexamine the situation.

  “I’m not sure, honestly. It’s been eight years since I briefly scanned the document. Most of the language was meaningless legal mumbo jumbo. But one clause in particular confused me. I can’t be sure, of course, but I believe it inferred that if ever Mama and I were put from Briar Knoll, a sum was to be settled upon us.”

  Chester made a rough sound in his throat.

  “Did your brother know of the clause?”

  “I don’t know that either. I do know he, or someone he hired, ransacked the cottage more than once while we were attending church services before Mama became too ill. Nothing was ever stolen, but I always wondered if he was after the agreement. If only there was another copy.”

  She shrugged and nestled a tiny bit closer. Why couldn’t she be brave enough to wrap her arms around his waist?

  What happened to no more kisses?

  He was her employer.

  He couldn’t be anything more.

  “It matters naught now,” she said. “If it had been true, I’d still have had to hire a solicitor. I could offer him part of the settlement in payment, I suppose. I always wanted to accompany Mama to Bath so she could take the waters. It’s been her lifelong dream to live near the ocean.”

  It hadn’t escaped her either that while Simon had said he’d attend the duke’s house party, his newfound agreeableness didn’t extend to Eden or her mother. There’d been no offer of help, no inquiry as to what their plans were.

  The rejection wasn’t new, yet it stung.

  Chester turned her so that she was fully within his soothing embrace: chest-to-chest and
thigh-to-thigh.

  She could stand like this for hours.

  He tightened his arms about her. “It’s impossible. I shan’t let you go.”

  “I beg your pardon?” She angled away to look up at him.

  He was silent for a long moment, then sighed. “You committed to becoming Perygrim’s housekeeper, and we’re having a house party soon. Are you going to break your word now?”

  Was he serious?

  For a foolish instant she’d thought he’d meant something more . . . romantic.

  Her childhood home was engulfed in flames.

  Her nephew had nearly died, and he was disgruntled because he believed she wanted to leave?

  He didn’t even know if she’d be a capable housekeeper. She didn’t know if she would either. Which frightened her, because that was truly her last respectable resort.

  She firmed her mouth. “My lord—”

  “Chester,” he corrected, entwining a hand in her hair while something as hot and potent as the fire behind her flared in his gaze.

  Oh no, you don’t. I’m not falling for that again. I may have lost my heart, but my virtue is intact.

  Summoning her most professional mien, she refused to allow him to see how he affected her. “I’m grateful for the position, but even you must realize it’s not my first choice.”

  “What would be your first choice, Eden?” His gaze deepened, holding her reluctant attention. “If you could have your heart’s desire, have any wish granted, what would it be?”

  He kissed her nose, the act so tender and endearing, tears threatened.

  Why did it have to be this man who penetrated her heart? Who was able to make her feel all the things she couldn’t for Vicar Wright? A man far beyond her reach?

  “I know what mine is,” he murmured.

  He kept wrapping her hair around his hand, drawing her face closer and closer to his until only a couple of inches separated their mouths.

  And of course, though she ordered her gaze to stay locked with his, the dratted, traitorous thing dipped to his sculpted lips. Lips she craved to taste again.

  This was dangerous, sharing innermost secrets. A ridiculous game of fancies and dreams. It spoke of an intimacy forbidden to her.

  He was the next Duke of DeCourcy.

  She was his bastard housekeeper.

  It didn’t take a scholar to decipher the obvious.

  “I’ll go first,” he said, tracing a finger from her ear, along her jaw, and to her chin, which he gently tipped upward. “My greatest wish is that you have your greatest wish.”

  Could he have said anything more unselfish? More moving? More perfect?

  Another layer of self-protection crumbled.

  She opened her mouth to respond but no words came forth.

  What could she say?

  That her greatest wish was to be with him? Forever?

  Then his mouth was on hers again, and she forgot her vows to remain aloof and impervious to him. Forgot she was beneath his touch and that she could never hope for more.

  Whether it was the scare he’d had earlier, or that he’d lost hold of the rigid restraint keeping his passion in check, she couldn’t say. He was like a man long starved, holding her face in both hands, raining kisses over her eyes and cheeks and mouth.

  He released her face and gripped her bottom with one hand, lifting her into the rigid hardness pressing into her belly, and at the same time cupped her head, angling it so he had access to her neck and chest. The low bodice of her simple gown gave him access to much more.

  His lips met hers again, and such a rush of sensation ambushed her, her knees came unhinged. She opened her mouth to his ravenous onslaught, finding an answering hunger billowing through her.

  “Eden, say you’ll be mine,” he whispered against her cheek. “I know you want me as much as I want you.”

  That cooled her rampant ardor.

  She must make him understand; she would never be any man’s plaything.

  Never.

  “My lord, aren’t you forgetting about Miss Bickford? Your soon-to-be betrothed?”

  A Rose for a Rogue

  Collette Cameron

  Another fortnight passed as Eden quickly learned her duties as Perygrim’s housekeeper. She’d expected resentment and resistance from the other staff but found them to be cooperative and helpful.

  How much had Chester to do with that?

  All the staff had been present when she’d been introduced, and he’d made it clear that anyone unwilling to be one hundred percent loyal to him would be dismissed.

  He’d assured her acceptance despite his annoyance with her.

  Reminding him of the heiress he was expected to wed as Briar Knolls’s walls crumbled had served its purpose. She’d been rewarded for her cleverness when his eyes flashed in exasperation, but he’d released her without another word. Or kiss.

  And yet, she couldn’t get his softly murmured words out of her mind.

  My greatest wish is that you have your greatest wish.

  Neither could she ignore the flicker of delight recalling them caused.

  The chatelaine clinking against her hip and the rustle of her prim dark blue gown were accompanied by the click-click of Mr. Wiggle’s paws as he followed her on her daily rounds. She wore one of five new garments that had arrived yesterday. They’d been accompanied by stockings, shoes, and undergarments.

  How Chester had managed to have them made so swiftly, she didn’t inquire, but she had asked how he’d acquired her measurements.

  He’d given her a sheepish grin and confessed to taking her ivory and jonquil frock to use as a pattern.

  The gown might be a servant’s simple trappings, but the material and expert sewing spoke to its quality. Silly as it might be, the plain gown boosted her confidence a smidgeon. She’d not needed to fear the duke’s guests would find fault with her appearance.

  The visitors would begin arriving the middle of next week, including Miss Bickford. Chester continued to vow he had no interest in wedding his father’s choice as the next duchess.

  Perusing her to-do list, she risked a small frown.

  His grace insisted the gathering was an intimate party—a mere forty of the most prominent members of the haut ton.

  She’d commit some gaffe, she had no doubt.

  She swept into the library, checklist in hand. A package had arrived yesterday, which included, amongst other things, the latest novels popular amongst the upper Ten Thousand. Lifting one volume, she chuckled and pulled a face.

  “Frankenstein. I should think I’d have nightmares upon reading it.”

  “You aren’t the only one.”

  Chester—no, he’s Lord Sterling—lounged against the library entrance. He waggled his eyebrows at her, and giving her one of his rakish smiles, sent a kaleidoscope of butterflies flitting about her insides.

  “I must say, you’re the most fetching housekeeper I’ve ever laid eyes upon.”

  The largeness of his presence made the grand paneled room seem much smaller.

  She arched a brow and firmly ignored the winged creatures cavorting in her middle.

  Respectable housekeepers should not indulge in naughty fantasies about their employers.

  “Did you need something, my lord?”

  “Chester,” he whispered sotto voce with a naughty wink. He lifted a shoulder. “I needed to see you. You’ve been avoiding me. I’ve missed your smiles.”

  His hooded eyes suggested he’d missed more.

  She had been dodging him. For both their sakes.

  Any more of his devastating kisses, and she’d be undone for certain.

  This morning, she’d ducked behind the draperies in the study.

  Yesterday, she’d sequestered herself in a linen closet, and the day before, she dove behind the settee in the drawing room. That had proved rather awkward when she clambered up to find Wynby gaping at her. She’d claimed to be inspecting the undersurface of the settee for rips.

  He’d
drolly commended her diligence.

  Nevertheless, she encountered Chester a dozen or more times a day. She swore he lay in wait for her, and she’d taken to peeking around corners before entering rooms.

  He also seemed set on courting her.

  There’d been a rose upon her pillow two afternoons—not the Blue Damask, but a lovely coral, and a yellow with ruby edges. Chocolates twice too. She’d found notes tucked in her apron pocket and beneath her pillow. There’d also been a book of poetry with several pages marked.

  All love sonnets.

  Who would’ve thought the formidable Marquis of Sterling was such a romantic?

  Several times he’d sought her out on some trivial matter. He’d touch her elbow, the small of her back, tuck a wisp of hair over her shoulder, and each time, her awareness of him grew as a virile man who very much wanted her.

  He was slowly, oh, so expertly, drawing her into his web.

  She’d be a liar if she denied it thrilled as much as frightened.

  Tamping down her happiness at seeing him, she ran her forefinger down the list. “I haven’t time to chat. I’ve an awful lot to accomplish before your guests arrive.”

  “As I told you days ago,” he said, straightening to his full height, “they, including Miss Bickford, are Father’s guests. Not mine. I’m simply humoring an elderly man’s wishes.”

  A flush swept her, and she made a pretense of arranging the novels on a low, marble-topped rosewood table so the guests wouldn’t have to search for them. Chester had finally convinced her he truly had no intention of honoring his father’s request to wed Miss Bickford. It oughtn’t make her happy, but it did—absurdly so—nonetheless.

  Poor Miss Bickford. She was in for a tremendous disappointment if she’d set her cap for Chester.

  So was the duke, and that worried Eden more than a little.

  While his grace was polite, not cordial by any means, but not the hostile man she’d first met, she’d caught him watching her, a steely, calculating glint in his eye. He continued to take tea with Mama every day, and Eden feared Dulcina had formed an attachment to the duke.

  “My lord, might I speak candidly?”

  He stopped fiddling with the ivory elephant he’d been holding and, after placing it back on the side table, advanced toward her. “Always. What is it?”