by Lauren Smith
“I’m sorry to wake you, Joanna, but we are in need of your assistance.” He gestured to Rosalind’s unconscious figure on the bed.
His sister rushed to the bed, her maid Julia behind her. Both women gaped at Rosalind.
“Who is she? What happened?” Joanna put the back of one hand over Rosalind’s forehead.
“This is Rosalind Melbourne. As to what happened, I am not entirely sure. It seems she may have walked here through the storms.”
Joanna put a hand on his chest and shoved him back. “Julia and I will take care of things from here. You must go outside at once. All of you.”
Ashton realized Charles and Jonathan had been flanking him the whole time like silent sentinels.
With a nod he encouraged them to leave, but as he closed the door he remained in his chambers. Joanna and Julia didn’t seem to notice at first.
“Ah, the poor dear’s half-frozen,” Julia said with her Irish lilt. “Soaked to the bone, too. I’ll prepare a bath. You strip her out of those muddy clothes.”
The carriage dress was a crumpled heap on the floor by the time the ladies noticed Ashton was still inside.
“Ashton, leave. You cannot be in here.” Joanna shielded Rosalind’s body with her own by standing in front of the bed, arms crossed.
“You’ll need help getting her into the tub.” He gently pushed his sister aside, her mouth agape as he picked up Rosalind and carried her to his large brass bathing tub. Julia just stared at him for a minute.
“Do you need help with the bath?” he asked the maid.
“No, my lord. You may set her inside. The water is hot.”
“Thank you, Julia.” He turned to his sister. “Please bring down a spare nightgown.”
His sister looked scandalized. “And leave you two alone?”
“She’s a widow, Joanna, not a debutante. Her reputation is not at stake the way yours would be. Now go, fetch me those clothes.”
Joanna nodded and grabbed her maid’s arm as they departed. Once he was alone, he turned his focus back to Rosalind.
Even though she still wore her chemise, Ashton knew his sister and her maid would protest that he’d gone too far by staying any longer. He bent over the tub and gingerly set Rosalind inside. Her cold, pale skin started to color as he knelt beside her. Her head rolled and her lashes fluttered. Ashton cupped her cheek and brushed the pad of his thumb over her left cheekbone.
“Claire,” she murmured drowsily. “Did I fall asleep in the bath?”
Ashton had to swallow his chuckle. “Something like that, my little hellion. Wake up for me.”
Rosalind’s eyes flew open. “Lennox! You bloody bastard!”
Crack! Her palm connected with his cheek, catching him off guard, but he did not retaliate. Holding very still, he stared at her, watching the play of emotions that crossed her face. Shock, rage, embarrassment, and then to his displeasure, he saw fear overcome all of these.
His little Scottish hellion was finally awake.
Chapter Seven
“How did I…” Rosalind glanced down at herself, and Ashton saw every one of her muscles tense.
He could almost hear her thoughts trying to catch up with her panic. She was all but naked and sitting in a tub of warm bathwater with Ashton just inches away. A hot blush flamed her face.
“I found you on my doorstep. Unconscious.” He couldn’t help that his tone sounded gruff. The image of her passed out at his feet was difficult to look back on.
“Oh.” She ducked her head, but he could still see the wheels turning as she tried to piece together what series of events had led her to this tub.
“Did you walk all the way from London?” he asked, drawing her attention back to him.
Rosalind’s shoulders dropped, and she covered her breasts with her arms, all too aware of where his focus was drifting. “What? No, of course not. Don’t be foolish.”
“Then how in blazes did you end up at my house in such a muddy mess?” Ashton sat on his backside by the tub and continued to regard her, now with amusement.
When she didn’t answer, he reached into the tub with his long fingers and flicked droplets of water towards her in an offhanded way. He bit his lip when he noticed her eyes tracking the movement of his hand. Skittish as a foal…
Forcing herself to drag her eyes from his hand, she met his curious look and raised her chin, silently defying him to splash her again.
“I took my coach, even though you forbade it. My maid and I were halfway here when…” Her eyes narrowed and she suddenly lunged at him, punching him hard with a balled fist.
Despite the surprising strength behind the blow, Ashton did not flinch.
She stared at him as though searching for some type of reaction, and she seemed disappointed that she didn’t find it. “Blast.”
“The first blow I can understand. Dare I ask what that was for?” Ashton raised a brow. He wasn’t going to let her escape without an explanation.
A red blush stained her cheeks.
“Come now, Rosalind, you’ve struck me twice now in my own home. You were expecting something. A reaction. What for?”
Her gray eyes flashed. “My maid and I were robbed by a highwayman this evening after a wheel fractured on my coach. The man was blond…and he had your eyes.”
“My eyes? Don’t tell me that you’re seeing me as a phantom in the night.”
“Don’t be ridiculous!”
“Then you hit me because…?” He watched her closely, half amused and half concerned.
She raised her chin. “As that wretched man rode off with my purse, I fired a shot and hit his right shoulder. If it had been you, then I daresay you wouldn’t have been able to hold back your pain.”
A highwayman? There weren’t any in these parts of Hampshire, at least none he’d heard of.
“So you were robbed and thought this fool was me?”
“I considered the possibility, yes.” She closed her eyes, as though utterly humiliated.
He was infuriated at the thought of anyone aiming a pistol at Rosalind. And he was even more put out that she’d thought it was him.
Of course, after orchestrating her destitution, even if was only temporary, could he blame her? Suddenly his scheme was not the wonderful victory he’d hoped for. Greater good aside, it left him feeling hollow and petty, and there was a stirring of nervousness inside his chest.
“And then?” he prompted.
She didn’t continue right away. She kept her eyes closed, her head resting on the back of the tub.
“Our driver went to see about repairing the coach. He dropped us off at an inn.”
Ashton sensed she still wasn’t telling him everything. “But you couldn’t stay the night because you had no money?”
“We were able to obtain a place to sleep and a meal.”
He snorted. “No doubt you assured her you would make me pay for everything once you’d visited me and demanded your assets back.” It was exactly the sort of thing she would do.
Rosalind’s eyes narrowed to angry slits. “I did nothing of the sort. My maid and I earned our food and place to sleep.”
“Earned?” He couldn’t picture Rosalind earning a meal. “How the devil did you do that?”
The look she shot him could have frozen a lake. “The innkeeper let my maid help in the kitchens while I waited on the tables. The rooms were full, but they allowed us to stay in the storeroom on sacks of grain.”
She’d slept on sacks of grain in a storage room? Rather than make him laugh, the image cut him deep—sleeping on lumpy bags of grain, how it would knot her muscles and leave her sore the next morning. Enemy or not, a woman like her deserved to lie on a downy feather bed with a mountain of blankets to keep her warm.
“If you were supposed to be sleeping there, how did you end up here?”
“A boy gave me a ride halfway to your house before the storm started up again. I walked the rest of the way.” She raised one delicate foot out of the water. Red and angry b
listers dotted her ankles. She sighed and lowered her foot back beneath the surface.
This should have been his moment of triumph, the fall of his greatest rival. Yet finding her half-dead on his doorstep, the fear in her eyes upon waking, and now witnessing her blistered feet…it tore at his heart. His little Scottish hellion was a brave and worthy opponent. There was no pleasure to be had in her suffering, and he wanted her back on her feet.
Ashton stood abruptly; the sudden press of self-loathing for what his actions had caused had made him too uncomfortable to face her. He needed a minute to breathe, to remember that he was in control, and he wouldn’t let his emotions get in the way.
“I’ll send a messenger to the inn tomorrow to pay for your maid’s stay and have your coach repaired and brought here as soon as it is ready. Please take your time in the bath. I’ll have food sent up. My sister, Joanna, will have spare clothes to lend you. If you require anything, you need only ask.”
She snorted. “Because you own me, correct?”
His words thrown back at him stung. His first impulse was to challenge her, declare she did belong to him. Then he remembered another young woman, one who’d taught him last year that a lady in distress was well within her rights to lash out. And when she did, she needed a gentleman to respond, not a possessive brute. Emily had taught him much in the last few months.
“You may not believe this, but once upon a time, I was a gentleman. You are in need of food, shelter and clothes. It is my duty to provide that, seeing as how my actions caused your situation.” He left her to bathe and went back into his room.
The sounds of her light splashing echoed through the partially closed door. He sighed and leaned one arm against the back of a chair and watched the fire make shadows across the floor.
Have I gone too far? I’ve robbed Rosalind just as much as that damned fool of a highwayman. It does nothing but mark me as a villain. No better than Waverly.
That sobering thought brought him up short. He had to find a way to still achieve his goals without causing her any more harm.
The sounds of water splashing increased, and he sensed Rosalind must be ready to get out. He reentered the dressing room and retrieved a towel. She sat huddled in the bath, arms covering her breasts and her legs tucked up. The sight of her looking so small and vulnerable made something in his chest ache. He spread the towel out and held it up for her.
“You’d best get out before the water chills. Remove your chemise. It will need a thorough washing.”
Her eyes glinted dangerously, and for a moment he worried she’d remain in the water out of spite.
“Hold it a little higher,” she ordered.
He raised the towel to the point where it would prevent him from seeing her body as she climbed out of the tub. He heard the splash of water and the slick sound of wet cloth upon skin, then the smack of the chemise upon the floor. He inched the towel down just enough to see the sloping of her shoulders before she hastily took it and wrapped it around her body. She had curves. He liked that, but her figure was leaner and smaller than he’d realized. When she stood to her full height she only came up to the top of his shoulder.
“You mentioned food, my lord?” She stressed the words with a mocking tone that had him wishing he’d stolen a few strips of red silk from his friend Lucien. Tying this woman to his bed sounded like a perfect punishment for her temper.
He shook himself. He shouldn’t be thinking of her like that. Certainly not at this moment. He’d never let on how creative his tastes in bed ran. He saw himself as not unlike Lucien, loving a good restraint or two and mirrors perhaps to watch his sensual domination from every angle, but he trusted few women with those secret desires. The last thing he needed was talk in the ton about his appetites and to have them used against him.
“I did promise sustenance. I shall dine with you, of course.”
She jolted. “I beg your pardon?”
“It would be remiss of me to let you take supper alone.”
She wrinkled her little nose, an expression he found oddly endearing.
“Why would you torture us both by dining with me? Neither of us can stand each other.”
He allowed a smile to curve his lips. “Why indeed? Perhaps it is because this is my bedchamber and I shall have to go to sleep at some point tonight.”
Rosalind, who had been combing one hand through her wet hair, froze. “Your room?”
“Naturally. What was it I said? Oh yes, I own you, Rosalind.” He caressed her name, letting each decadent syllable roll off his tongue, delighting at the fire in her eyes. Now she was ready to do battle again.
“I demand another room. Take me to one at once.” She started toward the door, intent on storming out.
“Demand?”
“Yes, demand.” Watching the defiant sway of her hips in that towel was too much for any rogue to resist.
“Very well then.” Before she could stop him, he’d lifted her up in his arms and tossed her over his shoulder.
“Put me down, you wretched oaf!” She shouted and kicked, nearly dislodging the towel about her body. He reached up and firmly held the towel against her backside, relishing the indecent hold far too much.
“I said put me down you—”
His chamber door swung open, and they both stilled at the sound of a voice.
“Ashton Malcolm Lennox, what in God’s name are you doing?”
Regina, in her nightgown and robe, hair plaited to one side, was staring at him. Behind her were Joanna and Julia, holding clothes for Rosalind. Beyond them, Charles and Jonathan were leaning against the opposite wall, smirking. The bloody bastards.
Ashton sighed. “I was about to see to our guest’s request regarding accommodation.”
Regina stared at him. It had been nearly twenty years since she’d called him by his full name. That did not bode well.
“Did she request to be carried over your shoulder wearing only a towel?”
“No, Mother.”
“Mother?” Rosalind gasped. “Heavens, put me down Lennox, please!”
Ashton backed up a few steps, turned around and walked over his bed. He dropped Rosalind down on top of it.
“Joanna informed me that we are entertaining an important guest. Lady Melbourne, I believe?” She stared pointedly around Ashton’s shoulder at Rosalind.
When Ashton glanced her way, he saw she was now clutching the bed coverlet around her.
“I apologize, Lady Lennox, to meet you in this fashion.” Her words were awkward and strangely shy, something he unexpectedly found charming.
“A simple misunderstanding, I’m sure. It’s lovely to meet you, dear. I hope my son is…behaving himself.” Regina glared at Ashton. “He should have brought you down from London earlier today so you could have dinner with the family and our neighbors.” Now she was smiling again, and Ashton couldn’t help but stare.
What on earth was his mother doing? Did she plan to take Rosalind to an afternoon tea? Lord…that thought gave him an upset stomach. He didn’t want his mother anywhere near this woman. The two of them could plot a coup and overthrow him.
“Mother, why don’t you go on to bed? I’m sure Rosalind would be much happier to meet you properly in the morning.”
His mother raised a brow. “The morning? After she spends tonight in your bedchamber? How interesting.” By her cool tone he realized she was being facetious.
“On the contrary, I…” Ashton paused, sensing an opportunity might be presenting itself. Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt if his mother assumed a few things. “I’m sorry. You were saying?”
Lady Lennox continued. “You failed to mention to me this afternoon that you finally decided to settle down. I’m thrilled, of course. She’s lovely. That will mean beautiful grandchildren.”
Ashton was unsure of what shocked him more, that his mother seemed genuinely pleased to meet Rosalind, or that she was already talking about grandbabies. He did not want his mother planning his future.
An id
ea suddenly clicked into place. If his mother believed he was courting Rosalind with an intent to marry, she would cease her endless parade of eligible ladies through his front door. He’d be left in peace to handle matters on the estate, at least until he figured out what to do with Rosalind.
What if he could entice her to play along with him? She wouldn’t agree to an actual relationship, he knew that much, but if he offered her control of her companies back once his mother successfully believed they were courting… Yes, that might work. And in the end, if things progressed, he might even end up with a wife.
Marrying Rosalind would solve a number of his problems. He’d have full control of her companies and could monitor Waverly’s involvement and movements much more easily.
“Oh, we’re not—” Rosalind started.
Ashton interrupted. “We haven’t set a date yet, Mother. Rosalind is still debating whether she wants to marry me.” He could feel the invisible daggers being thrown at his back. Too late, though—he’d made up his mind. He was going to convince his mother he was planning to marry his Scottish hellion. She need never know his real intention was to stop her from marrying him off to the neighbor’s daughter.
“Debating? It’s a wee bit hard to debate when ye’ve not even asked me!” Rosalind’s brogue thickened in her anger.
Regina cleared her throat, silencing them both. “Well, that’s certainly not what I expected from you, Ashton. Taking a woman to bed without a proposal. I’m not going to have this family’s name blackened by scandal, not again.”
His mother glared at him. The look of anger, hurt and determination hit him hard when she said those words. Already today she had thrown the past in his face, and now a second time. His hands curled into fists, and he bottled his anger as he’d always done.
“No more, Ashton. I cannot bear it.” His mother’s voice shook. “No more scandal.” The word was uttered softly, yet it threw him headlong into memories that carved deep gouges into his soul.
His father stumbling out of a brothel and Ashton, a boy of fifteen, chasing after him, crying out for him to stop and come home. The sound of hooves and men screaming.