A Scandalous Request

by Micki Miller

Rose leaned forward a bit, her fingertips resting on the table, her attention full on him now. “Lord Darington, you are a genius. Lord Cavendish will have bragging rights as to his kindness, and he’ll have money, and we’ll have our property.”

  “As much as I’d like to take credit, it was you, Lady Sennett, who figured out the answer. All you needed was a bit more information.”

  “Well, we make a fine team,” Rose said with a small clap of her hands. Her excitement bubbled and her mouth ran off before she considered her words. “We could use someone like you on the committee for the Foundling Project.”

  As soon as the words were out, Rose wished she could yank them back. Her impetuousness was going to be the death of her.

  She’d already flirted with scandal by going alone to meet with Lord Cavendish. But the property was so perfect, and both Ashton and Lewis had been busy elsewhere. Rumors were circulating about another offer near to proposal for the very parcel of land they wanted.

  Thinking about it now, Lord Cavendish himself could have started those rumors to gain the advantage. She hadn’t considered such a ploy at the time. Panic had set in and she’d gone to the home of Lord Cavendish uninvited and unescorted.

  After that, she pledged to be more cautious so as not to damage Ashton’s good name. And here she’d gone and thrust her cause in the face of a powerful, and notably reclusive, lord.

  “I’m sorry, Lord Darington,” Rose rushed to say. “That was far too brash of me. When it comes to the Foundling Project, my emotions sometimes run off with my manners. Please pardon my exuberance.”

  “Not at all. I find your enthusiasm inspiring.”

  She’d quite blatantly overstepped the boundaries of politeness, and he was kind enough to spare her feelings. It seemed Lord Darington was far more genteel than his appearance implied. However, the way he now gazed at her encroached on the borders of gentility. The intensity of his regard overwhelmed her. Unable to hold it, she let her eyes drift elsewhere.

  ****

  Burke stared at the woman across the table, confident what he’d said to her was true, and not blithe flattery. So in depth were her feelings for those children, her passion overrode propriety. Not always a bad thing from his perspective. Different, no doubt dangerous if she carried it too far, but not a terrible quality.

  The kind of enthusiasm he was accustomed to in women had always been confined to many a lady’s bedchambers. Not that he was complaining. Seeing some pluck put to a worthy cause, however, was indeed refreshing, and somewhat disturbing.

  Burke continued to study the viscount’s wife.

  Her eyes were as blue as the sapphire draperies hanging in his bedchamber. She had delicate features over a small but sturdy core, soft skin, soft heart, and was a resilient champion of the underprivileged. He held few people in great esteem. Lady Sennett had managed to win his admiration, and in rather swift time.

  She swiveled away then, perhaps out of shyness now that she’d drawn attention to herself rather than her cause. Instead of introducing a new topic, as he could, and should so as to ease her embarrassment, Burke took the opportunity to view her other notable features.

  Between the swirls of white lace stretching from her neckline to the top of her evening gown, teasing morsels of fair, luminous skin gave longing to his fingertips. Her breasts were not excessive, but high and plump and enough to fill even his large hands. He hoisted his gaze to Lady Sennett’s face.

  Her high cheekbones colored before his eyes. She was well aware of his gaze on her. She didn’t excuse herself, though. Nor did he cease his visual perusal. It would have been the polite thing to do, yet Burke, quite literally born of impropriety, did not shift his attention away from her.

  A tendril of her golden hair had come loose from the coronet of her braid and furled around her delicate ear. For a reason he couldn’t begin to understand, the swooping curl had him transfixed. He liked the way its glossy tip caressed the long, sleek column of her neck. Then he wished she would brush it back, so he could see in motion the feminine hand he’d so briefly touched.

  When he’d held her small hand in his, he liked the expressed pressure of her slender fingers, gentle, but existent, unlike the ladies who flaunt their surrender. He liked the way they’d curled into his when he touched his lips to the soft skin just above her knuckles. Such a subtle interchange, yet seductive in her innocence. And he liked the faint scent of rosewater he’d detected. It reminded him of his beloved gardens.

  Her hands remained in her lap, though, and Burke’s eyes lingered a moment more where the white lace ended and the creamy skin of her throat began. It took a force of will to drag his attention away. When he did, his eyes shifted only the short distance to view her profile.

  There was a subtle upturn to her small nose. It paired well with the stubborn jut of her chin that even now dared him to continue his inspection, which was exactly what he did. The pink flush dusting her cheekbones intensified. Still, she did not cower. She was modest, but not weak. The combination was intoxicating.

  Burke took in the fullness of her lips. They bore a hint of color reflecting her given name and made him wonder at their taste. He shifted, uncomfortable now in his seat as her beauty caused unfortunate and unwanted changes to his man’s body.

  Her husband’s request crossed his mind. It was more than tempting, he mused, as he sat gazing at the lovely creature across the small table. With more than a bit of chagrin, Burke concluded Lady Rose Sennett was too damned alluring for her own good, not to mention his.

  Lord Sennett returned to the table then, with a pleasant smile for both his wife and their guest. “Pardon my hasty exit,” Ashton said. Then to Burke, “Sometimes a matter is in dire need of attention.”

  “No need for apologies,” Burke said, ignoring the viscount’s true meaning.

  At the archway at the end of the hall, Burke caught sight of Lady Hortence, who was staring at him with direct intent. Her dark hair was piled high above her gaze and catlike grin. Once she had his attention, she rotated in a slow pull and exited the room, an extra wiggle in her hips.

  Burke shifted his eyes back to Lord Sennett. “I found your wife’s company quite charming.”

  Ashton’s smile was both satisfied and relieved.

  “I’m afraid I must be going now,” Burke said as he stood. “Lady Sennett, it was a pleasure to meet you.”

  “I’ll walk you out,” Ashton said.

  As they waited at the bottom of the stone steps of the Sennett townhouse for a footman to bring the carriage around, Lord Sennett said, “Well?”

  “She is lovely. Your description was correct, lacking even, one could in all fairness say. Your wife possesses intellect, beauty, and a benevolent heart.”

  “All true.”

  “In regards to your request,” Burke said, and then paused as his body and conscience engaged in a brief scuffle. I will not foul her. She deserves better. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to decline.”

  Lord Sennett’s face showed a mix of surprise and disappointment. Burke offered no explanation.

  At the sound of horse hooves clopping on cobblestone and the clanging approach of his black, lacquered carriage with his family crest of a lion on a shield on the side, Burke swung his attention away from his host. A footman liveried in black and gold opened the door. Burke bid farewell to Lord Sennett and climbed inside, settling himself against the red squabs.

  In the dark solitude of the carriage ride home, where he already planned to collect his sorrel stallion and leave again, Lady Rose Sennett’s sweet face played into Burke’s mind.

  Her entire being had been alight with joy over the good his money would do for the children at the foundling home. The sum he pledged was indeed generous. On the morrow when he directed Perkins, his man of affairs, he would double his pledge.

  Settling the matter of his charitable donation in his head, however, did not settle his mind. Burke leaned his head back against the lush cushion and closed his eyes. The image of
Rose at anyone’s mercy clouted him with a sudden desire to ride over to Baron Piers Rutherford’s home and pound her brother-in-law into the ground. Cavendish deserved the same.

  Opening his eyes, Burke peered out of the carriage window. Still, all he could see was a delicate young Rose, bruised, alone, forced into a violent defense while she lived under Rutherford’s tyranny.

  As if by their own will, his hands tightened into fists with wishful anticipation. It had been quite some time since he’d had the urge to land a punch. It ate at him, now, though, and caused him to change his evening’s schedule. He best forgo the long ride he’d planned and head to Pru’s house straight away so he could deplete his energies, lest he get himself into trouble.

  Chapter 3

  Burke glanced at the candle on the bedside table, burned down to a fat, sloping stub. The size gave him a good estimate of the time. It wouldn’t be more than an hour or so before the sun crept through the window to light Pru’s over-frilled, over-laced, over-perfumed bedchamber. He would be gone by then.

  Beside him, Lady Prudence Hortence lay as still as a knoll. Their night of sex had been robust. After which, Pru had fallen into such a solid sleep, she wouldn’t even know he’d gone until the morning passed into afternoon. Nor would she be displeased to awaken to her valued privacy.

  Pru preferred to face no one until after her maid fussed over her and had her primped and styled proper from head to toe. He rather enjoyed seeing a woman mussed, especially if he were the one who’d caused her to be in a state of such disarray.

  This early, sleepless morning, however, he cared naught if he was there when she awoke. Not that he cared much any other time, either. Tonight, though, any inkling he had toward seeing Pru in the morning light fled the moment she fell asleep, as something was eating at him. What made it worse was he couldn’t identify the blasted problem.

  They’d both gotten what they’d wanted, and he should be equally exhausted. Pru, if nothing else, was an enthusiastic lover. On her skills between the sheets, he’d not fault her. Yet, although he’d had her several times throughout the night, Burke could not claim satisfaction. At the very least, he should be fatigued, but he wasn’t. Slumber did not even whisper his name.

  He considered waking Pru, of having her once more before going home to his own bed. Perhaps the problem was a matter of not exhausting his appetites in full. He found neither the idea nor the uncomplicated ease of it appealing.

  Rising up on his elbows, Burke regarded the naked woman stretched out beside him atop a rumple of sheets.

  Pru lay on her back, her voluptuous breasts only inches from his hand. She would welcome him again, he’d no doubt. Pru was insatiable. It occurred to him that her sexual prowess was one of the very few things he actually liked about her. Prudence was spoiled and selfish, and unless otherwise occupied, the endless, inane prattle flowing from her lips could drive a man to distraction.

  But the reason he’d answered her bawdy offer by appearing on her doorstep had not been for conversation. In fact, until his discourse with the delightful Lady Sennett last eve, he couldn’t say he’d ever before enjoyed a conversation with a woman.

  In all fairness, Burke conceded, he never put much effort into one past the general social expectancies and the necessary matters of seduction. Frankly, it was an aspect of life he’d never considered exploring.

  Prudence released a brief moan in her sleep and then flopped away from him to lie on her side. He took an appreciative glance at her bare arse before casting his gaze into the darkness.

  Perhaps his mind was too inundated with distractions to sleep. Or rather, one particular distraction. Blast Lord Sennett and his ridiculous request. Yes, of course it was haunting his thoughts. How could it not?

  The night had been an unusual one. He’d stayed at the Sennett’s longer than he normally would have. It was a rare occasion for him to attend a social event in the first place. He had accepted the invitation based on the special entreaty for his presence Lord Sennett had himself written on the back.

  As if out of his control, Burke’s mind delved into the viscount’s absurd request. Sennett’s suggestion was, without a doubt, the cause of his restlessness. He should have realized it sooner.

  Lady Rose Sennett, to be sure, was a fascinating woman. From her daring to strike a business deal on her own, to the flare of ire in her eyes when she had failed, and the determined tilt of her cute little chin when it came to helping the children. She could fight off her lecherous brother-in-law and host a party with equal success. Rose Sennett was the most dimensional woman he’d ever met.

  She was also an innocent and deserved far better than a sordid affair with a tainted man.

  Good god, how could Lord Ashton Sennett solicit him to seduce his own wife? If such a lovely creature were his, he would strangle any man who dared to even think of touching her.

  And then Burke envisioned it, another man putting his hands on her, undressing her, taking her virginity. He wondered if Sennett had made a list. He then wondered who was next on the list. Would Sennett tolerate some muttonhead who would treat her as little more than a by-blow, which was essentially what he’d requested?

  His jaw tightened for a moment before he could shove away the unwanted image. None of it was his concern, Burke reminded himself. He’d do well to keep his distance from the confounded complications of others. It’s what he’d always done in the past, what always worked in his favor.

  His entire life had taken place on the outer edges of Society, delving little into their private matters. Business mandated a certain degree of association, of course. He kept it at a minimum. In return, gossip, and all the ugliness that grows from it, had kept him at a distance.

  The ton thrived on gossip, and it could be an invasive and vicious fiend. Unfair, too. If word of his involvement with a married woman hit the rumor mill, Burke would suffer little for it. His title, wealth, and gender provided a sufficient barrier. Lady Rose Sennett, however, would pay a hefty price. Had her husband not considered such?

  Again, it was not Burke’s concern. The last thing he sought was to insert himself in the private affairs of anyone else. His life’s circumstances had left him with the secret of his own social weight to bear, and he’d done so quite well. No one knew the truth about him.

  It was cruel in the oddest form. This world could so often forgive a man for his chosen actions, but not for his lineage, for which he had no choice at all.

  The only reprimand his bed hopping had ever earned him was but a few sly, knowing grins from the aristocracy. However, if they knew of his mother’s indiscretions, knew he was actually her get from other than her earl husband, Burke’s lofty status would diminish.

  He’d learned not to care. He’d long quit wondering who his real father was, what he was like, if the man even knew he had a son. As a child, these were but a few of the sharp, jabbing points of Burke’s suffering. A mother who cared naught and a false father who resented what Burke’s existence signified were the rest.

  Long ago, Burke had erected his barriers to keep away the pain, and they remained strong.

  Of the man who had raised him for no other reason than to salvage his pride, the earl who everyone believed was his father, the man was deep in his grave. No matter his wants, though, Burke could not ever forget his childhood.

  He would never be able to evict from his mind the earl’s scorn and disdain, his mother’s blind indifference, and certainly not the beatings he received from the earl until he gained enough size and fortitude to fight back. But he could keep it all within a heavy casing, in the darkest corner of his mind. It was his shame to bear, and no one else would ever know.

  His parents were both dead now; his mother succumbing to illness, his father to the bottle, both dying too late in life by their son’s jaded estimation. Before they’d even passed from this world, Burke had decided he would never marry; never beget a child to be his heir and inherit the title. He was the last in the line. His chosen act of r
evenge was to let the earldom die with him.

  Burke lay back down on Pru’s bed, letting his head sink into the soft pillow. He drew in a deep breath through his nose and closed his eyes.

  The aftermath of sex still hung pungent in the air, mingling with Pru’s strong perfume and her overuse of rice powder. Beneath the soiled layers of their night, however, Burke could almost swear he detected the untainted fragrance of rosewater. He inhaled through his nose again, but the enchanting scent was gone before he could latch onto it with any real success, if it had ever been there at all.

  Prudence snorted in her sleep before releasing a contented sigh. Opening his eyes, Burke stared not at the nude woman beside him, but into the dimness where his mind could see a fighter, a survivor, a dealmaker, and an advocate for children, all encompassed in the form of a beautiful, innocent woman named Rose.

  After a moment or two, he used quiet stealth to slip out of bed, even though the caution was unnecessary. Pru was out of this world and well ensconced in her dreams, but Burke had a sudden and strong aversion to waking her.

  He dressed and quit the room with the silence of a shadow waiting to grow in the coming light.

  Chapter 4

  “Good morning, milady,” Cora said upon entering Rose’s bedchamber.

  Rose had already tied back the long, floral chintz drapes from her windows on what promised to be a glorious day. Gold-soaked light illuminated every corner of the spacious cream-and-coral colored room with sunny warmth.

  “Good morning, Cora.”

  Cora straightened her mobcap and shook out her brown linen skirt. “I swear I’ll never get used to a lady rising so early. And making up your own bed, no less!”

  Rose, wearing a white night rail and a matching, soft cotton wrapper tied at the waist, a silver-backed brush in hand, rotated on her padded stool at her dressing table. She smiled at her lady’s maid.

  The stout woman was about ten years her senior with full, rounded cheeks and a jovial disposition. Previous to Rose’s arrival, Cora was in Ashton’s employ as one of the housekeepers. She had been delighted with her new position as lady’s maid to the mistress of the house, and put forth every effort to shine in her role.