The Viscount's Rose (The Farthingale Series Book 5)

by Meara Platt

  “Gladly!” But Nicola slumped her shoulders. “However, that means Julian will be lost to us.”

  Rose reached out to pat her hand. “Trust him.” She turned to study Julian, wondering whether she had faith enough in him to know he’d come to the right decision about his frosty countess before it was too late.

  “Trust him,” she repeated with a little less confidence, “but perhaps I was a bit hasty about no more schemes. Your brother’s awfully dense.”

  Nicola rolled her eyes. “Dense as a block of granite, for certain.”

  “Agreed.” Rose nibbled her lip. “What harm can there be in one more scheme? But that will be the end of it.”

  “Unless we require another,” Nicola added hopefully.

  Rose groaned. No, they couldn’t meddle more than they already had. They shouldn’t meddle even one more time, but it was only the once and they couldn’t allow Julian to march down the wedding aisle to his doom, could they? After that, they’d leave him to his fate. He was a grown man and capable of making his own decisions.

  She intended to say no. She would say no. She and Nicola had to stop meddling in Julian’s life. “Heaven help me, but yes. Whatever is needed to keep him out of her wicked clutches.”

  CHAPTER 14

  JULIAN NOTICED A metallic glint coming from the copse of trees across the stream only a short distance from where he and his companion stood fishing. “Did you see it, John?”

  “Yes, it’s probably nothing. A gardener walking with a shovel over his shoulder, no doubt.” Although by his expression, John obviously didn’t believe his own words. “Dash it, now Nicola’s wandered off. I can’t protect her from here. She’s standing too far away from me.”

  Julian arched an eyebrow. “Let me worry about my sister. Rose is your assignment.”

  John snorted. “But Rose is closer to you and Nicola’s closest to me. Damn, did you see? Another glint, this time further downstream. He’s moving toward your sister.”

  Julian reached for the pistol hidden in his boot, noting that John was about to do the same, although neither would shoot before making certain this stranger posed an imminent threat. It wouldn’t do to shoot an innocent local whose only crime was to sneak a peek at the earl’s niece.

  Rose’s sudden call to Nicola seemed to alarm whoever was lurking in the copse and send him running off. He and John lowered their pistols, both of which had been aimed at the stranger and ready to fire before he could get off a shot. “Bloody good fortune,” John muttered as Nicola hurried toward Rose, blissfully unaware of the peril now averted.

  Julian nodded, his gaze fixed on Rose. “How did she know?” The girls were now kneeling beside the picnic basket, hugging each other and unaware that he and John had weapons drawn. As he tucked his pistol back in his boot, Julian caught snatches of their conversation, which consisted of an exchange of vows to be friends forever. Lord, the pair were such innocents! He hoped they would never change.

  “She couldn’t have known.” John stowed his pistol as well. “You think she did?”

  “The girl has good instincts.”

  “Shall I go after the bounder?”

  Julian frowned and then shook his head. “No, as you said, the man was probably harmless. Our poles are floating away.” He waded into the shallow water to retrieve them before joining his sister and Rose. A summer breeze blew through the trees and stirred the stream currents. He noticed the gentle sway of branches and heard the rustle of their silvery green leaves. Nothing amiss.

  “The fish aren’t biting today,” he said when Rose cast him a quizzical glance that got him wondering again whether she’d noticed the danger and acted quickly to rescue his sister. That sort of cleverness took training. No, it must have been a matter of chance.

  “Is that what you were doing? Fishing?” She still had her big blue eyes trained on him. Her mouth was pursed and she was nibbling her lower lip, something she often did when unsettled.

  “Of course. Pole. Bait. What else do you think we were doing?” Julian groaned inwardly. Breaking up a spy ring was hard. Resisting Rose’s kissable mouth was even harder. Diverting her suspicions would be harder still. He loved that she was clever, but that agile mind of hers was also a great inconvenience to his assignment. He changed the topic before she had a chance to respond. “Have you completed any sketches? Let me see.”

  He reached behind her to grab her sketchbook, ignoring the sudden jolt to his bodily organs the moment he grazed her soft shoulder. He was used to these heart-stopping jolts to his system by now. The only problem was they had grown stronger instead of abating. The more he knew Rose, the more desperately he wanted her.

  She blushed as he inspected her sketches. “I’ve only done bits and pieces. They’re merely rough drawings of your eyes. Your mouth. Different aspects of your face in profile. They’re early attempts. Far from perfect.”

  “These are excellent.” Pride for her swelled within his chest. “I knew they would be.” Pride and a yearning to protect her from the envy and petty jealousies she would face as a woman competing among men. She’d already experienced their nastiness and not been daunted. But how many times did her work need to be destroyed before she gave up? He wouldn’t allow it ever to happen again. “Truly splendid, Rose.”

  “Thank you,” she said quietly.

  All the more reason he had to be the man to claim her. She needed to flourish and could only do so in proper surroundings, with a husband who respected her talent and would stand beside her as she fought for proper recognition.

  Bloody nuisance.

  He couldn’t seem to think of Rose without wanting her in his life forever.

  Rose was aptly named, for she was the most beautiful blossom in any garden of flowers, her petals vibrant and her colors so intricate and delicate they stole one’s breath away.

  “Quite talented,” John said, studying them as well. “My aunt, Lady Bainbridge, will be interested in your work. I’ll introduce you to her when we return to London.”

  Julian coughed to stifle his unreasonable anger. John was merely following his orders to protect Rose. That Julian wanted to pound the stuffing out of him whenever he came near the girl was a ridiculous response, but he felt the urge anyway.

  Rose poured him a glass of lemonade. “Why the dark scowl? Are you all right?”

  Julian ignored the question.

  “Lord Randall,” Rose said, turning away from Julian with a sigh. “Nicola and I would love to meet Lady Bainbridge. I’ll ask my mother to invite you all to tea at our home once we’ve settled back in London, then you can inspect my work. I’ve done portraits for most of my family.”

  “Sounds delightful. My aunt and I look forward to it.”

  After devouring the food set out for him, for it was better to keep his hands occupied with food than give in to the urge to pound his fists into his friend’s face, Julian returned to fishing. John remained with Rose and Nicola, his manner irritatingly charming, for the three of them were chatting and laughing as though this outing was a lark.

  Perhaps it was to the girls, but not to him. Nor should it be for John.

  He was being unreasonable again, for John was an experienced agent of the Crown and ever on alert. John’s assignment was to protect Rose, and Julian knew he would do so even at risk to his own life.

  He glanced at Rose as he cast his line into the water. She had caught the attention of some very nasty agents and Julian was truly concerned for her safety. He needed to draw their attention away from her. In truth, John was doing his part in playing the attentive suitor. This ruse was the best way to keep Rose safe. He was the fool for having a problem with his own plan.

  He couldn’t keep his eyes off Rose.

  Or keep his heart detached.

  But he had to.

  The person across the stream may have been an innocent passerby, but Julian doubted it. He was certain Valentina’s agents had followed him here as well as trailed him around London. It was imperative to keep tho
se blackguards away from Rose. Having John pretend to court her was the best solution. But could Julian feign disinterest once they were back in London?

  What if Rose decided that she preferred John to him?

  Bloody nuisance.

  “The ladies wish to return to the cottage. I’ll escort them,” John said with a grin, enjoying his assignment far too well. “Wouldn’t want to interfere with your fishing.”

  Julian clenched his jaw, knowing his friend was teasing him, purposely goading him now that he believed their lurker had run off. But the man hadn’t run far and now appeared to be back. Julian noticed a movement once again amid the lush foliage. “John,” he said, discreetly keeping his gaze on the copse.

  “Got it.”

  Before either of them had the chance to move into position, Rose accidentally dropped her pencils. “Oh, drat.” She rushed forward to gather them before they rolled down the bank into the water.

  “Rose, get back!”

  Two shots rang out as Julian shouted his warning and lunged for Rose, managing to pull her down onto the soft grass and cover her with his body. The first shot whizzed overhead and lodged harmlessly in the trunk of the shade tree. The second shot struck his arm with an unmistakably hot sting as the ball of metal tore through his flesh.

  Fortunately, it probably was only a graze. No bone struck, he hoped.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw John grab Nicola, lift her into his arms, and deposit her behind the stone wall separating the cottage garden from the stream. “Stay down, brat,” he commanded with a growl and took off after the assailant.

  Julian intended to do the same, but not before he made certain Rose was unharmed, for the bullet might have struck her after it tore through his arm. “Rose, are you hurt?”

  All his years of training flew out of his head as rage overcame him. He wanted revenge and didn’t give a damn if Prinny would have him clapped in irons for the rest of his days. He was going to take down Valentina’s operation the moment he returned to London.

  They’d lose the man at the top, the elusive spy in Prinny’s inner circle, but how effective could the man be without his web of agents to deliver English military secrets to Napoleon?

  “No damage done,” Rose said with a grunt, finally responding. “However, I’d appreciate your getting off me.” More grunts as she fought to catch her breath. “Your body is big and it’s crushing me.”

  He rolled off her at once. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be. You saved my life.” She put a hand on his shoulder and then drew it away with a gasp. Her palm was covered in blood. “You’re injured!”

  “Just a bee sting. Nothing more.”

  “Julian,” she said in an agonized whisper. “Please tell me what’s going on.”

  Rose stood in the Darnley kitchen, quietly watching while Julian’s aunt tended to his injury. He’d removed his shirt upon his aunt’s command and sat stiff and impatient in one of the hard wooden chairs as the adept older woman fussed over him. He’d also removed about a half dozen weapons that were hidden on his person, and those were now set out on one of the kitchen tables within arm’s reach of him.

  Knives, pistols, and a garrote.

  “Rose, hand me that damp cloth.” Lady Darnley pointed to the clean white linen cloth and small basin filled with warm water that were atop the oak table beside her.

  Nodding, she quickly dipped the cloth in the water, twisted the excess moisture out of it, and handed it to Lady Darnley. “Thank you, my dear.”

  She smiled wanly at the efficient older woman, but her hands were violently shaking and she doubted she’d fooled anyone.

  She’d never seen anyone shot before, and despite Julian’s stoic expression, she knew that this was more than a mere flesh wound. If he was in pain, he refused to show it. Rose wanted to appear brave as well, but she was crying on the inside and her stomach was twisted in knots.

  So was her heart. Julian could have been killed!

  She wanted to throw her arms around him and weep on his shoulder—the uninjured one—and feel the warmth of his arms wrapped around her.

  “You’re going to need stitches, Julian,” his aunt muttered, cleaning the blood off his arm. “Rose, dear. Dip the cloth in water and continue to cleanse his wound. I’ll return in a moment with needle and thread.”

  Rose swallowed hard.

  She clutched the edge of the table as her head began to spin. “Yes, of course.”

  Ordinarily, a young lady of good breeding would not have been permitted to remain alone with any man, much less one who’d removed his shirt. However, the Emory family, with her instigation and participation, had already behaved so scandalously that this new situation seemed to be nothing out of the ordinary and quite tame in comparison.

  Propriety had long since been trampled. She’d already seen Julian in this state of undress and he’d seen her in a worse state.

  Besides, he had saved her life and she was not going to leave his side until he was safely on the mend.

  Julian studied her intently as she dipped the blood-soaked cloth into the basin and gagged as the water turned red. “Rose,” he said in a gentle murmur, “sit down. I’ll do it.”

  “I’m fine. Truly.” Her stomach was still churning and her head still spinning, but she refused to admit that she was having any difficulty. A few inches to the left and the shot would have killed him… or her, if that was truly the villain’s intent.

  Why would anyone want to kill her? She understood about the pottery ruffians wishing to scare her, but murder? These men were artisans for the most part, not cutthroats. Or was she wrong about that as well? They had proved themselves to be knaves and scoundrels.

  Julian drew one of the kitchen stools closer to him. “Come sit by me. You look as though you’re about to faint.”

  She was indeed. He must have noticed that she’d rested her hip against the table’s edge for support. “No, I’m quite fit.” She cleared her throat. “But I shall sit beside you. The better to tend to you.”

  Her hands were still shaking as she took the offered seat and then raised one hand to his shoulder and began to wipe away the remaining blood around the wound. “Twice now,” he muttered.

  She looked up at him. “What?”

  He reached out and tucked a stray curl behind her ear. “You’re hardly two months into your debut season and already two attempts have been made on your life.”

  “I know.” She emitted a long, ragged breath. “And I’ve spent a night alone with a man—you. And I’ve behaved wantonly with a man—again you. My parents will be so disappointed.”

  He laughed mirthlessly. “They love you. They’ll be worried, not angry, and will want to keep you safe. John’s tracking the blackguard now. We’ll soon find out what this latest intrigue is about.”

  “Do you think it’s more of Sir Milton Aubrey’s mischief?”

  He pursed his lips in displeasure. “It’s a possibility, but I doubt it. The man fled England in abject terror after I had a little talk with him.”

  She arched an eyebrow as she gently dabbed the cloth around his wound. “That must have been quite some chat you gentlemen had.”

  “It was.” There was an icy glint in his eyes and Rose suddenly realized that he must have frightened the wits out of Sir Milton. These pottery merchants were rough, but apparently Julian, despite his outward polish, could be even rougher when the occasion called for it. “If he isn’t behind this latest incident, then who is?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Her eyes suddenly rounded in surprise. “But you have your suspicions. Is Valentina somehow involved? She’s dangerous, isn’t she? This hold she has over you has nothing to do with courtship. She isn’t merely jealous and keeping you for herself.”

  Julian glanced at the weapons on display before her. “Rose, I’d tell you more if I could. I’m not at liberty.”

  “Will John have answers for me? Or is he also not at liberty to speak? Nicola’s anxiously awaiting h
im by the front entry. I know he’s a hunter and no doubt an excellent tracker, but this isn’t merely a deer or wild boar he’s after.”

  “He knows to be careful.”

  “What else does he know? There appears to be a side of you gentlemen that none of us has ever seen.”

  “Nor will you ever,” Julian said, intending to put her at ease, but his assurance was having the opposite effect.

  Her eyes rounded in alarm. What was he involved in? “The assailant is carrying weapons. Are you quite certain John will be safe?”

  “He’s one of the best.”

  She took no pains to hide her frustration. “One of the best at what?”

  “I’ll go after him once I’m properly stitched up.” He glanced once more at the weapons on the table. “He won’t come to harm. He knows what he’s doing.”

  “You seem awfully confident in his abilities. I suppose I ought to be as well, especially if he’s carrying an armory on his person just as you are.” She lightly pressed the cloth to his arm in the hope of stemming the flow of blood. Thankfully, it was slowing. “Tell me more about Valentina.”

  He merely blinked.

  “Because I realize now that you don’t love her. I don’t think you ever have. In truth, you don’t like her at all. You can’t possibly. However, you need to remain close to her for some reason.”

  “Stop, Rose.”

  She frowned, although she remained more frustrated than angry. “Still won’t tell me what all this is about? Why do men always believe they’re protecting the fairer sex by keeping them ignorant of what is really going on? Let me assure you that you’re not. We’re much safer understanding the danger and doing our best to avoid it.”

  He caressed her cheek. “I agree, but I still can’t tell you. Trying to uncover the truth on your own will only place you in greater danger. I don’t have the resources available to protect you.”

  “What makes you think I can’t protect myself?”

  “Are you daft? There have been two attempts on your life already.” He stiffened his spine as he sat up sharply. “Protect yourself? Leave that to me. As soon as we’re back in London I’m hiring Bow Street runners to watch you from sunup to sundown and all the hours in between. And you’re not to go anywhere near Valentina.”