Lady Be Good: Lord Love a Lady Series, Book 5

by Annabelle Anders

  “I’ll concede it was impertinent of me. But for you to suggest that—” He could not even bring himself to utter her insinuation. He was not sickened by the notion. He’d known men, good men, who were so inclined. One did not attend an all-male school without realizing some gentlemen experienced very different urges than one’s own. However, this was not the case for him.

  “It was to your advantage, My Lord. I would not have allowed you to enter my bedchamber had I thought otherwise.” The scowl darkening her features stirred his normal calm composure into a myriad of inclinations and urges that were inappropriate for altogether different reasons.

  Damn, but she heated his blood. What with her ridiculous insinuations and flippant attitude.

  This was what had had him on edge all morning—the opinion of a maid!

  “So then?” he challenged her. “A gentleman who chooses to comport himself with discretion and honor cannot simply be what he appears? Must his behavior lead you to immediately believe that he is… uninterested in women?”

  She looked away from him and shrugged. “That is my experience, yes.” And then she turned those black eyes back on him again. Not black exactly. The darkest brown. The color of strong coffee.

  This entire conversation was preposterous.

  “Allow me to set you straight. Not that it’s any of your business, mind you. Blasted impertinent wench. My preferences are for none other than ladies. Women. Females.” He closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. It was pounding again, worse than before. Damn, but the absinthe from the previous night was not through with him yet.

  His legs suddenly threatened to collapse beneath him, and the world lurched. It felt as though it had anyhow.

  His nostrils caught a whiff of her perfume, fresh and sweet, before he realized she’d taken hold of his arm. “Why aren’t you in your chamber? Wellington himself would have spent the day abed if he’d had the night that you did.” Feminine hands guided him to sit and then lifted his feet onto the chaise. He opened his eyes just in time to catch a glimpse of her bosom near his face as she placed a pillow behind his head.

  What had they been arguing about? She made it difficult for him to remain angry.

  A cool cloth descended onto his forehead.

  “If I may be perfectly clear…” In one last valiant attempt to sit up, he tried raising himself forward, only to be gently pushed back again.

  “And of course, you have been. I stand thoroughly reprimanded and corrected. You prefer ladies. Women. Females. My most abject apologies, My Lord.”

  Oh, God, had he rebuked her for failing to address him properly?

  “I have work to do,” he mumbled as a soft quilt was drawn about his shoulders. The gentle scent of lavender was already quieting the pounding in his head.

  “The work will be there when you wake.”

  But he would not sleep. He’d only lie here a moment.

  “Shhh.” Rose held her finger to her lips as Penelope made to enter the room.

  “I’ve changed my mind—” Penelope began.

  “Shhh.” Rose gestured toward the sleeping viscount, which silenced Penelope easily enough.

  “What is he doing in here?” She crossed to the sofa where Rose sat sewing a button on Penelope’s winter coat and dropped down beside her.

  “He came to apologize,” Rose whispered back. She’d leave it at that. “For awakening me last night.”

  Pen shook her head. “Was his apology so very exhausting that he must nap in my chamber?”

  “I thought you said you were worried about him,” Rose pointed out. “He went out riding this morning. You saw what condition he was in last night. The man refuses to accept that he is only human. Likely, he doesn’t wish his valet to see him this way.”

  “Why would he care what his valet thinks?”

  “He’s a reputation to uphold!” Sliding Penelope a censuring glare. she added, “Did you not care what I had to say upon your issues before you married Lord Danbury?”

  “Point taken.” Penelope pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Do you think I ought to find a wife for him? I doubt he’s capable of doing so on his own.”

  “No,” Rose answered quickly. Too quickly? If his earlier assertions were true than that meant… “He deserves a love match.”

  “My thoughts precisely.” More chin tapping. “It’s a shame you…”

  “Oh, please, don’t even say it aloud,” Rose hushed her. What if he overheard such nonsense? When would Penelope remember that Rose’s prospects ended the day she took on this post?

  Penelope wrinkled her nose. “There must be someone.”

  “Why are you here, anyhow?” Rose glanced meaningfully at the clock. “You’re going to be late for tea.”

  “I wanted to ask if you’d mind preparing my periwinkle gown for this evening, rather than the emerald. Danbury mentioned it was a particular favorite of his. Would it be too much trouble?” Without awaiting Rose’s answer, she glanced at Darlington again and sighed. “I suppose I’ll leave you to it—to him— then. It’s not as though you’re in any danger.”

  Rose blew a few stray hairs away from her face. “As if…” she muttered ironically.

  The door closed behind Penelope, leaving the room silent but for the steady breathing of the sleeping viscount. He wasn’t snoring, but he certainly wasn’t sleeping soundlessly.

  She resumed her sewing but couldn’t keep her gaze from straying again and again to the gentleman stretched out on the chaise. How did a man come to possess such long and thick lashes?

  And his lips, although firm and determined while he was awake, were now parted slightly, making them so very soft and kissable.

  Poking the needle into the fabric, she used perhaps more force than necessary to tighten the tiny stitch.

  She then shifted her body so that she faced more of the window and fanned her hand in front of her face. Studying him this way, unfettered by any reason to look away, had the startling effect of igniting inappropriate longings within her

  He really was too perfect for words, even if his complexion was a little green today.

  In fact, he appeared even more handsome somewhat disheveled, with his face relaxed and his clothing wrinkled around him.

  She set her sewing aside and decided his cravat might have been tied a wee bit too tightly. The fabric resisted her efforts at first but when she stepped back to admire her handiwork, she believed it worth the effort. She could now make out more of his jaw and the tiny hairs curling just below his neck.

  A girl could look, after all.

  Was it possible that he was all that he appeared? What had he called himself? A gentleman who chooses to comport himself with discretion and honor.

  A knock at the door had her jumping guiltily.

  For the second time within twenty-four hours, a single gentleman was alone with her in her bedchamber.

  In Penelope’s bedchamber.

  When the knock sounded, louder this time, she crossed the room and peered outside, barely opening it more than three inches.

  “Lady Danbury ordered tea delivered.” A tight-lipped kitchen maid stood holding a tray of tea and biscuits.

  Feeling a conflicting combination of gratitude and exasperation toward Penelope, Rose opened the door so she could relieve the maid of her tray.

  Instead of handing it over, however, the woman pushed the door wider and marched inside to place it on one of the vacant tables.

  Rose’s heart lurched.

  With a fleeting glance in Darlington’s direction, the servant performed her task as though nothing was amiss. She settled the tray on the small table near the sofa and straightened a spoon before turning to face Rose. Her expression managed to appear both disapproving and cunning.

  “Will her ladyship and the, er, gentleman require anything else, Rosie?”

  “Not at this time, thank you.” Rose could not remember the woman’s name. Somehow, though, every servant she ever came across knew exactly who she was.

&nb
sp; The woman glanced around the room as though she expected someone else to be there. Penelope perhaps?

  “Thank you. That will be all,” Rose excused her. It would, of course, do no good to ask the woman to keep quiet about Darlington’s presence. She could only hope the maid wasn’t a gossip.

  Oh, Penelope! Why?

  But the scent of freshly baked pastries answered her question.

  Because Penelope loves me.

  Penelope always seemed to feel a little guilty about leaving Rose behind over the course of such gatherings.

  “I should go.” Darlington’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “Send me away.” But he hadn’t moved. In fact, he remained sprawled on Penelope’s fainting couch, eyes closed, looking, for all the world, as though he was still asleep.

  “There is plenty for both of us.” Rose lowered herself onto the settee. She moved the tray to the table near where she’d been sitting and then carefully prepared two cups of tea. She ought to send him away immediately, but instead, she simply asked, “Sugar?”

  “Black is fine.”

  She stared across to where he pushed himself up and then, addressing the tea once again, scooped two spoonfuls of sugar into her own cup and, after a moment’s consideration, the same into his.

  Not giving him the opportunity to decline, carefully maneuvering the small metal tongs, she placed two of the most delectable pastries onto two separate plates, preparing the refreshments the same as she would have in her father’s drawing room.

  “You aren’t like other maids, are you?” he observed from the fainting couch.

  Without meeting those blue eyes of his, she handed the dish across the table and then took her seat again. “Why do you say that?” The porcelain felt hot against her lips as she tested the temperature of the tea.

  Too hot, so she blew gently, watching the liquid swirl around her breath.

  “For one thing, I know of no maids willing to take tea with me.” He lowered his feet onto the carpet, his cravat dangling around his neck as he sat forward.

  She couldn’t help but stare at him over the rim of her cup. “It’s only tea,” she murmured. He seemed far more interested in watching her than in the beverage she’d handed him.

  He lifted the cup to his mouth and then frowned. “Did you put sugar in this?”

  “Drink it. You could use some sweetening up.” Rose did not look at him as she sipped from her own cup.

  “See, right there. I should have known Penelope Crone would not have a normal maid. Where did the two of you meet, finishing school?” And then he chuckled at his own joke.

  For some reason, Rose didn’t want to admit to him that yes, at one time, she and Penelope had been equals. Being treated like any other maid was one thing, being pitied for it quite another.

  She watched as he took a second, heartier sip of the sweet drink. “Try the biscuit,” she suggested helpfully. “The duchess’ bakers are the best in all of England.” With that, she bit into her own confection. Soft and buttery, it literally melted upon her tongue.

  His gaze seemed to linger on her lips as she licked a few crumbs from her fingers. It wasn’t exactly proper, but she hated to let any go to waste.

  “I don’t eat sweets,” he mumbled before taking a hesitant bite, nonetheless. “I wouldn't guess that you indulge often.”

  Rose knew that her hips flared a little more than most and there was not much she could do for the size of her bosoms. She was taller than average, however. “I'm lucky enough to go unpunished for this particular sin."

  He took another bite, still watching her. “You’re right. These are delicious.” A wicked gleam sparkled in his eyes. “Do you go unpunished for any other sins?”

  Did she? Rose held his stare boldly. “Depends on what one considers to be punishment.” Rose knew better but could not help but add, “And what one considers a sin.”

  Chapter 4

  Servants and Masters

  The minx bit her lip the minute she uttered such provocative words.

  Sultry.

  Indeed, the perfect word for her.

  “Please, forgive me,” Rose offered, dropping her lashes before he could respond.

  Rome wondered if it was a ruse. For a moment, she’d flirted with him outrageously but then just as quickly retreated behind a mask of sorts.

  When she had the courage to meet his gaze again, she only did so briefly.

  It was not a ruse. She seemed… ashamed.

  “Are you English?” Her dark hair and eyes contrasted with her pale complexion. She seemed incredibly English and yet she exuded a hint of the exotic. Something about her…

  “My mother’s mother came from Portugal.” She set her cup down carefully and reached for a garment sitting beside her. “But I consider myself English.” He watched as she punched her needle through the material. If she paid heed to her task then she could almost ignore him.

  “Is your father a merchant?” The more time he spent in her presence, the more difficult it became to believe she’d been raised for service.

  “Why are you so different from other lords?’ She peeked up from her work, cocking an eyebrow.

  “Touché.” But that reminded him. “Not because—”

  “Yes, yes, you’ve been quite adamant in regard to that.” She went back to her sewing, seemingly past her embarrassment. “I wonder, though, why be so utterly honorable and all that? When you don’t have to be?”

  Rome’s father, the Earl of Ravensdale, had delegated a great deal of responsibility to him upon his graduation from Oxford. Initially, he’d been like most of the young men he’d graduated with, seeking pleasure and enjoying the benefits that came along with his position.

  Until he’d blundered and cost his father thousands of pounds.

  And one young woman her life.

  Laura.

  He could never atone for the repercussions of his careless behavior, but he swore to never endanger a woman again. Nor would he risk the prosperity of his father’s estates. When he did make time to indulge, he did so with an abundance of caution. “I am not all that different.” He coughed into his hand. “Perhaps a tad more discreet than most.”

  “Discretion has a value all its own.” Her eyes flicked to his plate. “You like them?”

  He could not deny it. Her smug smile prevented him from even trying.

  Both the pounding in his head and the aching in his stomach had subsided since he’d consumed the sugar-laced tea and pastries. Miss Waring, although impudent, had the right of it.

  Miss Waring? She was but a maid!

  She was Rosie. Rose.

  And yet, there she sat, looking quite genteel, with only the mobcap on her head and the apron worn over her dress to expose her position.

  “I thank you, again.” Taking the last biscuit from his plate, he rose. “And I suppose I must apologize yet again. I realize it’s not proper that I visit you here.” This time, when their eyes met, she did not look away.

  Such an intriguing woman.

  A maid, though! How many times must he remind himself of this fact?

  “I would be grateful if you would accept my apologies for last night.” He’d not speak with her again after this and felt oddly reluctant to say goodbye. Viscounts simply did not consort with servants, especially young maids.

  Unless, of course, they were the most despicable sort of man.

  “I will, thank you. And you’re welcome, My Lord.” Her cultured voice sounded like a blasted duchess while she stared at him with the boldness of a courtesan.

  He knew at that moment that if he were to kiss her, she would not resist. He’d caught her watching him more than once. Hell, only because he’d secretly ogled her sumptuous hips and breasts when she thought he’d been asleep.

  But he would not.

  As he turned to go, her voice halted him. “Have a care for yourself. You aren’t immortal, after all.”

  Rome glanced over his shoulder in surprise. “No one is, Miss Waring, no one is.�
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  Cradling a snifter of brandy, Rome only vaguely listened to the conversations taking place around him in Cortland’s drawing room. Twice now, Miss Waring had allowed him to enter her chamber. She seemed oddly comfortable with him, and if he were to be honest with himself, he’d felt the same with her. His response to her baffled him. Rome kept a strict distance from those in his employ, even his valet, as impossible as it might seem.

  She no longer considered him to be a backgammon player, he was quite certain of that. But she did not fear him. He’d wager that she would have sent any other man packing rather than put herself in such a vulnerable position.

  “Land’s End is so very far from everything!” His sister, Natalie, now the Countess of Hawthorne, exclaimed to Lady Asherton, Danbury’s widowed sister. “We’ll be visiting my parents at Raven’s Park after the holidays; you must accompany us. And then you won’t have such a long journey to London for the Season.”

  Sitting beside his sister, the other woman blushed charmingly. Although the widow must be nearing thirty, she was more than just a handsome lady. She was hauntingly beautiful. She’d lost her husband and her mother in the past few years. Natalie would wish to “save” the poor woman. It was his sister’s way. This would not be the first time she’d taken a lost soul under her wing. Rome watched her indulgently from where he lounged against a high-backed chair set across from her. His sister might be impulsive in such endeavors, but she was always kind, if not a tad manipulative.

  “You as well, Rome!” Natalie exclaimed in his direction, pouting prettily. “We hardly see you anymore. You’re always up north.”

  “I’m not up north now.” But he didn’t decline her offer outright.

  He’d had nothing to keep him from attending the house party this year. Harlow Point would continue running the same without him. Hell, at times he’d wondered if his presence did more harm than good. Tenant unrest seemed to have become never-ending.

  He swallowed the remainder of his drink and enjoyed the burning sensation that traveled down his gullet and into his gut.