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

by Annabelle Anders

  “I did, but not as high as Penelope’s.”

  “You preferred your music?” he guessed.

  She glanced over at him with a surprised expression. “I did. Yes.” Had she thought he’d have already forgotten such an important piece of information about her?

  “What else? Art? Any particular sport?” He watched her closely, fascinated by her hidden mysteries.

  She nodded and then licked her lips. “Oils. And Archery. But of all of them I prefer—I preferred—music.” He didn’t comment right away. What would it have been like? To lose a life that you loved and trade it in for a life of servitude?

  “What of you?” She turned his thoughts. “My understanding is that you work far too much for a man such as yourself. Even Danbury, who spends a good deal of time locked away in his study, has mentioned your unusual dedication.” She brushed away some snow that had landed on her cheek.

  She missed one crystal flake, and after the briefest moment, it melted into her petal-soft skin.

  “You do not have to answer if you don’t wish.” She’d mistaken his hesitation for reticence. Quite the opposite, really.

  “My father was a barrister before he inherited.” Conversation came easily between the two of them. Comfortable. “Us Spencers are more working-class than aristocracy. Except for my mother and Natalie. The two of them have taken the ton by storm.”

  “You enjoy your work then?”

  He frowned at the question. No one had ever asked him this.

  “I do.” He surprised himself with such an answer. So often, with other peers, he found himself defensive of his work habits. “I see little value in idling away the days.”

  “You are like me.” She smiled.

  An enigmatic statement, to say the least. “Tell me in what way I am like you? In that I enjoy work?”

  “You are caught between different worlds,” she said. “You do not fit in wholly as a titled nobleman, nor are you a man of business, nor a member of the working class.

  Rome walked in silence and pondered her words. He’d never thought of himself this way. How did she see herself? As a maid? As the friend of a viscountess?

  “The servants resent your position with Penelope.”

  “They do.” She shrugged. “But I would not sacrifice it for their acceptance.”

  “Of course not.” And yet where did that leave her?

  “Oh! Look here!” She stepped off the path to indicate a cluster of winding dark green vines climbing one of the larger trees “English Ivy! It’s perfect!”.

  Rome removed his knife from his boot and joined her.

  “Cut here… and… here?” She examined the lush vine, almost a Kelly green despite the cold weather. “Did you know that English Ivy is considered magical by some?”

  She charmed him in her fervor for the game. Standing amongst the greenery, snowflakes falling around them, it was she who seemed almost magical––not a forest sprite, but a fairy queen. He chuckled at his own imagination.

  “And I suppose you are one of those believers.”

  She answered with wide eyes. “I’ve no proof that it isn’t. Surely, you’ve read the legend of Tristan and Isolde?”

  He vaguely remembered, although mythological literature had not been one of his favorite subjects. “Tristan was a Cornish knight, I believe. Was he not charged with claiming the Irish Princess, Isolde, a bride for King Mark?”

  “Before he could bring her to the king, Triston and the Princess drank a magic potion and fell in love. But they could never be together. Even in death, the couple was separated. King Mark was buried between them. Legend goes on to say that English Ivy grew from each of their graves and united. In the end, they finally had the connection they desired.”

  “I don’t remember that part.” Rome drew the vine away from the tree, careful not to damage the leaves. “Do you find it romantic?”

  Mitten-covered hands assisted him. “The legend is not included in every telling. And no, I find it sad. Romance lends itself to happier tales. Except for a few instances, I think it must be fleeting. Rare.”

  The vine came loose, and Rome realized the two of them were standing very near to one another. Again.

  And again, the urge to take her into his arms tempted him.

  The snowflakes had grown, not only in size but in number.

  “Are you cold?” He stared into her caramel-colored eyes through the myriad of delicate flakes.

  She glanced down at the vine and then back up. Both of them clasped separate ends of the foliage. “The air is warmer since the snow began to fall.” A simple observation, spoken softly, heated his blood. Delicate strands of ebony hair framed the face of this beautiful woman, this woman of untold depths. He suspected those depths included hidden passions.

  “Do you long for romance, Rose?” Didn’t all women? And yet, the desire to provide it had never been so strong.

  Romance lends itself to happier tales…

  Ultimately, he could never give her the happiness she desired. But he could give her pleasure. She desired him. Just one taste of her lips. He would only allow himself a single taste.

  He tugged on the vine and as he suspected, she did not release her end. She allowed him to draw her nearer.

  “My Lord,” she whispered. The wind gently stirred the hairs around her face. Silken wisps of black.

  “Rose.” He leaned in and she tilted her head back. Lush, pink lips parted softly.

  One taste.

  He rarely gave in to temptation. This time, however, he forgot all the reasons for fighting it.

  The flesh of her mouth warmed his. She welcomed his kiss. He was not mistaken. He did not take her into his arms but dropped the ivy and cupped her face within his hands. So fragile.

  He coaxed her lips wider, exploring tender flesh. Tasting her, reaching for more, he relished this intimate gift.

  Dangerous.

  Dangerous because this kiss would not be enough. He needed to know more of her––with his hands, his mouth, his body. He needed to know all of her.

  With a racing heart, he retreated and felt the soft breath of her delicate sigh dance across his lips.

  The pulsing need she’d ignited surprised him. It had only been a kiss.

  She dropped her head forward, resting it upon his chest. “No more.” She spoke into his coat. “Please.”

  Rome nodded. “Forgive me.”

  “Darlington!” Both of them jumped to hear a voice calling from the trees. His brother stepped into view an instant later.

  “Darlington! Rosie! I was beginning to wonder if the two of you had returned to the house!” The second voice belonged to Lady Asherton.

  Flustered, Rose stumbled backward, almost falling in her attempt to put a proper distance between them.

  “Mistletoe! A marvelous find!” Lady Asherton exclaimed, rushing forward.

  “We thought the two of you were right behind us.” Stone flicked a glance between him and Miss Waring.

  “Lord Darlington climbed a tree for the mistletoe.” Miss Waring’s tone sounded forcibly bright. She brushed snow off her coat rather than meet anyone’s eyes.

  He wondered if it might be his touch she was brushing away.

  “Rome? Climbing trees?” His blasted brother feigned astonishment.

  “Mr. Spencer and I were lucky enough to find these boughs of evergreen as well as some holly.” Margaret held a few branches in her hands. Stone carried the bulk of them.

  “I’m ashamed of your dismal offerings. I ought to send the two of you back into the woods.” Stone spoke as though he were joking but his eyes narrowed when they met Rome’s. Had his brother witnessed that stolen kiss?

  Rome joined Stone on the path and inspected the assorted greenery. “I’ll be surprised if anyone else returns with mistletoe.”

  “I agree. We’ve gathered plenty. It’s freezing out here! Do let’s go back to the house!” Lady Asherton turned to Rome. “Before my toes fall off.”

  His brother o
ffered his arm to Miss Waring, leaving Rome to escort Lady Asherton.

  “No more” she had begged him. And yet she’d kissed him back.

  Rome forced himself to listen to Lady Asherton as she regaled him with details of some Christmases past, but his mind remained back in the woods, with a dark-haired woman who tasted of winter and Christmas, a woman of intelligence and empathy. In the eyes of the world and as far as Society was concerned, Rose was simply Rosie, Penelope’s maid.

  Could she ever be anything more?

  Chapter 10

  A really good offer

  For all of an instant, Rome expected to see Rose at dinner. Her absence seemed an oversight, but it was not. Of course, she would not be invited. Rome draped the linen napkin over one knee and determined to appreciate his surroundings.

  The Duchess of Cortland had gone all out for the Christmas Eve dinner. For Christmas Day, she and the duke were to host a grand ball, inviting landowners and gentry from miles away. Rumor was that the meal to be served tomorrow would be even more extravagant than the one placed before them that evening.

  Elegant paintings and gilded mirrors hung upon the walls and silver and crystal covered most of the massive table. A good deal of the decorations that had been collected that afternoon had been carefully placed about the room.

  Penelope, Danbury, his sister, and Hawthorne had won the duchess’ prize. Rome chuckled to himself. It had been a box of chocolates. Natalie had been quite willing to give her portion up in exchange for a future favor.

  Cortland and his duchess did not entertain often but apparently aspired to make the occasions when they did memorable indeed. Conversation flowed freely, and Rome guessed nearly everyone present was enjoying themselves immensely.

  He’d been sat between two sisters, distant cousins of the duke’s, both of whom had entered Society the previous spring. It seemed the duchess would aspire to matchmake for him as well.

  Not that the ladies were not lovely. One boasted shining brown hair—not as shiny as Miss Waring’s—lovely brown eyes and a sweet smile. The other lady was a blonde with bouncing ringlets and the most adorable blue eyes. They spoke to him of garden parties and fashion and pretended to be fascinated by anything he said. Conversing with each of them grew more and more difficult as the evening wore on.

  He couldn’t keep from wondering how she was spending Christmas Eve. Would she join the other servants for the meal when the guests’ service concluded? A few comments she’d made suggested that she wouldn’t.

  He could not visit her chamber again. Penelope would flay him.

  Why could he not get her off his mind? He’d not been this fixated on any woman in ages; why did she have to be Penelope’s maid?

  She didn’t belong in service. He could see it in her very elegance, her bearing, hear it in her speech. But neither could she be considered a lady. Where did that leave her?

  Just as he could no longer fit into the neighborhood where he’d grown up, he often felt the imposter at ton balls, and similarly while making his occasional visit at White’s.

  By the time Cortland’s army of servants had collected the last plates, and the ladies had withdrawn so the gentlemen could take their port, Rome’s impatience had grown to an intolerable level.

  After a single round of cognac, fine though it was, Rome eagerly agreed when Cortland suggested they rejoin the ladies.

  It had been a long day. A long, memorable, and… frustrating one.

  Rome could wait no more. An idea had formed in his head, and he was eager to put it into action. He’d require Pierce’s assistance. And then hopefully, he would see her again.

  Thirty minutes later, back in his chamber, Rome handed a small box to his valet. “Make certain you deliver it directly to Miss Waring, with all manner of discretion, of course.”

  “To Miss Waring? The maid, My Lord?” Pierce scowled deeply as he took the box.

  “Yes. To Miss Waring, Lady Danbury’s maid.”

  “Surely, she was not the recipient of the other gift you—”

  “Excuse me? Am I not the employer here, Mr. Pierce? Is there something I’ve missed?” Over the last dozen or so years in which he and Pierce had been together, Rome did not believe he’d ever been so annoyed with his valet.

  “Of course. Forgive me.” Pierce glanced down at the package, still frowning. As he turned it over in his hand, the furrows in his brow deepened.

  “Directly to her, Pierce. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Perfectly.” The valet bit out the word.

  Admittedly, this request was somewhat unusual, but Rome, in his own estimation, had not been a difficult employer. Perhaps that was precisely the problem.

  “Without delay.”

  Pierce nodded and exited the room in silence.

  Clutching his timepiece in his left hand, he didn’t need to look at it to know that he had four hours before he would see her. Surely, she’d come.

  He would kiss her again and then make his request. The hand clutching his timepiece was damp.

  Of course, she would come. Wouldn’t she?

  The servant who’d collected Penelope’s tea tray had grudgingly informed Rose that a large meal was to be put out in the servants’ hall.

  Even though the invitation to join the staff had been halfhearted, Rose had not dismissed it outright. Penelope would be spending time with the other house party guests and so Rose’s only other option would be to pass the evening alone.

  Christmas Eve.

  To remain in her chamber would be far too depressing. Doing something as simple as taking a meal with the other servants might be enough to mark the occasion.

  She changed into a conservative gown, donned her apron and cap, and stepped into the foyer where her decision to attend was immediately shaken when she came face to face with the maid who’d witnessed Darlington sleeping on the chaise. The woman glanced up with narrowed eyes from where she was arranging some greenery on a small table.

  “I’m surprised they didn’t invite you to sit beside the duchess for supper, such a grand lady as yourself.” The woman laughed at her own joke. Likely, she was not the only servant who felt this way.

  Perhaps below stairs was not the best place, after all, to spend Christmas Eve.

  Rose entered the stairwell but instead of descending, ascended one flight up, intent on visiting Penelope’s babies. Finding the little darlings to be asleep, though, she crept quietly away and then returned to her own room, Penelope’s chamber. There, she changed out of her gown and into a night rail, braided her hair and then picked up the book, Emma, to read a second time. She would wait up for Penelope and assist her out of her gown and into her night rail later on.

  The words on the page could not compete, however, with the events from earlier that day.

  That kiss. It hadn’t been an ordinary kiss––not for her––anyhow. It had shaken her world. If it were to happen again, she wasn’t sure she wouldn’t lose her soul. Her attention flipped back and forth, between the book and Viscount Darlington, until her eyes grew heavy and she drifted off to sleep.

  Sometime later, she jerked awake when a knock sounded on the outer door—late.

  He wouldn’t dare come to her again. Already he’d taken too many chances.

  And yet… none of that stopped her from scampering up, shoving her arms into a dressing gown, and rushing across the room. She hoped it was him. She should not. But her heart raced more than she cared to admit at the thought of him coming to her.

  Both disappointment and relief swept through her once she’d opened the door. The man standing in the corridor was not Lord Darlington, but rather, Mr. Pierce, his valet.

  “Lord Danbury’s newspaper was mistakenly delivered to Viscount Darlington’s chamber.” The man no doubt expected she’d be awake, anxiously awaiting the return of her mistress, as would most good lady’s maids.

  Rose narrowed her gaze at the folded paper he extended toward her. Why would he deliver it at this hour? With a shake
of her head, she took it from him.

  “Thank you.” She narrowed her eyes at the man. “Is there anything else?” Perhaps Penelope had requested it in order to read the business section. It wasn’t an unusual occurrence for her friend to be interested in some investment or another.

  The valet’s jaw clenched and then he stepped backward. “There is not. Good evening.”

  Rose closed the door behind him and then pressed her back against it.

  When she’d heard the knocking, she’d been dreaming about a kiss. The gentlest of kisses experienced beneath a canopy of trees while snow gently fell. Mr. Pierce had stared at her, almost as though he could read her mind.

  Absurd.

  She dropped the paper on a table and glanced at the clock; nearly half-past one. Penelope hadn’t returned yet, and therefore would likely not require her assistance. On late nights such as this, Danbury was more than happy to disrobe his wife.

  Despite the burning embers in the grate, a shiver ran through Rose, sending her scampering to extinguish the candles and climb beneath the counterpane, not bothering to slip out of her dressing gown.

  The snow had intensified after they’d returned from gathering the greenery. Rose burrowed deeper into the mattress, too cold to peek outside the window to see if it persisted.

  It had meant nothing to him. He was a lord and lords were not opposed to sampling that which she’d given freely. It had only been a moment of… fun.

  Only it hadn’t felt like fun. She’d experienced that kiss in places she shouldn’t be feeling anything.

  His gloved hands had cradled only her face and yet she’d felt the power of his gentle touch everywhere.

  Elias hadn’t cared if his touch caused her pain. Her pleasure hadn’t been a consideration.

  The viscount had held her face as though she was a priceless artifact and then drawn out the kiss until her knees nearly buckled beneath her.

  A flush washed over her body. No longer affected by the cold, Rose tossed the counterpane off and allowed the cool air to hit her. It was doubtful she’d sleep any time soon with such tormenting thoughts hovering at the edge of her dreams.