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

by Annabelle Anders

  Rose struck a flint and lit the tapers on the desk. Only then did her gaze land on the newspaper. With nothing better to do, she flipped the folded cover back.

  Her heart stopped at the sight of a small box of chocolates.

  What had Mr. Pierce said? He’d told her it was for Danbury, she was certain of it.

  Or has he found a way to speak to me?

  Rose opened the box and just as she went to remove one of the ornate confections, a folded slip of foolscap fell out. Her name was written on it in bold, slashing letters.

  Not Rosie, or Rose, but Miss Waring.

  Only after she read the missive did she realize her mistake.

  In a panic, she grasped hold of the single taper, blew out the others, stepped into a pair of Penelope’s silk slippers, and made a mad dash for the study.

  Rose hadn’t come.

  By a quarter after one, Rome had his answer. It was not the one he’d hoped for.

  He wanted to be angry with her. And yet, she had requested that he leave her alone.

  “No more,” she had said. “Please,” she’d begged.

  He’d chosen to ignore her request.

  He wished he could have believed it was a mistake, but Pierce assured him he’d delivered the box directly into her hands.

  She’d deny them both inordinate satisfaction.

  Fortunately for Rome, Cortland kept the liquor cabinet in his study well stocked. Disgusted with himself, he lifted the stopper off a full decanter and poured himself a generous splash. And damn his conscience for reminding him that he’d consumed more alcohol over the past week than he had in the past decade.

  The second one went down even smoother than the first.

  He barely tasted the third, a waste, really.

  Accepting his defeat, he crossed the room and bent down to stir the glowing embers left over from the fire he’d lit in preparation for her arrival. Mostly ashes now. Dull yellow light.

  And yet they flared to life as a draft of air swept into the room.

  “I didn’t open it.” Rose sounded breathless, almost as though she’d been running. “I couldn’t sleep. It was inside the newspaper, and when I opened it, I saw it. The chocolates. And then the note.”

  Having spent nearly forty-five minutes alternately making excuses for her and cursing her to hell, her explanation barely registered. The reds and golds glowing in the grate had somehow trapped his gaze.

  “It was nothing.” He knocked the glowing ember over and then turned around to face her.

  Damn his eyes, but she was more beautiful every time he laid eyes upon her. Tonight was no exception. She wore her hair in one long black braid draped over her shoulder drawing his gaze to her breasts. She’d covered those lush curves of hers with a red velvet dressing gown. Not something he’d expect a maid to wear.

  He’d gotten a glimpse of her in it before, but he hadn’t given it any consideration. In fact, he’d barely been conscious that first night he’d stumbled into her chamber.

  He wasn’t entirely sober now.

  “Oh.” Pink suffused her cheeks, whether from exertion or embarrassment, he wasn’t sure. “I hurried as soon as I realized. I thought it might be important.”

  She hadn’t closed the door behind her. Anyone could walk by and see them together. One would think this something of a remote possibility, but he’d attended enough house parties to know it was the midnight hours that provided the most entertainment.

  “Close the door.”

  Ah, there was the sweet raspberry of her tongue. He’d seen her lick her lips before. Had she been nervous then, or had she been aroused?

  “Why did you send it?” she asked, not moving from where she stood.

  Rome strode across the room to close the door himself. “Why do you think?”

  Why?

  A number of questions had flooded Rose’s mind when she’d caught sight of her name scrawled across the heavy parchment written in bold, masculine handwriting.

  Miss Waring,

  I would be grateful if you would meet me in our host’s study. I will await you at one hour past midnight to discuss what began this afternoon. I beg of you, to reconsider “more”.

  She’d glanced at the clock and realized she was already late. Her heart had skipped a beat at the signature at the bottom.

  Regards, Darlington.

  She did not have to search her mind hard to know what his reason for sending it might be. It had had to do with the kiss.

  “My Lord?”

  He seemed to have fallen into some sort of trance awaiting her response. A lock of his silky dark hair partially covered one eye, and he didn’t bother to brush it away.

  A half-empty decanter perhaps explained his hooded eyes and the absence of normal good manners.

  She felt not an ounce of fear. He’d proven himself more than once.

  “My Lord?”

  He slid his gaze down the length of her body and back up again. She should leave. She should return to her chamber.

  She did neither, but instead motioned toward the long settee. “Why don’t you sit here?” After a pause, he nodded, replaced the poker onto its stand, carefully—almost too deliberately— and then abandoned his watch at the hearth.

  She did not step back as he brushed past her to sit where she gestured. “We can talk.” Her voice caught as she spoke. Rather than diminish as their acquaintance extended, her attraction to him had strengthened.

  Rose cautiously lowered herself beside him. “The chocolates were divine.”

  “Ah, yes, the chocolates. And so, you skipped right past the missive in favor of your sweets?” She’d not seen this side of him. It ought to repulse her, as it would any woman of moral character. But his hooded gaze and flaring nostrils moved her senses in quite the opposite direction.

  “If I hadn’t delved into the chocolates, I would not have discovered your note.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “What the hell are you talking about?” His impertinent language only further stirred her most inappropriate response to him.

  Foxed indeed.

  “The newspaper…” She trailed off at the befuddlement on his face, deciding her words would be futile. “It is of no matter. I am here now.” She placed her hands on her lap and turned so that she more fully faced him. “I am here now.”

  He was already sitting mostly sideways, an arm draped along the back of the seat. No longer looking confused or uncertain, he focused his attention on her. “You told me ‘no more.’ And yet I do not think my touch repelled you.” His fingers barely reached the tendrils of hair that had escaped her braid. “Are you afraid of me?”

  At the time, she’d been afraid––but not of him. “I enjoy being kissed,” she admitted instead. “But I’ve learned it’s not necessarily in my best interest to...” It was the lady’s responsibility to exercise self-restraint. If she allowed the slightest liberties, then the gentleman expected… more. That particular lesson had not been a pleasant one.

  “Tell me, Miss Waring, do you welcome any man’s kiss? Or do you simply enjoy kissing in general?” He tilted his head, causing the wayward lock of hair she was becoming far too fond of to fall away from his jaw.

  Rose had to look away, his intense gaze muddling her train of thought. “Of course not.”

  “But you enjoyed the kiss we shared today?” he persisted.

  She nodded. Enjoy was a rather mild word to describe the emotions the kiss had evoked.

  “Tell me.” He waited until she met his gaze to continue. “What is it about kissing that gives you pleasure?”

  “You’re being foolish.” Was he teasing her?

  “No, I’m genuinely curious. I want to know everything about you.”

  Had he consumed an entire bottle of Cortland’s scotch?

  “I’m a maid. You already know everything interesting about me.”

  But he was shaking his head. “Oh, no. Quite the contrary, Miss Waring.” His fingers continued playing with those stray strands o
f hair, sending spirals of delight dancing down her spine.

  Guilt at her failure to comply with Penelope’s request to stay away from him warred with the desire to know more of this man. His barest touch, let alone an embrace, a kiss, sent her heart racing.

  “Your taste,” she blurted out. “It was warm, spicy. It… suited me.” Lord Grayson’s kiss had not tasted nearly as… right. Perhaps it had been the snuff he used daily.

  “My taste?” Lord Darlington licked his lips as he pondered her words. “What else?” He seemed thoroughly interested in what she had to say on the matter.

  “Your lips are firm, and yet the kiss, it was soft.” By now, the memory of the kiss had impressed itself quite vividly onto her memory. When his lips had first touched hers, they’d seemed to ask a question. She had answered. “It was as though you listened with your kiss. You were not shouting at me. You requested. You did not demand.”

  He hadn’t taken her into his arms when he’d kissed her. He’d barely skimmed the side of her face with his hands, making her feel more delicate than she was really was. His fingers had slid into her hair and then along the shell of her ear.

  Rose glanced sideways at him on the sofa. He’d drawn closer so that they nearly touched from their shoulders to their knees. Rose’s attempt to calm her pounding heart failed miserably. Was this why he’d asked her to meet him?

  Was this why she’d come?

  “I’ve never considered any of this before.” He leaned closer, his mouth hovering near hers. “May I?”

  May he?

  Then he kissed her again. Only, this time, he tasted like scotch.

  This was why Rome had asked her to meet him. He was not hypocrite enough to deny it to himself.

  She’d said his taste suited her.

  Her touch suited him.

  When he’d kissed her earlier that day, in the forest with the snow and wind swirling around them, he’d not been able to fully embrace her softness. Nothing prevented him from doing so now.

  Her body, feminine and pliant, melted into him but she was not impassive. Her mouth welcomed him. Her small tongue sparred with his. Her slender arms crept up his jacket to wind themselves around his neck.

  “Rose.” He broke the kiss to whisper her name and explore more of her with his mouth. The taste of her skin comforted and aroused him. Only a hint of floral tones but mostly sweet.

  This woman’s scent, her taste, suited him just fine. She was right. His tongue found only pleasantness as it skimmed along her person. Not too heavy, cloying, or foreign. Perfect. And his hands agreed, sliding down her back and around her waist to where they then edged upward.

  She drew away from him, pressing gently against his chest. “You mustn’t.”

  “I must.” But he dropped his hands.

  She smoothed her gown nervously, her withdrawal as much emotional as it was physical. “I shouldn’t have come. I knew why you asked me here, and I came anyway. But I promised Penelope.”

  “What does Penelope have to do with any of this?” Frustration got the better of him. “She’s your employer, for God’s sake, not your mother.” He shouldn’t have said it. She was on her feet now, backing away from him. “Wait. I’m sorry.” He wasn’t ready yet, for her to leave.

  “You don’t understand.” By God, she looked just as beautiful while riled, her cheeks flushed, her eyes sparkling. “Your future, your livelihood, has never been in doubt. Where will you live? What you will do? Who will you be? You will one day be the Earl of Ravensdale, for heaven’s sake! How can you understand the dependence that comes with my position? I cannot ignore Penelope’s kindness nor her generosity. She’s given me that which you obviously take for granted every day of your life.”

  “You’ve fulfilled duties for your pay, have you not? For that security you so desperately seek?” It bothered him that she was beholden to Penelope. It made no sense at all. Unless he wished her to be beholden to him…

  “I can provide for your needs.” The words flew out of his mouth before he could stop them. In all his thirty-six years, he’d not once kept a mistress.

  She’d been edging her way toward the doorway but halted at his words, her eyes as round as saucers.

  “I’ll make it so you needn’t worry about your livelihood ever again. I’ll take measures to prevent any children. You—”

  But she was shaking her head, her eyes bright with either anger or unshed tears. “I won’t pretend to misunderstand your offer. But I wish you had not made it. I apologize if my actions have led you to believe that I’d be willing to…” A choking sound checked her words. “You think that because I allowed you to kiss me that I would…? I thought you were different! I am very satisfied with my present position. I never fear that Penelope will grow tired of me when I can no longer please her. I needn’t worry that my position will disappear when time has stolen my looks.”

  Rome shook his head. He was going about this all wrong. Although he also wondered how in the hell gentlemen were supposed to arrange such an unseemly transaction as this.

  All he wanted was to have her in his bed.

  “I’ll draw up a contract to assure you’ve security for life.” He hadn’t intended to allow his solicitors to become involved, but there it was. He supposed it was like any other business undertaking and having the terms laid out prior to making any commitments would assure that both parties came out the other side feeling satisfied. Or perhaps he could write this up himself.

  Feeling rather pleased with himself, he glanced around for a pen and paper, only to be brought up short when he realized he was alone.

  Damn and bollocks. He pressed a fist against his forehead. This wasn’t at all the way this night was supposed to play out.

  Chapter 11

  Merry Christmas to Rose

  Tiptoeing through the cold and empty corridors, Rose took back every kind thought she’d ever had for him. How idiotic of her to have imagined he was any different than Lord Grayson or any of the other blighters who assumed any passably good-looking maid would be willing to lift their skirts for coin.

  More than coin. Her breath caught. Security. Independence. But what of when her looks faded? Even if he took precautions to prevent her confinement, there was always a possibility.

  The thought sent a combination of horror and longing through her.

  She admonished herself for considering it, if only for half a second.

  She was a maid now, that was true, but her father was a gentleman. She’d been raised to be a gentlewoman, to be civil and proper.

  Why had she bothered going to him tonight? One missive, hidden inside chocolate, and she’d risked being seen to do his bidding?

  Going downstairs had been dishonorable on her part. She had, in fact, given him just cause to believe she might be willing to become his mistress. A shameful sob threatened to choke her. When would she learn?

  That kiss, drat and damn! She’d nearly been seduced by a kiss.

  Now two.

  The door clicked loudly as she crept back into her chamber. She ought not to have gone. Anyone could have seen her disgraceful behavior! Penelope might have needed her in the night. It was not unheard of, since the babies had been born.

  With only the moonlight to guide her, she climbed back into bed and tried to shove him from her thoughts.

  A tremor rolled through her.

  “May I?” He’d asked permission and she’d not said no. She’d wanted him to hold her. His very person drew her in, leaving her almost helpless.

  “I’ll draw up a contract to assure you’ve security for life.” The words had chilled her to the bone and at the same time lit something else inside of her.

  Shivering, she rolled over in the large bed and drew the covers to her chin. It wasn’t as though Rose hadn’t accepted her circumstances long ago. Because she had.

  Over and over again.

  And I’m grateful! I truly am!

  She squeezed her eyes closed tightly. It was Christmas Eve, well, Chri
stmas morning now. She lay in a soft and luxurious bed, in a grand house with plenty of coal for the fire to keep her warm.

  Penelope loved her and Danbury tolerated her fairly well.

  I am grateful!

  She was blessed. She’d count those blessings until sleep came.

  The words that taunted her, however, had nothing to do with Penelope, the babies, or the satisfaction of a job well done.

  Rather they were words spoken in a refined, sultry, deep, and throaty voice.

  “I can provide for all your needs…”

  “The snow has been piling up for days!” Rose smiled to herself at Penelope’s exaggeration. Penelope sipped from her chocolate while Rose pinned the long auburn braid she’d woven into a coronet atop her mistress’ head. “I’ll need my wool gown because we’re walking to church this morning. And warm socks. I do hope Danbury’s valet dresses him appropriately. I won’t stand for him catching a cold this winter. He’s the only one who can quiet Louella when she fusses.”

  “I’ve every confidence in Mr. Chester’s ability to dress your husband as weather necessitates.” Rose had not thought it possible for her friend to become so enamored by Lord Danbury, of all people, but Penelope loved her husband to distraction. She’d nearly worried herself ill when he’d come down with a harmless cough that autumn.

  “Of course. I know it’s ridiculous for me to worry about such trivial matters but…”

  “Your husband’s health will never be a trivial matter.” Rose tucked the tied-off braid into Penelope’s coiffure with one last pin. “That ought to hold fine unless one of the babies gets ahold of it again.”

  “You’re coming, of course,” Penelope declared. “You’ve spent far too much time holed up inside. You can wear my spruce velvet. And I’ve an extra muff.”

  Always the tug of war between her two stations in life. That of friend and that of servant. Rose enjoyed attending church though. Despite the cold and the hard pews, despite the abundance of perfumes, she enjoyed the music… and the peace.