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

by Annabelle Anders

  “Yes, I realize I was betrothed last Christmas.” He glared at Danbury. “And jilted, and you needn’t feel sorry for me, damn you.”

  Danbury was shaking his head. “Just don’t let it go too far.”

  Right now, it seemed to be the least of his worries. Rome stepped over to the sideboard and poured both himself and Danbury a generous splash of Cortland’s scotch. “I imagine you have a potential bride in mind for me?” He handed the short tumbler over.

  Now it was Danbury’s turn to look uncomfortable. He rubbed the back of his neck guiltily. “Penelope thinks Margaret and you would suit.”

  Rome pinched his chin at the suggestion. It wasn’t a horrible idea. Danbury’s sister was a beautiful woman and she didn’t repel him as some ladies of the ton did.

  Nothing jumped inside of him, though, at the suggestion. What had he been expecting?

  The image of Rose’s lush curves taunted him. If he was going to have to court Danbury’s sister, Rome couldn’t very well be lusting after Penelope’s maid.

  Damn and blast, but the timing of all of this couldn’t be any more inconvenient. For the first time in years, he wanted a particular woman and had been willing to go to considerable lengths to have her. Why must his bachelor status come to an end at precisely the same time?

  But that the same woman could fulfill both of his needs. Aside from station, Rose was gently bred. But for a bit of bad luck…

  “Your sister has invited her to Raven’s Park after the Epiphany.” Danbury’s voice broke into Rome’s thoughts. “It’s feasible that you could make an announcement before the Season commences. Not that Margaret’s a sure thing, quite the opposite, I imagine. But I’m sure if you explain to her your circumstances, she’ll be willing to consider marrying again. God knows she needs something… or someone. She’s been like a ghost since Mother’s death.”

  “My condolences, again, for your loss,” Rome said without thinking. Lady Danbury had been a huge presence amongst the ton for as long as he could remember.

  “I appreciate that. But about Margaret…”

  Rome drained the contents of his glass. “I’ll court her at Raven’s Park,” he conceded. What choice did he have? And then he turned. “But no promises.”

  “That goes without saying.” For all Danbury’s concerns, Rome realized for the first time that the other man had been having this conversation with him whilst wearing nothing more than a nightshirt.

  “And Danbury.” He could not prevent himself from the barb.

  “Yes?”

  “Next time you might consider locking the door when you swive your wife in a public room.”

  Danbury merely grinned with a wink. “What fun would there be in that?”

  Rome groaned but then couldn’t help but chuckle as he left the room. What must that feel like? To have such passion for one’s wife?

  Chapter 13

  Give him a smile

  The servants’ holiday was today, and most of them would take the day to visit with family nearby or friends in the village. Penelope insisted Rose take the day off as well, and by taking the day, she insisted Rose get out of the manor and seek the company of individuals other than herself and Danbury.

  But Rose hadn’t made any friends and finding herself at a loss, decided she’d explore the property on her own. Hopefully, most of the other servants had left the estate and she wouldn’t have to talk to any of them. If they weren’t outright rude, they tended to pity her. Such conversations only ever served to make her feel even more uncomfortable around them.

  Dressed in the warmest coat she could find, she donned her new gloves, hat, scarf, and boots. Several inches of snow had accumulated over the last few days and if she planned on being outside for long, she’d require all the protection possible.

  It was the middle of winter, after all.

  She half-wished Penelope would come with her. Before she’d married, there would have been no question. Before she’d had the twins, she would have already come up with some hairbrained scheme to pass the afternoon.

  So much had changed over the past year and today Rose felt it more than usual.

  Loneliness.

  She’d been right in assuming most of the servants would be away from the mansion today, but when she stepped outside, shouts and laughter floated from across the snow-covered lawn.

  Several of the duke and duchess’ guests were taking advantage of the wintry weather by building snowmen and tossing snowballs at one another.

  Rose tried to ignore the bittersweet twinge that pinched her heart as she watched them. From her vantage point, she could make out Lady Hawthorne and her husband, the duke and duchess, and a handful of children.

  One particular group of rowdy boys was being led into mischief by Rome’s brothers, Stone and Peter Spencer.

  Lord Darlington stood off to the side chatting with Lady Asherton. He must have said something amusing; the widow’s laughter echoed off the windows of the manor. So happy, so carefree… Just before Rose could turn away, he glanced over and caught her staring.

  She could not join them. Penelope and Danbury were spending the morning in the nursery with the babies. Rose only ever joined the other guests when Penelope insisted.

  Not wanting to explain any of this, she turned quickly and marched in the opposite direction. She did not care that the path was covered with nearly six inches of snow.

  What was the matter with her? The sting she’d experienced seeing him with Lady Asherton was most inappropriate. Besides, they’d only been talking. He hadn’t even been touching her.

  The couple’s match had become Penelope’s pet project. Rose knew, better than most, that when Penelope chose to direct some particular outcome, she normally experienced success.

  This perhaps hurt even more than seeing the viscount turn his charm upon the lady. It hurt because Rose’s position was so low that even Penelope could never approve of the affection she was beginning to feel for the blasted viscount. Penelope would laugh at the idea. Even worse, she’d pity Rose.

  Rose had just ducked her head when something barreled into her bum from behind.

  What on earth?

  Astonished, she brushed at her fanny, turned, and was then even more astonished when she caught sight of Lord Darlington’s devious expression just before another clump of snow stuck her left shoulder.

  Instinctively, she bent forward, collected a handful of snow, and sent a missile of her own making in his direction.

  She missed by a mile and had to duck again when another glanced the side of her face.

  “That’s a beastly thing to do! Utterly unfair!” she shouted at him before throwing yet another poorly made snowball, missing again, and then running for cover into the trees. Locating the ideal spot, she positioned herself at one end of a low-hanging branch and waited for him to follow.

  And waited.

  “Did you really think I’d fall for that?” he taunted her from behind.

  She released the branch she’d secured, sending a small storm of snow cascaded onto the ground where he ought to have been standing.

  “You’re no fun at all.” She pouted, for just a moment, failing to remember that maids did not flirt with handsome viscounts.

  Even when said viscount initiated snowball wars with them.

  “I didn’t hurt you, did I? I didn’t mean to hit your face.” He’d removed his glove so that his bare hand brushed at the snow along her cheek.

  It was impossible for her to look at him and not experience all of those inappropriate feelings she’d been fighting. His eyes stared at her with tenderness. She could nearly convince herself that she saw affection there.

  His cheeks were rosy from the cold, and her fingers itched to touch the skin of his lips.

  Being so close to him, being on the receiving end of his concern, overwhelmed her.

  “It didn’t hurt. Only a little.” The words emerged practically a whisper.

  “You cannot join the other guests,” he ac
knowledged.

  She shook her head slightly. “Only when Penelope brings me along.”

  “And yet, you are not invited to join any of the other servants today.”

  Again, she shook her head.

  “Will you make a snowman with me?” The words surprised her.

  “No. You must join the others.” She stepped backward. It was too difficult to think clearly with him near.

  He ignored her and despite her lack of encouragement had ventured into a small clearing where he went right to work forming the powdery snow into an ungainly lump upon the ground. “You aren’t going to leave me to do this by myself, are you?”

  Rose blinked back tears. She did not want his pity and yet she had been feeling lonely… and sorry for herself.

  She wanted to build a snowman with him.

  “I’ll get the bottom going and you start on another for his mid-section.” And the crux of it was, Lord Darlington seemed to actually be enjoying himself.

  “You don’t have to.” She made one more attempt to send him back to the other guests. And to Lady Asherton.

  He turned his head and winked. “I know.” Then he went right back to work.

  How could she not do her part by rolling another clump of snow into the shape of their snowman’s midsection? It would be most unsporting of her.

  Some of the snow stuck rather nicely, snow that had spent some time in the sun. The newly fallen snow refused to hold together. After several aborted attempts, Rose finally stepped back to watch Lord Darlington place the ungainly head atop their rather plump-looking snow gentleman.

  “Will it stay?” The head rocked precariously.

  “Bring me more snow,” he ordered her.

  “Please?” she teased.

  “Now! Wench,” he groused back jokingly. Where had this Viscount Darlington disappeared to while he’d gained his reputation as a spoilsport, as old Sobersides?

  Rose scooped as much snow as she could and proceeded to pack it around their poor snowman’s neck. It wasn’t a neck, really though. Rather the spot where his head grew directly out of his body.

  The viscount’s hands covered hers as together they packed the fluffy white stuff on. For a moment, her heart stopped at his nearness. She wondered that she couldn’t be scrubbing the kitchen floor and enjoy the task if he was beside her.

  “I think it’ll hold.” He patted it one last time and stepped backward.

  Rose rubbed the head and then stepped back herself, careful to keep her distance from the man who had successfully managed to scramble most of her rational thoughts.

  “Unless a stiff gust of wind catches him.”

  “Don’t be so negative, Miss Waring. He needs a face.”

  The blank-faced mound of white did indeed require a few essential features.

  A few minutes later, the ungainly creature sported two rocks for eyes, pine needles for eyebrows and a large twig for a nose. The two of them finished the job by pressing berries into his face in the shape of a mouth.

  “Give him a smile,” Rose directed. “We cannot have a frowning snowman.”

  “Don’t you think he requires a tad more dignity than to be seen standing in the forest grinning like a fool?” But he had pressed the berries into the snowy face so that the corners of the mouth tilted upward.

  “Lovely,” Rose declared.

  “I suppose he has no choice,” Darlington added.

  “No choice?”

  “But to smile.” His eyes twinkled at her as he spoke.

  “Why would you say that?”

  “He’s just had your hands all over him. How could he not?”

  This time, Rose’s snowball made a direct hit.

  After the two of them had tired themselves out like a couple of children, they located a conveniently placed fallen log in which to sit and catch their breath.

  Wet cold had long since penetrated Rose’s boots and her nose and fingers felt a little numb, and yet she hadn’t had so much fun since… watching Lord Darlington climb the tree in order to procure the mistletoe.

  He was sitting close beside her, although they weren’t quite touching, and he had leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs.

  Rose watched her breath hover in the air and wondered that he made her feel as though she belonged somehow. She did not belong with him, nor did she belong with the guests, and yet, he made her feel as though she mattered. She did not only exist so that she could be Penelope’s maid, nor did she exist only so that she could send funds to her mother and brother. She existed as a person in her own right.

  As Rose.

  “The other night,” he began reluctantly.

  “Please, do not ask me again.” She did not want to ruin these moments they shared.

  He turned his head to glance at her. “No, it’s not that. It’s something you said. You accused me of not understanding insecurity, not understanding what it is like to be dependent upon others for your safety and livelihood.”

  She’d accused him of taking his security for granted.

  “My family hasn’t always known prosperity.” Ah, yes, she had forgotten. She’d been angry and not thinking.

  “Your father inherited later in life.”

  “Not until I was three and ten.” He nodded, staring at the ground as he spoke. “My father was working as a barrister by then, but I remember their struggles before he established himself.” For a moment, he seemed lost in melancholy memories. “Both he and my mother worked tirelessly through most of my childhood. With many mouths to feed, there were times we went without.”

  He was opening and then clenching his fists together, staring at his hands now. “What I’m trying to say, rather clumsily, is that I have not forgotten the feeling of toiling in fear. Fear that the rent won’t be paid or that Baby Natalie would cry in hunger that night. Which, perhaps makes it even worse that I would be so cavalier in regard to your feelings for Penelope. A similar fear is perhaps what drives me, even today. I ought to be confident in my father’s wealth, in the wealth of the estates, but in my heart, in my gut, that fear still exists.” He cleared his throat. “And I see it on our tenants’ faces often. I ought to have recognized it on yours.”

  Rose sat, rather stunned, really, at his words. They were not at all what she had expected.

  “Will you accept my apology?” He’d turned to face her now. This man… So much sincerity in those crystal blue eyes, an abundance of humility and honesty hidden beneath the aristocratic masque he wore most of the time. Or perhaps he wasn’t hiding it, so much as protecting himself.

  “Of course.” How could she not? “It leaves something of a scar, does it not? Knowing lack? The need to fight for one’s very existence? The… powerlessness?” Her family hadn’t experienced it for long after their father’s great gambling loss, before she’d gone to live with Penelope. But for several months, she’d watched her mother’s face grow thin and pinched in worry. “I have so very much to be grateful for. I am angry with myself for complaining.”

  “I am sorry for what your father put you through.” Again, he was staring at his hands.

  “Oh, but how pitiful I must sound to you. Sitting here in a beautiful warm coat with a full stomach and a luxurious bed to sleep upon.” She forced a cheerfulness back into her voice.

  And then his hand covered hers. “You never seem pitiful to me. It’s part of what confuses me about you.”

  She turned to face him, needing to see his emotions, needing to see the truth on his face. For some reason, it mattered a great deal.

  “I am a servant on the outside,” she nearly whispered the words, words she dared not speak to Penelope. “But on the inside, I am still Miss Waring. I am still… me. And there are days when I feel I am losing myself, losing that person inside.” She had his complete attention now. His hand still gripped hers while the other reached up to touch her chin. “When you call me Miss Waring, not Rosie, and not girl, you speak to her. To me.”

  She dropped her lashes, feelin
g as though she’d told him too much.

  But his bare fingers remained on her skin.

  “Ah, Rose. Perhaps I’ve confused both of us.” Regret laced his voice.

  She nodded, only slightly though. She did not want his hand to fall away from her skin. In fact, she tilted her head so that he could cradle her face more easily. “I know you have not done so on purpose.”

  He was a good man. One of the few gentlemen who would not take advantage of her weaknesses. Every grain of her being was drawn to him.

  “I will not make my offer to you again.” His remorse sounded even heavier now. “It was a wish, a dream, I suppose. Although something of an unseemly one. Will you forgive me for that as well?”

  Oh, but now she felt like weeping. She never could have accepted his offer, but it had been tempting. Too tempting. “Of course, I forgive you.” She lifted her lashes and felt a very small satisfaction at the disappointment she saw in his eyes.

  His thumb worked its way around to her mouth, where he gently rubbed at the skin of her lower lip.

  And then the disappointment left his eyes, eyes she could never deny, and passion entered them. The black centers had grown, nearly taking over all of the blue. “May I?” he whispered. “One last time?”

  One last kiss for her to imagine over and over in her mind. One last kiss for her to torture herself with.

  “Yes.” She nodded. “Please.”

  His lips replaced his thumb. Gently, slowly. She felt only gratitude that he would draw this kiss out for both of them to savor. This time, she allowed her hands to settle upon his chest, wishing they weren’t wearing winter clothing, wishing they could be closer.

  The wish strengthened into wanting.

  “I can’t stop thinking about you,” he whispered softly into her mouth.

  Her only answer was something between a cry and a moan as he delved his tongue deeper behind her lips. Their teeth clashed.

  He grasped her tightly against him, and she arched her head back from the pressure of his kiss. Her own need was great, but his came with masculine strength.