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

by Annabelle Anders

  “I did once. With another man. I put him on a pedestal. I don’t owe you an explanation, I know that, but I don’t want you to think ill of me.”

  “Because you were not untouched?”

  Rose swallowed hard. “Yes.”

  They fell silent again and both of them sipped their tea.

  “Sugar, again?” He smiled as he glanced at her over his cup. “Still of a mind to sweeten me up?”

  She could not help but return his smile. “Somebody needs to. You are far too hard on yourself.”

  But that somebody, ultimately, would not be her.

  He set his tea down and took her hand. “I could never think ill of you.” Threading his fingers with hers, he lifted both of their hands to his face. “My Rose.” He inhaled. “What makes you so sweet?”

  How was it possible that he caused her heart to melt in a matter of seconds? With the barest touch? The softest whisper?

  He leaned in closer, his breath tickling the skin along her jaw.

  “Pastries.” She laughed, allowing his lips to trail from the lobe of her ear to the small indentation between her shoulder and neck. His arms made their way around her and somehow their chairs were together, touching, allowing the length of her side to curl into him.

  “Everything is different with you.” His other hand had taken hold of hers to absentmindedly play with her fingers.

  Did that mean he loved her? She banished such a thought. It meant he was aware of what they were doing. It meant that he would not impregnate her. He was older, wiser.

  “It is different with you.” She would not tell him that she’d tried to stop Elias. She’d allowed him to touch her above the waist, but when he’d turned his direction lower, she’d pushed him away.

  He’d ignored her protests.

  Rose believed that today, had she halted the progression of their lovemaking at any moment, the viscount would have heeded her request.

  Her viscount.

  He turned abruptly and stood, leaving her bereft but only for a moment. For the second time that day, he slid his arms around her back and below her knees to lift her into the air. Knowing he was going to carry her to the bed, she wound her arms around his neck.

  He lowered her onto the quilted counterpane and then stepped back and untied his cravat. Pausing, however, he lifted one eyebrow. “May I?”

  Again, he would give her reason to smile. Perhaps he didn’t require as much sweetening as she thought.

  One day of her was not going to be enough, let alone one rushed coupling on a fallen log. Rome would feast on her this time, he’d see all of her, taste all of her, feel all of her, and then join with her again.

  She seemed to be of similar mind, if the mysterious smile tilting her lips upward was any indication. Without appearing ashamed or bashful in any way, she watched him remove his shirt, boots, socks, and then reach for the fasteners of his trousers. Light flooded in through the thin curtains covering the one window in the room so she would see all of him.

  “Oh, you’ve scratches!” Her voice surprised him from behind when he turned to drape his clothing on one of the chairs. “From the log!”

  This drew a delightful crimson to her cheeks. He rather enjoyed that she could appreciate his nudity one moment but then blush the next. The air was cool on this side of the room and yet he felt hot inside, burning up, in fact.

  He kneeled on the bed beside her and then flicked at the material of her dress.

  “You may,” she teased him, sounding sensual yet shy at the same time.

  One by one, he removed the layers of her clothing, excitement growing as each button broke free. He’d been inside this woman and yet he’d not seen her skin. More of her curves became visible when he lifted the heavy material over her head, revealing a corset that tightly bound her waist and breasts, worn over a cotton chemise.

  He unlaced the strings behind her and felt the relaxation flow through her at its release. Instead of addressing the last garment, the chemise, Rome pulled the pins from her hair until it cascaded before him, raven waves flowing to just above her buttocks.

  Lifting a handful of strands to his lips, he knew that she did not share herself easily. His breath caught when she turned to stare over her shoulder at him.

  “You make an excellent lady’s maid.” Again, she teased him, naturally exhibiting the talent of a skilled courtesan.

  “Why, thank you, Miss Waring.” He reached for the hem of her chemise and lifted it over her head.

  Ivory skin with pink in all the right places. Dips and swells, soft and yet toned. Rome swallowed hard. She was perfection.

  Someone to write sonnets about. Go to war over. Damn him to hell for.

  She was to die for. Inspirational. Eminently… fuckable...

  She was perfection.

  His desire to continue staring at her warred with the need to cover her, to experience her skin against his own.

  He leaned forward, capturing her lips, and pushed her back until she fell helpless atop the quilt.

  The air in the room grew heavy with this… attraction… desire… indescribable need. In no hurry, his gaze lazily caressed the indent of her waist, the apex between her thighs, her legs, her small feet, until he trailed it back up, imprinting this moment on his memory.

  She reached out a beckoning hand. “Love me, My Lord,” she whispered.

  Unwilling to exercise restraint a moment longer, he lowered himself atop her. They had all afternoon and would not be interrupted. For this day, for these hours, he’d ignore the barriers between them and give in to the desire to learn every inch of her person. He’d give into the desire to simply… love her.

  Rome stroked the top of her head, playing with a few silken strands that splayed across his chest. Throughout the afternoon, he had come to learn more of this uniquely special woman. Although not nearly enough…

  She had once hoped for children. She worried about her brother. She loved music and possessed an ironic sense of humor.

  In turn, she’d learned more about his relationship with Wesley, never judging, only offering advice when he asked. And his family, his brothers.

  He served their tea the second time, going so far as to add sugar to both cups.

  And after they drank it, he’d made love to her again, they’d made love to one another.

  But the sun had set long ago and they could not hide here forever.

  “Penelope must be beginning to worry.” She sighed heavily but did not move her weight off him. She turned, however, and resting her chin on her arms, gazed at him with sorrow in her eyes.

  “Will you tell her?” he asked. It would be best for him if she did not, but Rome knew the two women were close.

  “No.” She didn’t require any time to think before answering. In her own way, Miss Ursula Rosamond Waring was as proud as any duchess.

  “Not because she would be angry with you,” he confirmed.

  “No.” She tilted her head, a small smile dancing on her lips, and traced her finger down the side of his face. “Because she would be angry with you.” Laughter danced in her eyes.

  Rome shook his head at the timing of her humor. “Danbury is likely to demand that I meet him at dawn.”

  “He wouldn’t!” This sobered her up.

  “No, he wouldn’t.” Rome, in turn, touched her lips. “He would be angry with me.” And with the mention of Danbury, Rome remembered that he’d promised he’d court Lady Asherton. “More likely the invitation would be issued by Penelope.”

  Rose smiled. They both had known her employer for a very long time.

  “I shall not tell anyone.” Rose pressed her lips against his, her hair enshrouding them both. “It will remain our secret.” He lingered at her mouth, unwilling for the kiss to end. A sweet familiar kiss to him now.

  When she finally drew back, she sighed. “It was good. I will always remember this day.”

  He tried to think of something similar to say. Something that would bring her comfort when she reme
mbered him. But nothing came. He could not bring himself to tell her goodbye.

  Her voice did not shake with tears and her smile was only a little sad.

  He’d not bothered to toss in another log even though all that was left were a few glowing coals. Nor had he lit any candles. When she sat up, taking the covers with her, the cold of the room replaced her soft warmth. She appeared a shadow in the darkness, the radiant embers their only light.

  “At the foot of the bed.” He pointed toward where he believed he’d tossed her chemise. She bent to the floor and then tossed him his breeches. “They’ll be missing you, too.” He heard the smile in her voice this time. “My Lord.”

  They dressed mostly in silence, him lacing her corset and then buttoning the back of her dress and she, in turn, tying his cravat and assisting him into his boots.

  She did her best to knot her hair atop her head but without a mirror, or much light for that matter, she couldn’t replicate the style she’d worn earlier. “I don’t think anyone will notice. Hopefully, Penelope will be downstairs with the other guests when I return.”

  She sounded cheerful, too cheerful.

  Rome watched her as she wound the scarf around her neck and fussed at some wrinkles in her skirt. She did her best to straighten the bed but when she went to gather their cups from earlier, he stepped in front of her. “You don’t need to do that.”

  “But someone will see, and they will know—“

  “I will take care of it.”

  At his words, all of the nervous energy she’d had moments before seemed to evaporate. Her shoulders slumped and she merely nodded, staring at the floor. “Yes. Yes. Of course.”

  This woman…

  So much he wanted to say. Forgive me. I’m sorry. I’ll never forget you. And yet none of it would mean anything. He wanted to give her everything and yet he could not.

  The temptation to beg her to be his mistress gnawed at him, but he would not break his promise. And somehow, he knew she would decline.

  “Do you have everything?” He glanced around the room. They hadn’t brought much along with them. Their coats. He’d lost a glove somewhere when he’d taken her on the log. Perhaps he’d go back for it tomorrow.

  “I—“ She glanced around. “Yes.”

  Rome dumped the water onto the logs, making certain there were no sparks left that could reignite and then walked to the door and held it open for her. After closing it behind them, he did not take her hand but rather dropped his arm on her shoulders.

  Hers slid around his waist as they walked toward the moonlit path.

  “The forest looks almost silver.” Her voice was little more than a whisper as their feet stepped along the frozen ground.

  With the almost full moon reflecting off the snow, it might as well have been daylight. “It has made for a spirited holiday.”

  She laughed. “We are speaking of the weather again.”

  In one quick movement, Rome captured her laughter with a kiss that felt like desperation. And then just as suddenly, turned them both to walk again.

  “You will go to him?” she asked as they neared the edge of the trees. “It’s not too late.”

  Talking of Wesley with her had helped him to decide. “I will. At the very least to make sure he is happy.”

  “Because he needs to know you. It will make him a better person.”

  Rome wanted to refute her claim, but instead, he merely listened.

  “Think of all you have gained by knowing your own father—even if you were not his heir. Don’t let anyone dissuade you.”

  “I will go to him,” he admitted. “I will see.”

  “And I will wish for the best outcome possible.” He’d replay her words in his mind later, when he needed her encouragement most.

  The lopsided snowman they’d made earlier that day came into sight. “He yet lives,” Rome observed.

  Her soft laughter floated across the snow. “And he hasn’t stopped smiling.”

  “Then neither shall I.” He wasn’t normally one to utter such romantic drivel, but it seemed rather appropriate. Her response was to lay her head against his shoulder.

  The house would come into view any moment and that meant they could be observed by any of the servants or other guests.

  Rome halted them once again, turned her, and lifted her chin so that she had no choice but to meet his eyes. “You will send for me, if you have need of anything.” Although he doubted she would. “Promise me.”

  She licked her lips and then dipped her chin in a subtle nod. “Of course.”

  She dropped her arm, and they walked the remainder of the distance without touching. From this point forward, all that would exist between the two of them would be memories.

  There was no other way.

  Chapter 15

  Never enough

  Rome stood behind a tree and watched Rose enter through the servants’ entrance. He’d initially expected her to accompany him to the front door, but she’d stopped him. She was required to enter through the back.

  Watching her disappear inside, a heavy weight settled in his heart. She was to be a servant again. The distance between them seemed as vast as the sea.

  A cold wind whipped through his greatcoat and yet he did not move. He did not want time to move forward. He wanted to go backward, even an hour.

  Good God, he was besotted! Shaking his head, he finally made his way around the manor and ten minutes later entered through the grand double doors into the high-ceilinged foyer and up one flight of stairs.

  “I wondered where you’d gone off to,” his sister said from the staircase where she descended from the upper floor. “You missed supper, and most of the guests are playing charades. Lady Asherton seemed to miss your presence as well.”

  Lady Asherton! He’d not forgotten his promise to Danbury, although he wished he could.

  “Where have you been today, anyhow?” she asked.

  “About.” He owed no explanation for his whereabouts.

  “Well, you look as though you’ve spent the afternoon in a pub.” She laughed. “Best clean up before rejoining the more civilized guests. Really, Rome. I think you forget yourself sometimes.”

  “Natalie.” He glared in her direction. Occasionally, his sister forgot who he was.

  She merely waved a hand in his direction as she turned toward one of Cortland’s larger drawing rooms. “Do hurry, though. You’re missing out on all the fun.”

  He grunted in return but climbed the stairs to find his own chamber, nonetheless.

  “Because he needs to know you. It will make him a better person.”

  She believed he ought to bring Wesley home with him. “Be more insistent,” she’d told him, “more persuasive, even.” He trusted her opinion. Was it possible she was right?

  “My Lord?” Pierce approached before Rome could even close the door behind him. “What on earth has happened to you?” Of course, his valet would recognize the different knot in his cravat, the wrinkles in his normally starched clothing. The man paid great attention to details.

  “Help me change into something presentable.”

  The valet shook his head but swiftly went about removing Rome’s jacket and shirt. Pierce held himself stiffly, almost as though he was angry with Rome. In the past, Rome would have shared his whereabouts with Pierce.

  In the past, he would not have spent an afternoon making love to a maid.

  A lovely woman.

  “I do hope no one saw you looking like this. I’ve a reputation to uphold, after all.” Pierce swiped at the jacket in disgust.

  When the man went to unfasten his breeches, Rome brushed his hands away. “There is no reason for you to do everything for me, for God’s sake, man. Order me a bath.” Perhaps his disinclination to be waited on hand and foot came from spending the afternoon with Rose. Perhaps he required more self-sufficiency. Had he become soft over the years?

  Head down, the other gentleman rushed to the corner and tugged at the bell pull. Rome w
ent to toss his breeches onto a chair and noticed the dried residue on the front panel.

  He’d been more careful the second and third time. He had one son already who looked upon him as a virtual stranger. He’d not sire another outside of wedlock.

  He’d shared secrets he’d never confided to anyone with Rose as they’d sat on the bed drinking their sweetened tea. Aside from Pierce and a few other tenants, only his father knew of Wesley’s existence. His father had assumed the boy would attend Eton, he’d even gone so far as to initiate his admission, but when Rome had gone to his son, Wesley had refused and the Creightons had supported him. It would all be too different, too foreign for him, they’d argued. He’d been reared to work the land. Rome had conceded.

  Has he been wrong not to force the issue? The Creightons had raised Wesley as their own. The boy had looked on them as his parents.

  They were gone now.

  “My lord, you’re injured!”

  Rome rubbed at his backside and smiled. “Hand me my banyan.” Rose had soothed the scratches with kisses earlier, the damnable woman.

  He donned the long silk gown and rubbed a hand through his hair. She was going to be difficult to forget. He’d not fool himself. His only consolation was that she remained in the same house for a few more days.

  As did Lady Asherton.

  Clutching her brush, Rose raised her hand, realized it was shaking, and forced herself to drag it through the tangled mess of hair she’d come home with. Aside from the tangles she would work out, her reflection in the looking glass looked no different than it had earlier that morning. A dark-haired girl with large brown eyes wearing a night rail and a dressing gown that did not belong to her.

  Only she knew the tumultuous emotions hiding behind her serene facade. She’d acted recklessly with her heart. It had cracked open, and she’d wholeheartedly invited him in.

  It had all seemed so harmless, loving him for an afternoon. Lowering the brush to the vanity, she lifted her hand to her face and inhaled his scent upon her. But that she’d taken his cravat or something she could tuck away and bring out in the dark days to come.