Lady Be Good: Lord Love a Lady Series, Book 5 Page 17

  “This is the last time. It has to be the last,” she gasped as she dragged his shirttail out of his breeches and then over his head.

  “The last,” he agreed as his hands gripped bare thighs beneath her long cotton gown. Within moments, his breeches were around his ankles and he had her pinned against the bed. This coupling in the dark was even more frantic than it had been outside in the forest. It expressed all of their uncertainty, all of their despair. All of their need.

  His arms shook as he clutched her tight, his legs spread wide to brace himself as he took her against the bed. And for the second time, he nearly spent inside of her, barely withdrawing in time to keep her safe.

  Afterward, holding her and still leaning against the bed, he pressed his lips to the top of her head.

  Her cheek rested against his bare chest as they both sought to catch their breath.

  “I’m sorry, Rose.” He inhaled the clean fragrance of her hair.

  What, exactly was he sorry for?

  For all of it. For wanting her, for pursuing her, for coming here again… but most of all, for not making her his. For not giving her the full protection of his name.

  But why couldn’t he? He was a Viscount, was he not?

  “Marry me.” The words escaped without thought. “Run away with me to Gretna Green and marry me, Rose.”

  The question was right out of a dream, a wonderful dream. But Rose knew in an instant it was impossible. He could never marry a lady’s maid. Even if he did, she would never be accepted. Not by his family, not by his peers, and most definitely, not by his servants.

  “My Lord—” she began.

  “Rome.” He buried his face in her hair and then kissed that spot below her ear that caused her to melt. “My name is Roman.”

  Oh, God, but he was not going to make this easy.

  “Pack your things. We’ll leave tonight. We can be there in three days.”

  He could not possibly mean it. She was shaking her head. “Rome.” A sob threatened to choke her. “Don’t be foolish.”

  “It’s the sanest decision I’ve made in a long time.”

  She nearly believed him.

  Rose pushed him away and then stepped out of his embrace. To remain in his arms meant certain capitulation and that would be disastrous for both of them. With shaking hands, she lit a candle before locating a cloth to wipe away the evidence of his seed on her gown and the counterpane.

  And between her legs.

  “You cannot marry me.” She did not meet his eyes. Her heart wanted to give him anything he wanted. But… “You would regret it right off. I’ve no connections, no dowry. And what of any children we would have? They would suffer the knowledge forever that their mother was a servant.” And beyond all of that, a marriage ought not to be built on lust.

  “This.” She indicated the bed. “It is powerful now. But what of when it ebbs?” It struck her oddly that his offer was not much different than the one he’d made before. Only, as his wife, he would be bound by vows, tied to her for a lifetime.

  “What if it does not?” The light of the candle flickered across his features and she could see he was not prepared to accept her rejection. “Is not marriage a commitment? A commitment to stand by one another throughout hardships as well as prosperity and health? Do you doubt my ability to do that? Do you perceive me as fickle?”

  “No.” But did she? He was a man. A wealthy gentleman, of stature as well as great wealth. “But…”

  He scrubbed a hand down his face. “Rose. Don’t do this. I won’t demand you mingle with Society if you do not wish to. We can live at Harlow Point. No one there will need even know that you were ever a maid.”

  “Mr. Pierce will know.” Rose hated arguing with him. “I will know.” A deep sigh escaped her. “You will know.”

  “Why are you making this difficult?” The puzzlement in his voice also held frustration… and pain.

  “Would not the point of living at Harlow Point be to keep me hidden? I will always be your dirty little secret. It won’t work.” She swallowed hard, hating that even as his wife she could only imagine a dismal future. He would eventually hate her for it. As would their children…

  “I have never considered you as such! You know as much as I that you weren’t meant to be a maid! We have something together. I’ve never…” He shook his head.

  She could only imagine herself feeling overwhelmed by such a life, struggling, failing, and then being defeated. She could picture herself as his mistress far more easily.

  She imagined them in a room painted red with silk sheets and seductive gowns. He’d come to her at night, after an evening spent at his club.

  Not as the woman at his side, as the woman bearing his name.

  Not as a viscountess.

  Once, perhaps…

  She covered her face with her hands, anything to block out him and the temptation. “Please understand.”

  He pulled her hands down, forcing her to look into his eyes.

  Even in the shadows, his gaze owned her.

  “I love you.” His voice broke. “I love you, Rose. Would that not be enough?”

  Her knees nearly buckled. He did not mean it. He could not.

  But what if he did?

  And once again, her traitorous hopes gave her pause. Was it possible he was right?

  Even if he was, how long could it last? Until his family shunned him?

  He was already going to have to fight for his son. He needed his family’s full support right now. He’d want to bring his bastard son into their fold. She could not jeopardize that for him.

  If he’d thought this through, he would not have offered for her so brashly. Both of them would suffer for a time, but if she were to marry him, they’d eventually suffer ever after.

  “I’m sorry.” She turned her back to him, unable to see the hurt in his eyes. Was she the fool?

  But she already understood the discomfort of trying to live in two worlds. If she could hardly bear being both a friend to Penelope as well as her maid, then she could hardly pretend to be a viscountess! And eventually a countess!

  She stood motionless for several moments, wanting to turn around and go to him, wanting to give him what he wanted but knowing how it would all end.

  And then the sound of the door closing signaled that she’d won this argument.

  When she turned around, he was gone.

  A scrap of fabric on the floor caught her eye. At least this time, she had his cravat.

  Chapter 17

  Rejection

  Rome couldn’t bear to remain at Summers Park another day. Leaving a missive for Cortland and his duchess, thanking them for their gracious hospitality, he took to the road before sunup.

  She’d turned him down.

  Rose, the woman who’d welcomed him into her chamber when he’d been soused, the woman who’d listened to him ramble on and on about his meager beginnings, who’d encouraged him to claim his son, who’d shared her bed, her body, had turned him down.

  And not his offer of protection, his offer to provide for her as his mistress. He’d offered her his name! Marriage!

  Despite the cold, he’d chosen to ride outside, atop his mount. Pierce followed behind in the luggage coach.

  Rome fought the urge to return to the grand estate and beg. Beg her to reconsider.

  He’d asked her to marry him!

  She ought to have eagerly accepted, realizing what he’d been willing to take on for her. Not only society’s condemnation, but the wrath of his father!

  Who did she think she was, anyway?

  He’d told her he loved her!

  She’d said she did not perceive him to be faithless but, “I will always be your dirty little secret. It would not work…”

  She did not trust him. She’d given up on what they had, on him, without even giving them a chance.

  She was wrong. On his part, anyhow. He would not have stopped loving her because of anything Society could ever do or say. He would not h
ave stopped loving her if she misstepped in any way as his wife.

  Then why?

  I love you, Rose, would that not be enough?

  He’d poured out his heart to her.

  “I’m sorry.” She could not even look him in the eyes when she’d rejected him.

  And suddenly, he had his answer. He had been waxing poetic, wanting to know all of her mind, all of her heart and soul. He’d imagined growing old with her. Watching his children swell in her belly.

  She had not loved him.

  She did not love him.

  It was a bitter truth to acknowledge and he could only be thankful that he’d not allowed himself to turn back. He’d skip Raven’s Park as well. He’d have Pierce relay a message to his parents, to Natalie.

  He’d go to Wesley. His son. Perhaps it was time he showed him what that meant.

  But before he returned to Wales to check in on Wesley, he had another stop to make.

  The glorious estate known as Summers Park seemed not nearly so grand or magnificent in the absence of Viscount Darlington.

  Roman.

  Rome.

  Penelope had speculated to her the morning after his departure that he’d left early in order to attend to his responsibilities before courting Margaret. Would he really go to Raven’s Park? He’d been concerned about Wesley, his son.

  A son he’d kept hidden from all of Society for over a decade and a half.

  She’d made the right decision.

  “I love you.” He’d been so earnest, so sincere. She wondered if he’d ever spoken the words out loud before—to anyone.

  He could not have meant them. He could not have imagined the trials they’d go through if they were to marry.

  During the daylight hours, when she managed to keep herself busy, she could hold onto her belief that a union between the two of them would have quickly eroded his love.

  During the nighttime, his words haunted her. “Run away with me to Gretna Green and marry me, Rose. Is not marriage a commitment? A commitment to stand by one another throughout hardships as well as prosperity and health? Do you doubt my ability to do that?”

  And the look in his eyes at the lack of faith she’d had in him.

  “I love you, Rose, would that not be enough?”

  “I love you.”

  She’d practically given up on sleeping altogether.

  By the time the Epiphany finally arrived, she had mixed feelings as she packed a trunk of Penelope’s gowns for herself, what remained for Penelope, and then watched the footmen carry them out of the chamber that held so many memories.

  All that was left was a small valise that she’d keep with her in the coach with Margaret. Inside, a wrinkled cravat.

  She was saddened, of course, to say goodbye to Penelope until the end of the Season. Rose doubted there would be a marriage between Rome and Margaret. There could not be. She wasn’t sure how she would handle it if there was. Would she turn off all emotion and accept it as one of life’s punishments? Everything she’d ever been taught would condemn her for what she’d done. He had not seduced her. She had given herself to him willingly.

  She did not regret it, but she would suffer to see him with another.

  Oh, God, he could not marry Margaret. The thought stole her breath. She’d experienced this sensation on and off over the past week. It was a combination of missing his touch and reminding herself she would never experience it again. She feared she could not go on without it. Eventually, the feeling passed, only to return at a later time without warning.

  He would not have left, she tried to convince herself, if he’d intended to court Margaret. He was not that cruel.

  And yet, he was a man. He’d made a promise to Danbury. And she herself had rejected him.

  Another wave of the familiar pain swept through her. It will pass. This will pass. Clutching the bedpost, she gasped for air until the sensation went away.

  Margaret would be waiting for her and yet Rose’s feet refused to carry her out of the room.

  She stared at the fainting couch, where he’d lain on two separate occasions, where she’d taken tea with him. Had she always been attracted to him? Before this particular house party, she’d mostly only seen him from afar.

  On a quiet afternoon after he’d departed, she’d walked back to the vacant gamekeeper’s cottage. It had remained unlocked, and although it appeared the same, she realized someone had been inside since she and Rome left it.

  The tea had been replenished and a different quilt covered the bed.

  She had sat inside for nearly an hour before forcing herself to leave.

  And now she would say goodbye to the memories in this chamber as well.

  Both wonderful, fantastical, phenomenal, and also… distressing beyond comprehension.

  She did not doubt that he believed she’d broken his heart. Glancing down, seeing her fist rub at the place just above her left breast, she realized she might very well have broken her own as well.

  But his mother would have hated her. Lady Hawthorne would have seen Rose as some sort of gold digger, as might have even Penelope.

  He’d taken her in a frenzy against this bed. They’d never lain in it together. That joining had had a life of its own. He’d hungered for her like a man starved. She’d opened herself to him completely.

  And yet she had not.

  Pushing away any lingering regret, Rose took one step away from the bed, her legs practically numb, almost as though they did not belong to her body. Knowing she had no choice, she took another. Able to breathe again, she lifted her small valise, marched out of the room, and closed the door tightly behind her.

  But that she could leave her memories behind as well.

  Chapter 18

  A new year

  “I was thrilled to hear from my daughter that both of you were coming!” Lady Ravensdale, Viscount Darlington’s mother, greeted Margaret by clasping her hands warmly before turning to Rose. “And Miss Waring, what a lovely surprise. The winter can be so very long and boring! I could not have wished for anything better than to have two lovely young visitors to help us muddle through this dreary time of year.”

  She clasped Rose’s hands as well.

  Lady Ravensdale was a more mature version of her daughter. She had the same blond hair, sparkling blue eyes, and trim figure. Both women carried themselves with grace and dignity.

  She was a countess, and she had welcomed Rose into her home. She’d called her Miss Waring.

  How very different this chaperone business was from when she’d arrived on previous occasions at Raven’s Park, wearing an apron, as Penelope’s maid. Rose had hovered behind Penelope, out of the way, nearer the coaches than their hosts. Sometimes she’d wished she would be noticed as well, as she had been as a young girl. On other occasions, she’d wished herself to be invisible.

  “Thank you, My Lady.” Rose dipped into a curtsey.

  “Oh, please, Call me Josephine.” The countess smiled, her eyes suddenly resembling those of the man Rose had been trying to forget. Would Lady Ravensdale have greeted Rose with the same warmth if her son had brought her home as his wife?

  “Please call me Rose.” She glanced hesitantly at Margaret who saw nothing amiss in what felt like far too intimate of an exchange with a countess.

  “Natalie is upstairs in the nursery with little Brody, our grandson. Mrs. Winston will show you to the chambers we’ve prepared and then we will take tea together and catch up on everything that happened at Summers Park. Broderick and I had planned on attending but he was struck with a nasty cold at the last minute.”

  “He is fully recovered now?” Rome had not spoken a great deal of his father but when he had, his voice had held tremendous respect… and love.

  “Yes, and thank you, Rose, for asking. Christmas was rather quiet around here this year, and although I enjoyed getting some reading done and spending time alone with my husband, I am pleased that the malady has passed. I am also anxious for some entertainment.”
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br />   “If you are ready?” Mrs. Winston turned questioning eyes toward the countess. “I will show you both the way, ladies,” The housekeeper, whom Rose remembered from before, eyed her curiously but then gestured toward the doors. “Her ladyship insisted upon her favorite guest chambers for the two of you. I think you’ll appreciate the view.” The woman chatted about the lake and the hills as well as a concert to be held in Bath that sounded positively lovely before gesturing to one door for Margaret and another for Rose.

  She would have her own chamber? Stepping in, Rose nearly pinched herself.

  It was even lovelier than Penelope’s had been at Summers Park. The high canopied bed was draped with golden curtains that matched the ones on the windows while the carpet covering the floor was made of deeper brown tones flecked with similar golds, but also reds and oranges and a smattering of green. She would have her very own wardrobe, sofa, vanity, and even a desk.

  “Hazel will act as your lady’s maid.” Mrs. Winston’s eyes held a special light in them.

  She knew.

  But it was not an unfriendly glint, rather a conspiratorial one. Rose had not noticed the young lady who’d slipped into the room behind her.

  “Oh, but Lady Asherton—”

  “Will be attended to by Molly.” Mrs. Winston smiled. “Please, tell Hazel if you are in need of anything at all.” And with that, the housekeeper backed out the door, closing it behind her.

  Rome had made good time. Had he stopped at Raven’s Park, he’d likely have been delayed by at least a week, if not a fortnight. Between the work his father inevitably would have wanted to go over with him and the guilt his mother would extend at his not visiting more often, he undoubtedly would have found it difficult to make a quick departure from his parents’ estate.

  Instead, less than a fortnight after leaving Summers Park, and less than ten days after departing from the small estate just north of Brighten, he rode into the small village in Wales where Mrs. Creighton had informed him that she and his son would be making their new home. She’d told him her brother had lived here for years and she no longer wished to be away from her family. And now she too, was gone.