An Inconvenient Arrangement: Rose Room Rogues ~ Book Three

by Callie Hutton

  As they strolled the area, looking at various goods and products from the street vendors as well as the shops, he tried his best to ignore the scent coming from Lydia and the softness and warmth of her body next to his.

  They arrived at the inn where they were all gathering for lunch. The Ambassador waved at them as they entered and patted the seat next to him. “Miss Sanford, please join me. I’ve saved you a seat.”

  Lydia looked over at Dante, who noticed there was only room for one. He shrugged and Lydia joined the man. Dante found a seat at the next table with Mr. Williams, Miss Evermore and Mrs. Martin. They all greeted each other and discussed the morning, the places they’d visited and the things they’d bought.

  It was apparent from the sound of the Ambassador’s voice that he must have headed directly to the inn after leaving the bakery. He was close to being in his cups.

  They placed their orders and Dante found himself studying the Ambassador and Lydia. It appeared that Lydia was becoming uncomfortable. The Ambassador leaned toward her and kissed her on the neck. She drew back and shook her head.

  Dante stood and glared at the man. He didn’t notice. He sat back down as their food arrived but kept his eyes on the activity at the other table. Once again the Ambassador leaned close to Lydia and whispered something in her ear. She shook her head and shifted on the bench. He slung his arm around her shoulders and pulled her against his body.

  Lydia elbowed him, but he continued to hold her. Her face was red, and she looked ready to punch him, which was something a lady never did. Especially in public.

  Dante had had enough. He stood and marched over to Lydia’s table. “Excuse me, Mr. Ambassador, but please refrain from touching Miss Sanford. It is obvious she is not enjoying your attentions.”

  The Ambassador waved him off, swaying on the bench. “Yes, she is. She’s been following me around for the past two days.” He looked up at Dante, his eyes bloodshot. “Geh zuruck zu deinem Tisch.” He pulled Lydia against him again and Dante reached over, dragged the man off the bench and plastered him a facer. He went down like a bag of rocks. Dante took Lydia’s elbow and helped her up. He threw some coins on the table and they left.

  “What did he say to me?” he asked as they left the dimness of the inn and stepped into the sunlight.

  “Go back to your table,” she mumbled as she turned to watch the Ambassador snoring on the floor before the door to the inn closed.

  12

  “I can’t believe you hit the Ambassador.” Lydia shook her head as they strolled away from the inn. “Will you be arrested?”

  Dante laughed without mirth. “No. He’s lucky I only hit him. The man was behaving in an obnoxious way. And he was drunk.”

  “But still.” She shook her head, trying not to find humor in what happened. The Ambassador had, indeed, become annoying. In fact, had there not been other people around she might have found him frightening. “He is the German Ambassador, though. I’m sure he can create some trouble for you.”

  “Not as much trouble as we plan for him.” He smirked. “Now bringing him down has become personal for me.”

  They took the short walk from the inn to the center of the village. “What about the others? They’re still having lunch. In fact, I’m hungry. But I don’t suppose we can go back to the inn.”

  “No. But there are vendors here on the village green who are serving food. Oftentimes it’s far superior to a inn.” He took her by the hand and led her into the gathering of tables and sellers hawking their wares. A touch that seemed much more intimate than linking their arms.

  Every time he touched her, tingles began in her middle. Although she’d been surprised to see Dante punch the Ambassador, and she still wasn’t sure there wouldn’t be trouble for it, the feeling of protectiveness she’d seen in Dante appealed to something very feminine in her. Something desirous as well. Once again she pondered the idea of an affair. Then she dismissed it out of hand. That would involve a great deal of sneaking around and being well known within the ton, she would soon be discovered and ruined.

  Ruined for what? If she had no intention of marrying, should she care so very much about her reputation? Yes, the small annoying voice answered. It would destroy her father.

  Shifting her attention from the warm strong hand that held hers to the area where he led her, it appeared that those selling food were gathered in one place, which made it easy to find whatever they wanted with delicious scents in the air. All they had to do was follow their noses.

  Lydia’s eyes lit up. “Oh, meat pasties. I love those. Cook refused to make them, she said they were uncivilized.”

  Dante huffed. “If I was paying someone to cook for me, they would cook exactly what I wanted or find themselves out on the pavement.”

  Lydia watched his face as he spoke. Despite his rearing and connection to a very imposing peer, there was something fearsome in Dante’s demeanor. But then again pummeling the Ambassador in front of witnesses was certainly not a typical way for a house guest to behave. “Do you think Lord Battenberg will ask you to leave?”

  Dante stopped in front of a stand where the aroma of meat pasties had her mouth watering. “If he does, which I doubt, you are leaving with me, and damn the investigation. I’m not leaving you here in the Ambassador’s nefarious clutches.”

  Once again that feeling of being protected and cared for arose. Which was silly since Dante would probably act the same for any woman.

  The young woman behind the table with a toddler clinging to her skirts handed them two steaming meat pasties. This time instead of finding the stone bench again, they strolled along, nibbling on their food. Lydia felt a bit odd at first. Never had she eaten outdoors while strolling along. ‘Twas just not done. Not in her world, anyway. But Dante’s world was much more interesting. And fun.

  She licked her fingers—Father would be appalled—and smiled. Life was truly fascinating when one let go of the rules and regulations. She had to admit, however, being away from anyone who knew her granted her a certain amount of freedom. The ladies of the ton were always watching and judging.

  “‘Tis time for liquid.” Dante flashed his famous suggestive smile. “Since we have flaunted propriety so far, perhaps a mug of ale as we stroll along would be just the thing.”

  “Yes! I would love an ale. And you are correct, I have been flaunting propriety all day.” She surprised herself by twirling in a circle. “And I love it!”

  Dante grabbed her arm and pulled her close to avoid crashing into an older couple strolling along. “Easy, love. You don’t want to call too much attention to yourself.”

  “I agree. However, you have no idea how different your life is.” She gave some thought to the words she was about to say but said them anyway. “I…um, believe I prefer your life to mine; at least the life I’ve been living.” She looked up at him, mortified to feel the tears gathering in her eyes. She blinked rapidly to keep them from falling.

  Dante pulled her closer to his body and despite being outside in public, kissed her on the top of her head. “You have the power to change anything you want about your life.”

  She grimaced. “No, that is not true, and what if my wishes are not available?” Would he guess she meant him? She’d come to believe that her life could be so much more fulfilling if she had a purpose, like Dante did. He ran a club, he had freedom—which of course, came from him being a man. But there had to be something for her to add to her life that would take away the recent sense of uselessness that had troubled her.

  The days, months, and unfortunately the years, had gone by quickly. She’d gone from a hopeful debutante to a jaded spinster. No man had captured her heart. Truth be known, no man had appealed to her enough to even get close enough to capture her heart.

  Until now. Why did she start to believe in a happily ever after with a man who had stated loud and clear that he had no intention of ever marrying? Why develop a tendre for a man who was a known rake and rogue, who could never be satisfied with one wom
an?

  Apparently sensing her mood, he patted her hand. “No worries today, sweeting. We’ve had our excitement for the day. While we await the consequences of my very satisfactory actions, I say we enjoy this day and not think of the future.”

  Sweeting? That was the second time he referred to her in an intimate way. Of course, he most likely spoke that way to every woman he spent time with. She should not make something of nothing.

  As he said. Enjoy the day and not think of the future.

  Dante attempted unsuccessfully to forget the look on Lydia’s face when she spoke about the uselessness of her life and how she much preferred his. The tears threatening to slide down her beautiful cheeks had torn him up. Truth be known, he’d never given much thought to a woman’s life.

  Outside of the bedroom, that is. He’d always made sure his bed partners were well satisfied once they left him and the few times he’d employed a mistress, he was diligent in making sure they were happy with the jewelry and other things he left them with upon his departure. Many a tear could be dried by an expensive bracelet or necklace.

  Knowing Lydia had been an eye-opener for him. He’d always avoided Polite Society since he hated the restrictions himself. He never imagined how much more difficult it was for a woman. The ones he’d bedded from the Upper Crust had been widows with no concerns about their reputations as long as they were discreet.

  He was fully aware of what Lydia had meant when she said that perhaps the life she wanted was not available to her. At one time he would have found it quite easy to dismiss her comment, since he was not available.

  Was that still true? If the allure between them was the cause of how much he enjoyed Lydia and sought out her company even when it wasn’t part of the investigation, then perhaps his adamant insistence on never attaching himself to one woman was in danger.

  Pushing the disturbing thought to the back of his mind, he purchased two large cold mugs of ale and handed one to her, the foam dripping over the side. She looked up at him while she licked the drippings and all his blood traveled south. He shook his head and grasping her hand, continued their stroll.

  By the time they finished their drinks and returned the mugs to the vendor, the house party guests were beginning to leave the inn and assemble in the village square. He noticed that the carriages had re-appeared and the men began the trek to the stables to retrieve their horses.

  The Ambassador was with the group, but it was obvious he was having trouble walking since he was flanked by Mr. Williams and Lord Monroe. They brought him to one of the carriages, and Dante steered Lydia to another one. “I don’t want you near him. And you are not to follow him around anymore. We will find another way to bring this cursed assignment to an end.”

  Lydia reared back. “I don’t believe I need you to tell me what to do and what not to do. I can certainly take care of myself.”

  His raised brows belied her statement. When she’d been in the company of the others she’d been annoyed at the Ambassador’s behavior, but certainly not in true danger. However, with her following the man about, trying to hear his conversations, she had put ideas into the Ambassador’s head. Ideas that Dante was not at all pleased about.

  “I apologize. I don’t wish to tell you what to do, but I’m insisting that you should discontinue following the Ambassador trying to hear his conversations. I’m thinking this party is not the best place to watch him. Firstly, if he were going to make contact with one of the guests—”

  “—or staff.”

  He nodded. “We would have seen it by now. No one new is expected, so I doubt the next couple of days will garner any worthwhile information.”

  “Are you coming, Miss Sanford?” Mrs. Martin leaned out of the carriage door. “We are about to leave.”

  “Yes.” Lydia turned to Dante. “We can continue this later.” She climbed into the carriage and closed the door.

  Dante made his way to the stable to retrieve the horse he’d ridden to the village.

  “That was some wallop you gave the Ambassador back there.” Mr. Williams nodded at the departing carriages. “I had to agree with you, though. If he tried that with Miss Evermore I am certain I would have done the same.”

  “Me as well,” Lord Monroe said. “He had definitely been behaving in a most ungentlemanly manner and quite an insult to Miss Sanford.”

  Dante shook his head and swung his leg over the horse. “The man’s a bloody ass.” He was unable to share with the others just how much of an ass the man was, but through his actions, the Ambassador apparently had not made a good impression on the men.

  * * *

  The end of the house party had arrived. Dante had managed to avoid tapping on Lydia’s bedchamber door the entire time, of which he was both proud and annoyed. His desire for her, if anything, had increased. Which, in turn, had made it quite easy to continue turning down the insinuations and blatant offers from other women to join him in his bedchamber.

  The Ambassador had departed the party the night of the inn fiasco. Dante had been in favor of him and Lydia leaving as well, but it would raise questions they didn’t wish to encourage. Much to his annoyance they were trapped. Damn if he could figure out why these ton house parties were so popular.

  This evening would be the ball that traditionally ended all house parties. Gentry from the surrounding area would join the house guests. He was more than ready to depart and get back to London. As much as he’d enjoyed the rides in the morning with Lydia, the rest of the time, especially with the Ambassador gone, had truly been a waste of time.

  His opinion of the frivolous life of the ton had been reinforced by this foray into Polite Society. Since he’d always worked for his living—once he’d given up the allowance Hunt had set up for him and Driscoll—he found nothing but contempt for those who depended on inheritances, or worse yet, marrying rich American heiresses to keep their pockets full.

  “You look absolutely stunning,” Dante said as he took Lydia’s hand and kissed it before linking her arm with his and steering them toward the ballroom.

  Stunning hadn’t even covered it sufficiently. Her peach satin gown with black embroidery on the hem and edge of the sleeves fit her to perfection. The neckline was so enticing, showcasing her beautiful breasts, that he reluctantly quelled the desire to hustle her back up the stairs to his bedchamber and forget all the congratulations he’d been giving himself for not having dragged her to his bed before now.

  Since he and Lydia had arrived in separate vehicles, early the next morning they would return that way, which given his state of mind just being near her, was the best idea he’d ever had. All he had to do was get through this blasted ball and then he could return to his normal life and stop being so tempted by his partner.

  All the men of the party, and even a few of the gentry made their way to Lydia to request dances. Luckily Dante had anticipated that and had already filled in a quadrille and a waltz just as they’d entered the ballroom. It would not sit well with him to watch her dance with other men, but since he had no claim on her, he said nothing.

  In order to keep his mind from thinking about that, he’d signed the dance cards of other ladies. Everyone seemed to be in a jovial mood except him. He glanced at Lydia, speaking with Lord and Lady Battenberg. His partner had shown more enthusiasm at eating a meat pasty and drinking ale in public than she did at this ball.

  Upon returning from the trek to the village, Lord Battenberg had taken him aside and while he’d not actually congratulated Dante for planting a facer on the Ambassador, he did remark that the man had it coming to him. Dante got the impression that Lord Battenberg was not overly fond of the Ambassador.

  The musicians had been testing their instruments, and then it all came together, and they began the first dance of the evening. The waltz he and Lydia were to share.

  As was the usual procedure, Lord and Lady Battenberg began the dance alone, and then were soon joined by other couples. Dante swung Lydia into his arms, and everything seemed r
ight with his world.

  Hell and damnation he was in trouble!

  13

  Dante took the steps two at a time up to Viscount Sterling’s townhouse. He rapped on the door and it was quickly opened by the butler. “Good morning, Mr. Rose. Miss Sanford is expecting you in the drawing room. If you will follow me.”

  Two days had passed since the end of the house party. Dante had spent that time working at the club so Driscoll could take a break and spend time with his wife. Lydia had worked on the books both nights and it had been no surprise to Dante that she did the work quickly, clearly, and efficiently.

  Just another thing to admire about the woman.

  Lydia might have been expecting him, but it was Lord Sterling who greeted him, with his daughter nowhere in sight. The man stood as Dante entered and held out is hand. “Good morning, Mr. Rose. So nice to see you.”

  The older man had retained most of his hair, although it had turned silver over the years. He was fit for his age, which Dante guessed to be somewhere in his fifties.

  “Please have a seat. My daughter will be down shortly.”

  That gave him pause. It sounded as if Sterling had met him here instead of Lydia for a reason. Dante fidgeted in his seat and ran his finger around the inside of his necktie.

  He knew Sterling from the times the man had visited the club. He was a cautious player, never losing more than fifty pounds per visit. He was well liked by the club’s staff and the other club members.

  “Would you care for a drink?” Sterling asked.

  “No. Thank you, but ‘tis a bit early for me.”

  “Coffee?”

  It seemed Lydia’s father was planning on making this an actual visit. Dante discreetly checked his timepiece. Their meeting with Sir Phillip was in half an hour. It was about a twenty-minute ride to the man’s residence.