Giving in to his weakness for her and accepting her tentative touch had been agony enough without the pleasure of touching her. Trying to make lines of the gray pocks in the ceiling became his occupation until the light began to cast shadows beneath the window.
Rose still lay faced away from him. She’d slept unmoving all night. After noting how morning light differentiated the shades of silver and gold in her hair, he finally turned and slid out of bed. He poured last night’s washing water into the slops’ jar and refilled the basin before sluicing the cold flannel over his body. The wake-up of the icy water refreshed him after his night of becoming acquainted with Rose’s back.
After dressing quickly, he slotted Merry under his arm and took her for quick trip outside. The snowfall had stopped and the melt had begun. Slushy puddles had begun to form. On his way back, he stepped into the tavern. Walton and Marty sat in a corner booth of a room that had been tidied after last night’s havoc. Two questioning faces glanced up at him. “The eggs is good this morning, sir,” Marty said, his speckled gray sideburns glimmering in the morning light from the window behind him. He filled his mouth with a forkful and followed with a swallow of ale.
“The weather appears to have cleared up, at least. What do you think, Walton? Should we travel today?”
Using a hand decorated by bruised knuckles, Walton indicated three men who sat at the other table. “They got through this morning. Had an early start. Said the road is clear all the way to Kent. The snow didn’t fall near the coast as bad as here.”
“If we wants to get back home today, we should start early.” Marty’s hints were as subtle as using a hammer to break an egg. He stared at the cat jammed under Ian’s arm.
“I’ll order breakfast and wake ... milady.”
Both nodded and continued shoveling food into their mouths as fast as they could, since the horses would need to be fed and watered and the carriage hitched up. Rather than traveling to the parlor to call for service, Ian ordered a meal from the taproom to be sent to upstairs, and went to wake Rose.
She stood in her under-gown, her arms above her head, coiling her pale hair into place. His heart began to beat like a sledgehammer. Rose’s grace matched her beauty, and neither could beat her sweetness and her blatant desirability. He glanced away, determined not to let his stark desire for her show in his expression, dropping the cat on the bed. From now on, he would be cool and circumspect in her company.
She dressed quickly and, carrying the surly cat, she joined him in the parlor just as a light breakfast was served. Mrs. Hobbs had also packed bread, ham, and cheese for the journey. After that, Rose insisted on them visiting the kitchen and thanking everyone for their care and attention in the past two days. “I hope you don’t mind me taking the cat with me,” she said to Mrs. Hobbs.
“Delighted, my lady,” Mrs. Hobbs answered with a grin. “That there cat is the most miserable creature in the world. Fed and cared for by you and your husband, and all she can do is sulk. You don’t deserve such ingratitude, indeed you don’t.”
“I think she has been hurt and needs to learn to trust people. Everyone deserves a chance.” Rose sailed out of the inn with a beatific smile.
She put herself in the carriage with the cat on her lap, and nodded at Ian as if she hadn’t spent a night in his bed with her cautious hand exploring his aching cock. He heaved a breath. The trip home would likely be torturous.
Although she spoke politely to him, she remained as cool he. She didn’t joke, and she didn’t smile, unlike the carefree Rose of the day before. He had deeply hurt her, he knew, and she wouldn’t let him forget. He wanted to tell her he loved her, but since he had no doubts about her virginal state, he knew she was serious about not wanting him for anything other than to experiment with her own attraction.
They made good time on the slush-filled road, and only stopped for one quick break. After the early darkness began to gray the interior of the carriage, he turned to her and said politely, “I’m sure you agree that we should push through, rather than stop now.”
“I’m sure that even if I objected, that you would do so. However, I think you would agree that the less time we spent in each other’s company, the better.” Her tone formal, she gathered the edges of her cape, and enclosed herself with Merry in the tight folds.
Merry scrabbled out at the top, springing onto Ian’s thighs, taking up the position as the guard of his knees, faced away as usual. At least she wasn’t clawing his flesh. “I thought, perhaps, after the intimacies last night, that I should make you an offer of marriage,” he said carefully. He had no intention of boring her with any unwanted emotion, having taken a lesson from the cat.
She turned, met his gaze, and offered him a limpid smile. “Oh, dear. There’s no need, as we both know. Let’s not pretend either of us wants to marry the other. We had a nice little sojourn, Sir Ian, but that is all. I enjoyed discovering that you are, after all, a man like any other. But I have a house to prepare for my parents for Christmas, and after Papa has had a break, I will be joining my friends back in London.”
* * * *
Rose politely shook Sir Ian’s hand after he had deposited her on the front step later that night, after enduring a silence in the carriage thick enough to shield her emotions. The butler opened the door, his face creased with a welcoming smile. “We hoped you would arrive today, Miss Rose, but we heard the snow had stopped most of travelers.”
“Only for a short time, Sanders. I have brought home a present for myself. Meet Merry, the cat who is one day going to be very happy here.” She handed the cat to him, and followed the footman with her overnight trunk up the stairs.
She was tenderly placed into her warm bed by a maid, and brought a cup of hot chocolate. Sipping hunched over the mixture, she raised her gaze to ask, “Has Merry been fed?”
“The cat? Yes, Miss Rose.”
“She likes to sit with her back to people.”
“She’s sitting in front of the kitchen stove that way. Mrs. Mason thought she was missing you, Miss Rose.”
“No doubt she is. Could you bring her up, please? I will find a nice corner for her to face.”
In no time Merry was prowling around the bedroom, disapproving of every corner to settle. Eventually, she sprang up onto the bed with Rose, prodded at the foot for three or four circles, curled up, and turned her face to the door. “You’re welcome to snuggle under the quilt with me, Merry,” Rose said as soon as the maid left her for the night. “But don’t feel that you might hurt my feelings if you don’t. No one else wants to.” With those last words, tears left her eyes in thick runnels, and she sobbed until her nose had swollen and her eyes hurt.
She’d had a chance to make herself acceptable to Sir Ian and she had instead shown herself to be everything an ambitious man wouldn’t want in a wife. He had been furious with her for singing in the tavern, but she couldn’t think what else to do. His perfect partner would have stayed in the parlor all day, and then admired him when he had removed the source of displeasure. Instead, she had made a noise and distracted everyone, and called too much attention to herself, as usual, when all the time she knew he wanted to be unnoticed, except as a pleasant guest.
If anyone ever inquired at the Pig and Whistle about Rose and Sir Ian, the day of the faro ruckus would be remembered. Ian’s reputation was as much at stake as hers. Had she been a light-skirt, people would have admired him for sharing a room with her, or even looked the other way, but instead she had lied about being his wife. The repercussions about the past two nights could cause his potential career to be compromised. No one would trust a man who had dishonored the daughter of a neighbor.
Although she certainly didn’t feel dishonored, she wouldn’t admit the truth to anyone. Nor would Sir Ian, she would bet, because if anyone heard even a whisper of scandal about the trip, they would be more than disappointed. She could imagine Papa’s kind face, creased with worry about her and blaming himself for letting her go, when the whole time she had
schemed to trap Sir Ian into an unwanted marriage.
The next day dawned cold and clear. After writing Ian’s name with her finger on the frosted pane of her bedroom window, and staring aimlessly at the forlorn view of the carriage sweep outside, she dressed warmly, mentally preparing herself to bustle about the house, making sure of supplies, counting candles, adding to the pantry list, settling an argument between her old nurse and the housekeeper.
Rose’s maid would be brought back to the country with her parents. Nurse thought she could act as her maid in the meantime, but the most likely contender, Amy from last night, was determined to collar Rose every time she saw her to explain why the job should be hers. She won, because nurse would notice the black puffiness under Rose’s eyes, and want to interfere.
Merry apparently preferred living in the country. She loved the kitchen, which was always warm. But she got underfoot and when she had tripped cook over for the third time, she was brought back to Rose.
“Dear Merry. Such a sweet little cat, always wanting to help,” Rose said in a sympathetic voice when the annoyed cat was deposited in the drawing room. “Cook already has a very good taster and she says your skills are not required.” She lifted the cat to her cheek and nuzzled her face into the soft little belly.
Merry batted her cheeks, but without claws. “I expect you are missing Sir Ian?” Rose said.
Merry indicated that the question was an unwelcome reminder. She pushed out of Rose’s arms and sat beside the fire at a right angle, gradually coming closer and closer to being sociable.
By the time Rose’s parents arrived back with her two brothers, the cat had begun to look at Rose whenever she moved.
“Darling,” her mother screeched as she entered the hallway where Rose had rushed to meet her. “I hear you were caught in the snowstorm.” She grabbed Rose and kissed her.
“It was no inconvenience,” Rose said, knowing the story would have been repeated to her parents by the coachman when he had driven up to London to get them. “We would have had to stay overnight regardless.” She couldn’t look at her mother. After being rejected by the only man she would ever love, she had tried to forget that horrible journey, and she didn’t want reminders. “You’ll be pleased to hear we are ready for Christmas.”
Mama glanced at the vaulted ceiling. “We still have to hang the boughs. Boys, tomorrow you will need to help your father gather the willow wood.”
The two scuffled in a mock fight, challenging each other to find the best bough.
“Not now, boys, not now. Your mother said tomorrow.” Papa watched them leave, still pushing each other and trading insults, using all the energy pent up from two days spent in the carriage. Papa followed, no doubt thinking about all the catching up of paper work he had yet to do.
Mama took Rose’s hands and led her to the fire in the drawing room to speak to her. “I hope you haven’t been lonely here by yourself.” She sat in a cozy armchair, waiting while Rose also settled herself. “But doubtless, Ian has been taking care of you. Such a dear boy. So dependable.”
Rose glanced away. “I don’t need looking after, Mama. I’ve been too busy to socialize and it’s been lovely not having to go to balls for a while. I think I needed the peace.”
Mama reached over and patted her hands. “Where did that little black cat come from?”
For a moment Rose couldn’t think of an acceptable answer. She couldn’t say from an inn about which she would swear she had never heard. “I found her on the road.” True enough. “Such a tiny creature and so proud. She will still not accept my charity.”
“She doesn’t look very sociable, does she?”
She did not. Merry had resumed position one, that of facing the fire and ignoring people. “She takes her time in making her judgments. She preferred Sir Ian to me.”
“Well, he is rather nice. So trustworthy. I wouldn’t have handed my daughter over to him if I didn’t know he was a perfect gentleman.”
Rose gave a forced smile, which gradually changed into a real one, with her memories of Sir Ian forced into her mind, the first Sir Ian, the one who was kind to cats and tolerant of young admirers who set their hearts on him, not the later, hard-faced Sir Ian, who was almost frightening. That Sir Ian had kept her silent on the latter part of their journey home. “As a matter of fact, he is as nice to cats as he is to people,” she said reluctantly. “During the beginning of our journey, I rather amused myself pretending to be too dainty to take the cat to do her business. The cat, from then on, only ever asked him. I don’t know what it says about a man whom cats like. It’s not the same as a dog, is it?”
“No dear. Cats are far more discriminating. I think we must have him over for Christmas, don’t you?”
Rose began glancing about as if she had lost her embroidery and needed something to do with her hands. “I’m sure he has other calls on his time,” she said, her expression hidden and her voice casual.
“We can but ask. You seem put out with him, my dear. I rather thought you had special feelings for him.”
“Is that why you pushed us together for the trip home?”
“Did I do the wrong thing?”
The breath emptied out of Rose’s chest. She should have wondered why Susie hadn’t been able to go with her. Instead she had accepted that being alone with Sir Ian had been fated. Finally, she met her mother’s questioning gaze. “No. I did,” she said, her voice husky. “He didn’t want me, Mama, and I led him to believe that I wasn’t chaste.”
Her mother took her hands. “I doubt he would believe that, darling.”
“He did. I haven’t seen him since.”
“That’s rather unjust of him. If he was a woman—but he’s not. Men tend to be put out by the tiniest details. I think we should give him another chance, don’t you?”
Her throat closing over, Rose shook her head. “I don’t know how. I can’t possibly go to him and tell him that he is the only man I have ever loved.”
“Why?”
“Because all that would do is show him that I lied. He will know that my pride comes before the truth with me.”
“I don’t see why you need to grovel. You made a mistake. If he can’t forgive, he doesn’t deserve you.”
Trying to gather the remnants of her dignity, chin high, chest aching, she left the room. Ian could believe whatever he wanted to, but if his knowledge of her had led him to assume she had been less than scrupulous with any of her suitors, he didn’t love her at all.
CHAPTER NINE
The Darnell’s stately butler preceded Ian through the hallway decorated with boughs, heralding the coming festivities. The snow had tapered off five days ago, but the air outside held a sharp bite. Today, more than ever, Rose was on his mind. During the past week, he had been unable to concentrate on anything but her. He would try to write a letter, and he would recall one of her absurdities and smile, before he remembered she had no intention of marrying a man who had spent most of his adult life in setting an example for younger soldiers whose life in battle depended on following his orders.
If he had disobeyed all his rigid codes of behavior and taken what she offered, she would have had no choice other than to marry him. However, even if he didn’t love Rose, he wouldn’t break his own rules. Although she thought he was a regimented fool, he wouldn’t change a hair on her adorable head. He loved the nonsensical words she uttered which, combined with her trust, barred him from doing anything that might ruin her life. With him or without him, he wanted Rose to be happy.
Preparing himself for the sight of her by adopting a rigid smile, he entered into the comfortable room where he had spent many a day being entertained by Rose, her suitors, her friends, and her family, a place with relaxing chairs, a crackling fire, and the most welcoming hostess a man could imagine. “Good evening, Mary.” He stopped and bowed to his favorite hostess. “Yet again, your Christmas decorations outdo the attempts of your tardy neighbors.”
Mary Darnell, standing by the window, walked
over to him, smiling as she took his hand. “Ian, my dear. How wonderful that you were able to accept our last minute invitation to have dinner with us. Yes, the boys cut the branches and Rose managed the trimmings. Old fashioned, some might say, but Andrew’s family has upheld this tradition since Tudor times. Prettily done, don’t you think?” She led him over to his favorite chair. The room contained a faint tang of pine.
“I could hardly say otherwise unless I wanted to insult Rose’s skills.”
“She wouldn’t take kindly to that, Ian. She is a very proud creature. You only have to insult her once, and she will make your life impossible for ... minutes. ”
His lips unwillingly curved. “So I always thought,” he said, checking his cuffs. His recent week had passed in time that could have been measured by ignored correspondence, staring out the window, sharpening nibs, folding and unfolding his hands, having a horse saddled, and rescinding the order rather than ride over to Rose’s home to throw himself at her mercy. Although he had tried immersing himself in work, he would end up, yet again, staring blankly at walls. “My mother and my brother’s family will be arriving tomorrow. I’m sure to be kept busy for the next week and I did want to see you before Christmas.” The door opened and the boys, Richard and Robert, hastened into the room with strangely smug grins and polite bows.
“Rose is putting the last sprigs of holly in the hallway,” Richard said with gleeful smile.
At that moment, a small black cat with wide, innocent golden eyes appeared at Ian’s feet. He glanced down at Merry who blinked once and sat neatly beside him. “Remember me, do you?” He reached down to scratch behind her ears. She rubbed her face sinuously against his hand. “I hope you are not imagining you can use me as your slave again.” She sprang up and landed against his chest. He automatically caught her, whereupon she settled onto his crooked forearm, using one paw to pat his jaw.
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