by Tessa Candle
"And as I had been mad enough to go in to save your fair cousin, you thought they might as well let the rest burn, eh? I appreciate your solicitude for us both."
"It's not quite like that." The roguishness of his grin completely removed its conciliatory effect. "I was going to come save you myself."
Rosamond still had difficulty believing that this man was her relative. In fact, he sort of reminded her of Andrews—too fond of drink and born with a devil-may-care outlook. But she thought there was something else there, hidden, that Andrews also had—a heart tucked away behind all the badness.
She could not help smiling at him. "I am very surprised, but very pleased to meet any cousin of mine who is not intent upon killing me." She turned to Frobisher. She did not wish to leave him, but her pack with all her things was still at the Blackwood cottage, and she was not feeling so complacent about her future as to leave the proofs of her identity unguarded. "I suppose you will wish to oversee extinguishment of the fire, but I must return to the cottage at Blackwood. There are some very important items there that I should never have left unattended."
"Very well." Frobisher’s smile was crooked. "But I am coming with you. I know how slippery you are, and I have no intention of letting you out of my sight this evening." He turned back to Delville. “I am going to accompany Miss Delville. Will you be so good as to stay and watch over things here?"
Delville squinted at Frobisher. "I am not sure I should entrust my cousin to your care. That would be a bit like leaving me in charge of the safety of the wine cellar."
"Hah!" Frobisher scoffed. "After spending the trip cavalierly insisting that she was not in any danger, you now wish to play the protector?"
"Well, as far as I can see, you were the only one in danger—and only because you ignored my advice and rushed into the fire. But you misunderstand my meaning, Bish. I did not say that you should not escort my cousin, I only suggested that while you did so, I should go make sure all the wine is safe in your absence."
Frobisher did not deign to reply to this, but merely shook his head and guided Rosamond away on the path. "I am sorry for Mr. Delville's behaviour. He is not much of a relative, but he is not all bad."
"He is a rogue, but I think I shall like him, all the same. It feels like such a gift to suddenly discover that I have any real family at all. And perhaps he will be better when he is sober."
"Not really." Frobisher laughed and wrapped his arm around her. "But that is an unlikely contingency. But enough about him. Why do you not tell me what happened and how you escaped the fire?"
Rosamond smiled happily as they walked and she explained her entire situation and the plan that led to the fire. He was not even angry about the cottage burning.
"I suppose I shall miss the memories that we shared there." He shrugged. "But we shall make new ones—better ones. And most of the outer building is stone, so there will be a foundation upon which to rebuild." He gave her a sidelong glance. "It might be a diverting project, if I had someone charming to share it with."
Her heart was full and she could not believe her happiness. The moon had come out again, night birds chirped songs and the smell of smoke now took on the aspect of domesticity rather than of a deadly threat. His arm felt so good around her waist. She had never before felt so safe and protected.
Chapter 66
Frobisher floated by her side as if in a dream. His heart had sneaked up and ambushed him before he even knew what he was about. He loved this marvel that walked beside him. She was beautiful and brave—and her wet dress clung alluringly to her contours. He hoped the darkness would conceal his arousal until he had time to calm down.
However, he could not bring himself to remove his arm from its position around her. And as long as he was so close that he could smell her maddening perfume, calming his feelings would be impossible.
This time her fragrance was stronger, despite being mingled with a dark whiff of smoke. There was no resisting its enticement. Her long tresses drifted about the night air in loose curls—not black as the Widow Colling's had been, but dark. He could not quite make out the colour. How he longed to run his fingers through those strands, bury his face in them, feel them tickle his nose.
In short, he was a hopeless case. When they reached the cottage, and she rushed inside to light a candle and check on the contents of her pack, his arm fell away from her waist. He followed to the front step, feeling as if part of him had been torn off. Then he halted. He really needed to get a grip on himself, or he would become one of those men with no life of their own, who utterly smother their wives.
He laughed at the irony of the thought. But it was true: for all the men he had met who had been stifled and mired down in marriage, he knew at least as many women who were even worse off. His problem had never been with women. It had been with the institution of marriage—or at least the way that society expected the institution of marriage to work. And yet, he had as good as proposed to this fascinating creature, and she had not accepted him outright. Did she also have reservations about marriage, or just about him?
He remembered the kiss. She had returned it with interest. She must have felt what he was feeling, mustn't she? He would not lose her. He had to find a way of making her so blissfully happy that she could not resist his proposal.
He knew how he would like to do that—and there was still a perfectly serviceable bed in this cottage. His member stirred again. He stood frozen on the stoop, not daring to set a foot inside for fear of what liberties he might be tempted into.
"I shall be right back." Frobisher went to the barrel and splashed more water over his face. His skin was still hot from his mad dash into the fire earlier. He was lucky not to be badly burned. But he needed something to quench an internal fire, and he was not convinced that the water would do it.
"Are you quite well?" She came up behind him. "Did you get burned?"
"Only a bit singed." He smiled at her and thought he had got control of himself, until she stepped closer.
She kissed his cheek. "I know it is oppressive of me to hang about you like this, but I am so thankful that you made it out of that fire—that you are alive and safe. If you had been harmed, I should not have forgiven myself. I wish never to be away from you."
The sweetness of that kiss, of that declaration undid him. He pulled her into an embrace and kissed her deeply, lingering over her lips breathlessly before he could form a reply. "I do not think I would want to have survived the fire, if it meant giving you up. True, I hated being away from you for even those few moments while you were checking on your things in the house, only I am afraid of being overcome by my feelings." He was sure that she could detect his erection pressing against her. "Even now, it is all I can do to remain a gentleman with you. I hope you will consent to marry me and will not make me endure a long engagement."
"Do you really want me to be your wife? Even knowing that I have lived my life as a fraud and a swindler?" She laughed. "And a man."
"I could forgive you anything, if you would only consent to stay with me always. But as I consider your situation to be a complete answer and defence for the necessity of your actions, I truly do not think you need my forgiveness."
A happy sigh escaped her. "And you even forgive—you truly can overlook my misleading you so wickedly by posing as Mr. Hatch?"
Frobisher gave his best rakish smile. "I think you might have enjoyed that a bit too much. To be honest, I was angry at first, but I soon came to see the injustice of my resentment. I was the one who had turned your flight for your life to my own sport. And after all, what had you done but best me at my own game?" He grew more serious then. "But did you mean to allure me? Was it merely a game to you?"
"Not at all!" She spoke with such earnestness that he could not doubt her. "It was pure torture to observe that you stayed with Mr. Hatch and seemed to abandon your quest for Mrs. Colling, because…" She trailed off.
He set his jaw. "Because?"
She swallowed. "Because it
appeared that you preferred men. I felt all was lost."
"It was you I preferred, not Mr. Hatch." He realized he was speaking too forcefully, and continued more gently, "I wanted to be close to you—I believe I saw the real Rosamond inside of him…" Frobisher knew he was not explaining things well, and was overwhelmed by the desire to prove in the most pleasant and persuasive way possible that he did not prefer men.
There was still some doubt swimming around in her eyes. "So, you can really forgive me?"
The rogue inside of him replied, "I believe I can, but only if you let me prove to you how much I prefer the version of you who is standing here in my arms, driving my body utterly mad."
Her breath caught as she whispered, "Well, we are to be married, after all…"
He came undone then, lifting her in his arms and carrying her back to the cottage, knocking over everything in his hurry to get to the bed chamber, almost tearing off her dress.
And the look of pure, carnal lust that she gave him when he dropped his trousers to reveal his member standing at attention, almost made him go wild and take her right there. But he calmed himself and said, "My darling, are you sure you do not wish to wait?"
She spread her legs and smiled. "Quite sure."
He leaned in and kissed her, stroking her lightly with a finger and biting her lip playfully when she cried out with surprise and pleasure. She was already wet, and the sensation of her heat and the movement of her hips filled him with hot desire.
He found her pearl and massaged it, watching with delight as she sighed and her head rolled back.
When he could feel her getting closer, he pushed a finger inside of her. "Do you like this, beloved?"
She could only moan and nod in a way that almost finished him before he’d really started.
"Do you want something better?"
"Mmm."
He moved his mouth down to her mound, and teased her with his tongue, wishing he could see her face as she writhed with pleasure. He licked her until she began to make feral noises.
Then he could no longer contain himself and he was upon her, staring into her eyes as he entered her, only part way at first, then as he saw her surprise turn into pleasure, deeper and deeper. He had to maintain a slow pace, for he knew he was so close.
But when she uttered a high note and called out, "More!" he began to thrust faster and faster. He could feel himself melting into her, enshrouded in the smell of her perfume and of smoke and of their flesh becoming one. She screamed in ecstasy and he overflowed, rivulet after rivulet of pleasure matching the wild undulations of her body.
When he finally pulled out and collapsed beside her, her breath came like a purr in his ear. "We have to do that again."
He replied, panting, "Give me a minute, love." But her voice called to the very depths of his soul, and his member was already making ready to obey the command of his goddess.
Chapter 67
When she awoke to the first rays of dawn intruding under the curtain, she jumped up suddenly, not knowing where she was, fearing danger. Then memories flood back, calming her. He loved her. They belonged together. She had a home in his heart. But where was he?
She panicked. Had it only been a dream? Or worse, had he abandoned her like all the other men in her life?
A tap sounded on the bedroom door. Her heart pounded, and she gathered her discarded dress to cover herself.
"Are you in there, Rosamond?" Mrs. Johnson. The plan. They were supposed to meet in the morning. Was it that late?
Rosamond suppressed a groan. Wherever Frobisher had gone, she hoped he stayed away. Having only so recently embarked on a more truthful existence, she was not sure she could keep up chaste appearances in front of Mrs. Johnson, even without the man with whom she had spent the night fornicating being right there to remind her how much she still wanted to be doing so.
She cleared her throat and called through the door. "I must have overslept. Give me a moment to dress." She quickly pulled her dress over her, then went to open the door. "Good morning.” She turned her back. “Would you mind tying me up?"
"Yes of course." Mrs. Johnson attended to her laces. "I am so glad to find you well. Forgive me for coming so early, but I could not stay away." She stopped and sniffed at Rosamond. You smell like smoke. Please do not tell me that Screwe actually contrived to trap you in that blaze!"
"No. Nothing like that. Only I went back to be sure that the servants were roused. I was worried it might spread. Smoke must have seeped into my clothes. I am sorry to have ruined your dress." Rosamond thought, with dismay, that her borrowed dress looked like she had personally fought the fire, not merely been a spectator. But she hoped it might escape Mrs. Johnson's attention. She did not want to even begin explaining the situation with Frobisher.
"Think nothing of it. I am only relieved you are safe, but there is news." She shook her head sadly. "Such dreadful news."
Rosamond's first thought was that something had happened to Frobisher, that this was why he was no longer at her side. "What news?"
Mrs. Johnson wrung her dress. "I am afraid we have done very wrong. That our scheme has backfired and that the Marquess Fenimore has been injured, perhaps killed. "
Rosamond's heart cried out. She forced herself to gather her thoughts as she walked to the kitchen and sat down, trying to keep her voice calm. "What has happened to his lordship?"
"The duke arrived in the wee hours last night and immediately went to Fenimore. When he arrived, the fire was nearly out. But no one could find the marquess. He had vanished. They all think he must have tried to rescue Mr. Hatch—whom everyone knows to be you, now."
A wave of relief washed over Rosamond. They were all thinking he had burned in last night's fire. It was a terrible misapprehension to labour under, but it was all a mistake. Frobisher, wherever he was, was not in any fresh danger. She allowed herself a moment of levity. "So they know my scandalous secret. I suppose it was too much to ask that my last clandestine identity would not be found out. But do not fret, Mrs. Johnson. Frobisher did not die in that fire. When I went back, I saw him come out. He must be alive."
Mrs. Johnson brightened. "Oh, that is wonderful news. We must go tell the duke. And you must come into the manor. It is safer there. Everyone knows of your situation now, anyway, and Tilly is most adamant that you will not spend another night unguarded and "living rough out in the wilderness."
"The duchess wants me there?" Rosamond could not believe it.
Mrs Johnson laughed. "Do not be so sceptical. I think you will find her solicitous of your every comfort, for she confessed to me that she feels an indelible stain of guilt in her soul for treating you badly and practically driving you away. She can be quite poetical, though I often suspect it is a form of self-mocking."
It was hard for Rosamond to fathom how the duchess could so soon change her attitude toward the fraudulent young woman who had insinuated her way into Blackwood, but she would not object to a proper bath and some clean clothes. Only Rosamond did not want to leave before she knew where Frobisher had gone. Still she could not tell Mrs. Johnson of her reason for wishing to stay. "Are you certain that she will want me at Blackwood?"
"When Rutherford returned home with news of the fire, it was all I could do to keep her from coming out here while it was still dark to fetch you herself. She is terribly worried that something will happen to you."
And the duchess could be right. After all, Screwe must still be in the neighbourhood. What if he came snooping around again? She would be much safer in Blackwood. But then, the plan to fool Screwe was supposed to be a secret. How had they found out about it? "Did you tell the duke and duchess of my plan?"
Mrs. Johnson looked sheepish. "Do not be angry. I had to tell Tilly. You will not believe it, but the prisoner actually brought the note you wrote to her. He said he would most certainly not help either Red Martha or Screwe harm any friend of the duchess. Apparently he is more reformed than we thought. So I had to make a clean breast of things to Til
ly and explain the plan. But she sent the man anyway. When he knew the plan was to fool Screwe, he was only too happy to assist. I admit, I am still afraid of him, but he does seem to have changed."
"What an odd woman the duchess must be. It strikes me as foolish to try to reform a murderer, but I admit there is something admirable in it. And I am thankful that she went along with our scheme, even though it meant inviting Screwe to commit arson at Fenimore. Not many women would have been so sanguine in her place." Rosamond shook her head. "Honestly, I do not know what I was thinking. I can see it was complete lunacy, in retrospect."
"I think you were desperate. We both were. I was half mad knowing that Screwe was so near. I think I would have agreed to anything to escape him. Only I could never forgive myself if someone had actually been harmed. I am deeply relieved to know that the marquess escaped. But we must hurry back to Blackwood and tell them. They are all in an uproar to find him."
What could Rosamond say? She picked up her sack and followed Mrs. Johnson through the front door, but her heart ached to be leaving. It was tormented with a loneliness that was almost absurd. Should she not stay and wait for him? She had only just found him, and he was her true home, but once again she was being propelled away.
Chapter 68
Frobisher reached Fenimore and was greeted by a very enthusiastic Jones. "My lord! You are alive! Oh God be praised!"
Frobisher looked at the man with bewilderment. "Of course I am alive."
"Only we all thought you had perished in the fire, my lord. We could not find your lordship and—"
Frobisher, though quite touched by Jones' solicitude, did not really have time to listen to its full expression. "I am well, but as you can see, I am in dire need of a bath, a shave and some fresh clothes."
