“Oh, Ros, I know you harbored a tender for him. But it really is for the best that you part ways.”
Jules’ blithe reply set Ros’s teeth on edge. Were they so unlikely a pairing? Was it so unbelievable that a man such as Lord Flintshire would find her appealing? “I know it was initially the plan, but you never thought there might be more of a connection between us?”
Jules seemed to finally understand what was bothering Ros. “Dearest, do you really care for him?”
“I do…or I did until he showed up at the Culpepper’s ball drunk and reeking of another woman. And it was all my fault because I had refused to release him when he asked.” Ros ignored the pang in her heart that said she did, in fact, still care for him, that they belonged together. Clearly, her heart was no sound judge of things. Particularly, men.
“I disagree that it was your fault. You fought for what you wanted. How could anyone blame you for that? If he did not share your tender emotions, he should have simply said as much.”
“He did tell me in no uncertain terms that he wanted to break with me, Julia. I refused to listen. Besides, I am not sure his feelings are what is at issue. Not once did he deny caring for me.” Ros tried to make her sister understand.
“Irrespective of his reasons for wanting to break, going to such theatrics as he did was ridiculous. And if you come to tea with me, I am sure the ladies will agree.”
Ros doubted that would be the case, but she also knew that her sister would bully her into going, regardless of her protestations. “I suppose I shall find out. Come help me pick out a dress to wear to face my newest enemies.”
“Pshaw! You will see. These ladies are nothing if not loyal to their men but also to their friends.” Jules seemed terribly confident about what would happen. Ros, couldn’t help but hope her sister was not wrong. It had been nice having female friends, if only for a short time.
An hour later, Ros was sitting in a lovely blue and cream salon in Lady Stonemere’s home. Arrayed around her were a bevy of beautiful ladies who all looked rather reserved except for a beaming Theo. “I am so pleased you decided to join us, Mrs. Smith.”
Ros blinked. “Yes, well, my sister insisted you all wouldn’t mind my joining you despite recent events.”
“Recent events? What has occurred?” Theo asked.
“Oh,…um…” Nonplussed, Ros glanced at the other women and saw that most of them looked curious, perhaps even friendly, but not one of them seemed to register awareness that she had ended things with Flint.
Jules spoke up. “Why, Ros finally cut Flint loose. Though she only did so when he forced her hand with that horrid display at the Culpepper’s ball.”
Theo sighed. “I swear, not one of my husband’s friends is capable of wooing a woman without assistance from us. What did that dense man do?”
Ros sat staring at the women now, her mouth hanging open in shock that they had no idea what had occurred and yet still appeared to welcome her into their circle. Closing her mouth, she pulled herself together. “Well, he showed up at the ball drunk and stinking of rather expensive and flowery perfume.”
“Unbelievable!” Theo threw her hands up in clear exasperation. “Why on earth would he do such a thing?”
Ros felt her face heating up. “I believe it was my fault.”
“Nonsense,” Theo declared. “I assure you that not one of the Lustful Lords has ever done the expected thing, nor the appropriate thing when faced with a challenge by a woman they are fond of.”
Lady Carlisle laughed, her blond curls bouncing slightly. “I dare say the ladies that win the Lords’ hearts generally must be of a stalwart constitution to survive the shenanigans those men cause. Winning my Carlisle was practically a sedate trot through the park when compared to Theo, Emily’s, and your sister’s experiences.”
Lady Heartfield nodded. “Lizzy is right. Not one of them has had a conventional courtship. Though, I suppose that makes winning the prize all that much sweeter. It certainly did for me.”
“Yes, well enough about us.” Theo turned back toward Ros, expectation etched across her face. “I want to hear what has transpired. I always knew Flint would make a muck of things when he finally fell in love.”
Theo seemed to relish the prospect of the tale to come, which made Ros more nervous than she’d been mere moments ago. “Well, I wouldn’t say that he is in love. In fact, he has made it quite clear that he wished nothing more than to break off our arrangement as originally planned. I, however, had other ideas. But the stubborn man refused to consider that we might be well suited. So he disgraced himself in such a public fashion as to force my hand into breaking with him.”
Emily and Theo tipped their heads together and spoke in excited tones. Then their hostess looked at her and grinned. “Oh, Flint is most assuredly in love with you, which is why he behaved so abominably. This is fantastic!”
“It is?” Ros’s head spun as she tried to follow the whirl of conversation among the ladies. They jumped around, taking turns offering their opinions on why his display indicated his feelings for her. But truly, Ros didn’t see how it changed anything, even if they were correct. Finally, she had to stop the women. “But I have broken with him. And I am determined to move on since I am clearly not what he desires.”
“I think you would be foolish to let him go if you truly care for him,” Emily said and then leaned across Theo to place a hand on Ros’s knee. “Lizzy truly is correct. It takes a stalwart heart to win one of the Lustful Lords and possibly an open mind when it comes to finding pleasure with them.”
“Could that be it?” Jules finally spoke again. “Does he have some need in the bedroom that he is unwilling to seek from Ros?”
Heaven help her, Ros wished she could hide behind the drapes!
“Well, I suppose there might be something,” Theo allowed as the door to the salon opened, and a maid wheeled in a tea cart laden with pots of tea, sandwiches, and all manner of cakes.
Embarrassed by the intimate turn of the conversation, yet deeply curious as to what Flint might be unwilling to share with her, she waited on tenterhooks. As the maid poured tea for each of the ladies, plated treats, and otherwise fussed over their group, Ros did her best to remain a composed version of herself.
At last, alone once more, Jules turned to Theo. “I shall expire from curiosity if you do not share. What could Flint be hiding?”
Ros was grateful her sister pressed the question, allowing her to remain silent.
“My husband has mentioned that Flint has a rather increased capacity for pain.” Theo took a sip of her tea.
Ros looked at her sister and then back at Theo, utterly confused. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
Marie cleared her throat. “What Theo is trying to say is that Flint finds the bite of pain erotic. It stimulates his arousal.”
Ros blinked and whispered, “But we’ve had sex…” Then thoughts crowded in, flashes of their night together. Flint’s black eye, split lip, and injured ribs. His groans of pain. Heat seared her cheeks as realization careened into her. We had sex while he’d been injured. At the time, she’d taken it as evidence of his interest in her, but then he’d stated time and again that he desired her to end their connection.
Humiliation blazed through her, torching her feelings and searing her emotions. Sitting there, it felt as if someone had ripped out her heart and cauterized the wound. He’d tried to tell her, but she was so certain of how she felt, of how she believed he felt.
A hand patted hers, drawing her attention back to the group.
“Oh, do not despair.” Theo smiled brightly. “If pain is what he needs, Mistress Lash is certainly able to teach you how to service his needs. She has a deft hand with the whip. I’ve heard that she has a waiting list of men who wish to be her clients.”
Ros fought the urge to cast up her accounts then and there at the notion she had forced Flint to be intimate with her and rose from her seat. “This has been most informative. Thank you, ladies,”
she squeezed the words past the constriction in her throat as despair nearly overwhelmed her. What have I done? Pivoting on her toes, she fled the room on a chorus of Ohs. Walking as quickly as her skirts would permit, she found the front door and departed the house. Unfortunately, it was an unseasonably cool afternoon, and despite that, she dismissed the afterthought of her cloak as she hustled down the busy residential street. She’d been walking for a while when a carriage clattered to a stop just ahead of her.
“Ros, come along. Your home is too far for you to walk,” Julia called out.
Ignoring her sister, she continued to stride briskly down the walkway. The light breeze defied the summer sun and cooled her heated cheeks. How could I have been so foolish? So blind?
Suddenly, her sister appeared before her, causing her to pull up short.
Julia grabbed her shoulders and gently shook her. “Cease this at once!”
Ros looked at her sister’s face, the crease between her brows, the worry slipping through her green gaze. Pain, loss, and an insidious feeling of vulnerability tangled in her chest. A sob caught on the gnarled mess as she fell into her sister’s arms and let loose the swirl of emotions.
Somehow, Julia guided her into the carriage and got her settled on the seat. For the rest of the ride home, Ros lay in Julia’s lap and cried. Because she was certain all was lost.
By the time they’d entered her home, Ros had calmed herself. She turned to her sister and offered a tepid smile. “Thank you for seeing me home.”
“Ros, I’m sure it cannot be so terrible. Perhaps, if you meet this Mistress Lash, she can better explain what Flint needs.”
She shook her head. “No, I’ve made enough of a spectacle of myself. I see now that Lord Flintshire was merely being a gentleman in coming to my aid. I’ve obviously misconstrued fondness for something deeper.”
Julia sucked in a breath. “I was wrong earlier. I erred in trying to help you past a painful moment by suggesting what you felt was not real. Undoubtedly, I was against it to start, but I came to see how much you two care about each other. You cannot give up on him.”
“I appreciate your support—however belated—but I refuse to force a man who does not care for me into marriage.” She’d made the mistake of ignoring the signs once; she refused to make the same mistake a second time.
Chapter 10
Inexplicably, a week after tea with the ladies, Ros found herself trailing behind her sister and her new husband, the Viscount Wolfington, at a dinner party hosted by the inestimable Lady Doughton. A pillar of the London social circle, an invitation to one of her intimate soirees was a much sought after prize. Despite that, Ros had tried begging off. At least three times.
Nevertheless, Julia had strong-armed her into joining them with a relentlessness that only a concerned big sister could possess. First, she’d claimed to be busy. Her sister had gone behind her back and confirmed with Johnson that her calendar was, in fact, quite open. Next, she’d tried to convince her sister that she didn’t have an appropriate gown. Julia all but laughed at her before she dragged Ros upstairs and quickly sorted out a dress to wear. Finally, the morning of the dinner, Ros had sent a note around to Julia indicating she had come down with a headache. By noon, Ros was being dosed with a tisane of healing herbs that Julia assured her would banish the pain and leave her feeling refreshed enough to join them for a night out.
Ros knew when she was beaten.
As the party—a small gathering of only twenty or so guests—wandered through Lady Doughton’s adjoined salons, Ros spotted Lord Cunningham. He had been politeness itself at the Halpern’s ball, if somewhat disturbed by Flint’s overly aggressive nature. Although not surprised to find him among Lady Doughton’s set, Ros had hoped to stay far away from anyone connected to Lord Flintshire that evening. Curious as to who she would be paired with at dinner, she slipped away from the pre-dinner conversation and maneuvered into the dining room where servants scurried about making final preparations.
Walking along the long table, she searched for her name card. Finding it tucked neatly between Lord Wolfington’s and Lord Cunnigham’s, she silently cursed to herself. Of course, she knew she’d not be seated next to her sister; most hostesses were rather hardnosed about the male-female disbursement. How else could they potentially take credit for any matches that may have resulted from one of their dinners?
With a desperation to avoid anything Flint related, she snatched up her name card and sidled down the table looking for a more suitable dinner partner. At least, one more suited to her needs.
She had just found the perfect spot at the far end set between two notoriously bookish lords when someone cleared their throat. Whirling about with a gasp of surprise, Ros found herself face to face with Lord Cunningham.
“My lord! You startled me.” She breathed as she clutched her name card to her chest, nearly crushing it in her dismay.
“Mrs. Smith. It is lovely to run into you once more.” He bowed gallantly.
“Thank you, my lord.” She curtsied. “It is a pleasant surprise to see you again, as well.”
Ignoring the heat simmering high on her cheeks, she glanced about in search of a convenient exit.
Lord Cunningham looked at her hand, clutched to her chest, and smiled. “What have you found there?”
“What?” She looked down at the slightly bent card that had her name elegantly scrawled across it. “Why, it is my name card.”
Her heart pounded in her chest. It was the height of bad manners to shuffle the seating around at someone’s dinner party. After all, most hostesses spent a great deal of time and thought in laying out who would sit next to whom at dinner. Would Lord Cunningham call her out? “I- I- found it here on the floor and was searching for where it belonged.”
The surprise on his face appeared genuine enough. “How odd. Well, let me see if I might assist you in locating its rightful place.”
“How kind of you, my lord.” Ros could barely meet the man’s gaze as he offered her his arm. They strolled down the length of the table, merely a few steps. However, to her, it felt like the longest distance she’d ever traveled. Perhaps this is what prisoners experienced when walking to their execution? Dear God, what have I come to? Gallows humor?
“I must say, you are looking fetching in that soft green gown. The color makes your eyes sparkle like emeralds.” His words both charmed her and made her feel wretched.
How could she find even the smallest pleasure in any man’s attentions when she still mourned the loss of Flint? Was her heart so treacherous? “That is kind of you, my lord.”
“Not kind at all, merely the truth.” He stopped. “Ah-ha! I have found the empty spot, and lucky man that I am, it appears I shall have the gift of your gracious company at dinner.”
“So it does.” She gently set the card back where she’d found it. “If you will excuse me, my lord. I’m certain my sister will have marked my absence.” Ros turned and walked calmly from the dining room, doing her best to hide her dismay. Her foray into the dining room had not gone as planned, and now, there was no escaping the attentions of Lord Cunningham. Of course, the vengeful side of her—and despite her best efforts, there was a vengeful side—hoped that Flint would learn of her dinner companion and find himself knotted up in a fit of jealousy. Perhaps then, he would relent on his refusal to consider her for his wife. She sighed at the errant thought. It was bad form, and she knew it, but she was finding it difficult to let Flint go gracefully. Was love truly so blind?
“There you are,” Julia’s brow unfurled. “I was beginning to think I would need to send out a search party for you.”
Ros smiled. “I ran into Lord Cunningham, and he detained me for a few moments as he said hello.”
“Oh, is he here?” Wolf looked around the room.
“He is. And while I know he and Flint are not particularly friendly, he was nothing less than a gentleman while we spoke.” Ros eyed her sister’s husband, trying to gauge his response. Perhaps he would be
the one to carry the tale back to Flint? Trying hard not to relish the prospect, she could not pass up the opportunity to see if that was true. “In fact, he implied that I would see him at dinner. I wonder if he might be my partner?”
Wolf offered little to no response, though, Julia cringed.
“That man is a bit too full of himself to make an adequate dinner partner. I imagine he will spend the entire meal regaling you with tales of his supposed exploits.”
Ros considered. “Well, he was perfectly polite and a passable conversationalist when I danced with him at the Halpern’s ball. I would expect nothing less again this evening.”
Julia snorted. “That man is far too conceited to be either of those things. If he was, then he wants something.”
Ros wanted to swat her sister but refrained from such uncouth behavior. “We shall see.”
An hour later, everyone went in for dinner, and Ros took her seat beside Lord Cunningham. Wolf took his seat on Ros’s other side while her sister sat across the table from them.
With a forced smile, she turned to Lord Cunningham, “Have you been enjoying yourself this evening?”
“Indeed.” He offered what Ros assumed was meant to be a charming grin, but with the sharp glint in his blue-gray eyes appeared more predatory. “Between the lovely company I found earlier and again here, how could I not enjoy myself?”
Julia coughed—not so delicately—from across the table as Wolf stared at them utterly nonplussed.
Ros felt her cheeks once again warm from the attention paid her, even as a pit formed in her stomach. Cunningham’s attention felt wrong. She supposed she was simply not over Flint, yet gamely tried to respond. “You are too kind, my lord.”
“Never say it. I speak nothing but the truth. You are a lovely woman, and I find myself fortunate to be your dinner partner.” His gaze drifted from her face, down the column of her throat, and lingered on her breasts.
His Not-So-Sweet Marchioness Page 8
