“No doubt your parents are pleased that you are to make such a smart match,” he murmured. “But how do you feel about the situation?”
She flicked him a cautious glance. “I am content.”
“Are you? Marc is a good man, but his passion lies with his estate and his account books. Will you be happy married to such a fellow, I wonder?”
“Sir, you overstep.” Pink swept into her cheeks, and she turned away from him.
She was right. “My apologies.”
Her spine looked so stiff, he thought she would flounce away on the spot. Instead, she turned back. “I have no desire to insult a member of Lord Haverford’s family, but I must tell you I find your questions most disturbing, Mr. Devereaux.”
“And I find you most disturbing, Miss Rosewood. You seem very familiar to me. I cannot help but wonder if we have met before.”
She paled. “I’m certain I would have remembered if we had met before the earl’s dinner party.”
“A gentleman fancies that a lady will find him more than merely memorable.” Following an impulse, he took her hand and raised it to his lips, his eyes intent on her face.
He was testing her. Trying to trap her.
Anna’s blood froze like ice in her veins. She willed her knees to stop shaking. “And are you a gentleman, sir?”
He gave her that charming grin again. “That’s for the lady to decide.”
Unsettled by the low, intimate tone, she yanked her hand from his grasp. “I think not. No gentleman would flirt so with a lady who was being courted by another.”
Some fierce emotion flickered across his face, making her regret her rash rebuke. Her heart bumped awkwardly in her chest. Had he indeed guessed that she was Rose? How had she betrayed herself? Or had she?
“So loyal to Marc already? How admirable.”
She tilted her chin at the goad in his voice. “We are not yet betrothed, but I can assure you that if I marry, I would be a loyal wife.”
“Would you?” he murmured. “I wonder.”
“You insult me,” she snapped.
“My apologies,” he said swiftly, so swiftly, she suspected he didn’t mean a word of it. “I should have said, that where Marc is concerned, it is important to avoid even the appearance of disloyalty.”
“Appearances can be deceiving.”
He held her gaze a long moment. “Precisely.”
She narrowed her eyes, tiring of his game. “And you, sir…what sort of loyalty to your cousin are you demonstrating by secluding me in this room and toying with me in such an outrageous manner? You should be ashamed of yourself.”
His expression shuttered. “You’re right. I apologize again.”
She took in his penitent posture, the way he clenched his hands at his sides, and felt no pity. “If you will excuse me, I must take my leave.”
“Allow me to escort you.”
“I can find my way out,” she insisted, heading for the open doorway.
“I will see you to the door.” Brooking no argument, he caught up with her in two easy strides and slowed his pace to hers.
“You are a most stubborn individual, Mr. Devereaux.” Anna swept out into the hallway, Roman behind her, just as the parlor door opened down the hall.
“Blast it!” Rome grabbed her arm and jerked her back into the library.
She let out a yelp of surprise as he shoved her behind him and closed the door all but a crack. “What are you doing?” she hissed.
“Shhh. Mrs. Wentworth is out there. You don’t want her seeing us alone together.” He peered out into the hallway through the crack in the door.
“There would have been no chance of that had you not followed me in here.” Knowing how precarious their position was, she kept her voice to the softest of whispers but gave him her most chilling look of disapproval, which she had practiced by watching her mother.
Clearly undaunted by The Look, he leaned closer to her. “Do you remember our discussion about loyalty, Miss Rosewood? Should my cousin hear from that busybody that we were alone together, even for a few minutes, your ‘informal’ betrothal to him would become nothing more than a fanciful dream.”
“And you, of course, would suffer little if at all from society’s interpretation of the incident,” she scoffed.
His expression hardened, his lips thinning to a grim line. “Perhaps you simply do not value honor as much as I do, but I assure you that my good name means everything to me.”
Belatedly, she remembered about his father. The shadow of his sire’s scandal would surely have marked him. “Of course,” she whispered. “Please forgive me.”
“Stay quiet,” he muttered, “and we shall both get out of this with our reputations intact.”
She nodded, and he looked out at the events in the hallway, presenting her with a close view of his broad shoulders in a well-tailored, bottle green coat. She remembered how those shoulders had blotted out the light when he’d bent to kiss her.
She took a deep breath to control her thoughts, but she only succeeded in bringing his scent to her, the musky cologne that had lingered on her hands even after they’d parted company. A mere whiff sent her blood humming and her body tingling.
Dear Lord.
He was the most confusing, irritating man she had ever met. Yet as she stared at his back and shoulders, at the way his dark brown hair curled around his ears and nape, she wanted to touch him again, to tangle her fingers in that hair and hold him close as they kissed.
She nearly did it, had actually raised her hand to touch him, when Lavinia’s muffled voice reminded her where she was. She snatched her hand away and curled her traitorous fingers into a fist. This was madness!
“Mrs. Wentworth is gone.” Rome turned to her. “You can go now.”
“I’m no longer your prisoner then?”
He arched a brow at her. “Do you want to be?”
She made a sound of frustration. “You are most vexing, Mr. Devereaux.”
“I do what is necessary.”
Pinned beneath that knowing green-eyed stare, she said, “Your concern for your cousin’s welfare is most laudable. I assure you I will make him a good and loyal wife.”
“I’m pleased to hear it, Miss Rosewood.” Had she imagined it, or had he emphasized on the first syllable of her name?
She wasn’t Rose, had never been Rose. That had just been a fantasy that had gone too far—and had felt too real.
She had to leave, to go meet her mother at the dressmaker’s and be Anna Rosewood, soon-to-be-fiancée of Lord Haverford.
The sooner she escaped this house and this man, the better off they would all be.
Chapter 5
Rome closed the door behind Rose—Miss Rosewood—and resisted the urge to watch her from the window. The girl was gone, the danger past. Their names would not be bandied by gossiping tongues this night.
He rested his forehead against the door. What had possessed him to take such a chance with scandal? With the tantalizing memories of Vauxhall haunting him, he’d been unable to resist following her into the library. Had he really thought a few moments of privacy would coax Rose to emerge from the persona of the proper Miss Rosewood?
He’d flirted with her, nearly insulted her. He’d walked the edge of dishonor by his actions, and the lady had been right to call him no gentleman.
She was forbidden to him. He should stay away.
“Have you taken over Bagsley’s duties, dear brother?”
Lavinia’s voice jerked him from his thoughts. He glanced over to see her standing in the doorway of the parlor.
How long had she been there?
“I trust Miss Rosewood remembered to take her maid with her.”
Blast. Too long.
“She did not,” he realized, turning fully to face his sister.
“Really? How peculiar.” Her voice was all innocence, but the sarcasm still sliced through.
“Drop the pretense, Vin,” he said. “I know when you’re displeased with me.
”
“Displeased!” Abandoning any semblance of calm, Lavinia advanced on him. “Try amazed! Are you mad? What possessed you to closet yourself alone with Miss Rosewood when that Wentworth woman was in the parlor?”
Guilt pinched like poorly made shoes. “’Tis none of your affair.”
“It certainly is my affair! This is my house, Roman. If that woman had seen you sneaking about with Miss Rosewood, any shred of reputation you have managed to build for yourself would have been ruined, and probably mine with it.”
“I’m aware of that.” Casting a grim glance down the empty hall—where a servant might appear at any second—he jerked his head toward the parlor.
Vin heaved a long-suffering sigh and preceded him into the room. “Nothing you can say can explain this, brother.”
“Hear me out.” Once inside, he closed the door soundly behind them.
“You can be certain I am eager to listen.” She folded her arms across her chest. “What happened just now between you and Anna?”
“I wanted to talk to her for a few moments.”
“You could have done that just as well right here, in the acceptable company of your sister.”
“With that gossiping Wentworth woman just salivating for a good on dit?” He gave a harsh bark of laughter. “I think not.”
“True.” She sighed. “She does seem to relish a juicy story, doesn’t she?”
“She does. And since I but wanted to ascertain what sort of female Miss Rosewood was…”
“What sort of female? You nodcock, she’s a perfectly acceptable lady. What more is there to discover?”
He shrugged. “I disagree. When we met last night, she seemed rather insipid. I wanted to make certain she was good enough for Marc.”
“Good heavens, what a Banbury tale,” she scoffed.
“Vin—”
She held up a hand, stopping his warning before he could finish. “Never mind. I know you will not share your motives with me.”
“There was—”
“After all,” she continued in a long-suffering tone, “I am just your sister.”
He frowned. “Lavinia…”
“And the fact that your actions today could not only ruin your reputation but mine and by association, my husband’s, should not disturb me at all.”
He let out a long sigh, rubbing the bridge of his nose to soothe the headache that had suddenly bloomed behind his eyes. “Lavinia, you know I would do nothing to blacken your name or your husband’s. Your marriage to Emberly is the only thing that keeps you from sharing the exile with the rest of the family.”
“Then why would you do such a thing?” She spread her hands in entreaty. “Don’t you remember how it was? You had barely reached your majority, and everyone treated you like you had committed the sin, not Father. Mother dared not show her face in polite circles. And I was a child, just turned ten, and I could not understand why my friends would no longer play with me.”
“Of course I remember.”
“Roman, you are so very close to leaving behind Father’s dishonor and achieving your own success. Once you enter the diplomatic circles—”
“If I enter the diplomatic circles.”
“When you enter your chosen position, your accomplishments will overshadow the scandal, and everything will change.” She laid a hand on his cheek, forcing him to look at her. “Time has passed. Father died in that carriage accident with the woman he stole. You and I grew up and have made something of ourselves. We can end this curse.”
Rome smiled, touched by her optimism, and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “You always make everything so simple.”
“It is simple. I love you.” She gave his cheek two sharp pats. “Now stay away from Anna Rosewood.”
Her abrupt change of subject startled a laugh from him. “Vin, you were ever as tenacious as one of Haverford’s hunting dogs.”
“Only because I’m right.” Her teasing smile faded. “I don’t want any unkind gossip circulating about you.”
He chuckled. “For heaven’s sake, Vin, I was just talking to her. If it means that much to you, I promise to exercise better judgment from now on.”
“I should hope so.” She shook her head. “Such strange goings-on today.”
“Now, Vin, it’s not as bad as all that.”
She blinked in surprise. “Heavens, I’d forgotten you didn’t know. Mrs. Wentworth brought the latest news with her.”
“Gossip is hardly news.”
“This is more than gossip. Reginald Dalton was found dead this morning outside the Cock and Crown tavern.”
“Reginald Dalton?” His attention sharpened as he visualized the fellow. “Lord Huxley’s cousin?”
“Yes.” She pulled out her lacy handkerchief and delicately dabbed at her eyes. “I’m sorry. I have become a regular watering pot these days.”
“It’s understandable, Vin.” As he pulled his still-sniffling sister into a comforting embrace, he visualized young Dalton, a blond, blue-eyed fellow who had a penchant for curricle racing and hunting. He’d barely reached his majority. “How did he die, Vin?”
“That’s the oddest thing,” she whispered, her voice muffled against his coat. “It looks as though he was killed with a sword.”
She was late.
As the carriage came to a halt outside Madame Dauphine’s, Anna almost didn’t wait for the tiger to hop down and open the door for her. She had left Lavinia’s without her maid, which was bad enough, but now she was nearly a quarter hour late for her appointment. Mama would be furious.
She hurried toward the entrance of the modiste’s shop. She had tried to use the drive as an opportunity to calm her frazzled nerves, but it hadn’t worked. Her conversation with Rome had left her tense and troubled.
She had a strong suspicion that he had guessed her secret, and he had seemed more than a little interested in her impending betrothal. If he did recognize her, perhaps he objected to her becoming Lord Haverford’s wife? Her face heated. No man would want a wanton for a bride, and after her behavior at Vauxhall, she could guess what he thought of her.
Or, given the circumstances under which they had met, he might consider Rose some sort of threat to the mysterious society.
Since Rome was currently her only link to the group of men she believed responsible for her brother’s death, she had no choice but to continue to see him. But she would have to be very careful. Roman Devereaux seemed very dangerous, and not just to her reputation.
She pushed open the door to Madame Dauphine’s. Mama looked up from a conversation with Mrs. Bentley. “Good, you’ve arrived. Do go right into the back room, Anna. Madame Dauphine is waiting for you.” She bent her head near Mrs. Bentley’s and whispered in a low tone that her daughter couldn’t make out.
Anna hesitated. She had expected a scolding and a lecture on responsibility, perhaps even an inquiry as to the whereabouts of her maid. But Mama was clearly completely oblivious to everything but her intense conversation with Mrs. Bentley. Puzzled, she made her way to the fitting room, where Madame Dauphine waited.
“At last, you have arrived!” The modiste snapped her fingers, and her two assistants, who had been sitting diligently sewing, leaped to their feet and took up the two dresses that Mama had ordered.
“I apologize for being late, madame,” Anna said. She set down her reticule and untied the ribbons of her bonnet.
“C ne fait rien,” Madame said, with a cluck of her tongue. She set about unfastening Anna’s dress as Anna stripped off her gloves. “Your Maman, she is most insistent these be done today. We must hurry. Vite, vite!” she barked at her assistants. The two girls both came forward at the same time, each holding a half-sewn garment. As Anna skimmed off her own dress, Madame took a soft blue silk from one of the girls. The assistant took Anna’s discarded dress, and Madame slipped the new one over Anna’s head. “Ah, bien,” the Frenchwoman sighed as the azure folds fell into place over Anna’s body.
Anna regarded herself in th
e mirror as the dressmaker quickly nipped and tucked and pinned, but she barely noticed how well the pale blue silk complemented her complexion. There was a hum in the air, a tension that told her something had happened. Her mother made a habit of personally overseeing her daughter’s wardrobe, especially when the new garb had been especially ordered for the purpose of charming Lord Haverford. Why, then, was she standing outside gossiping with Mrs. Bentley?
“Has my mother seen this lovely creation?” she asked Madame Dauphine.
“Yes, yes.” The modiste shot an order in French to one of the girls, who scampered over with a small cushion bursting with pins. “She is here looking at this, telling me to fix this sleeve and straighten that hem.” The dressmaker met Anna’s gaze in the mirror, her dark eyes alive with indignation. “I am Madame Dauphine. I know a crooked hem when I see one.”
“You are the best dressmaker in London,” Anna said. “Please forgive my mother. She only wants what’s best for me.”
“C’est vrai.” Clearly mollified, the modiste dismissed her assistant with an impatient wave of her hand. “And then Madame Bentley, she comes into the shop, and the two of them, they are whispering together about the tragedy.” She gave a quick laugh. “They think I do not know of this already? All the best gossip, it begins at Madame Dauphine’s.”
“What tragedy?”
The Frenchwoman paused in adjusting a sleeve. “You are young, Mademoiselle Rosewood. I do not know if I should tell you so distressing a tale.”
“I will hear it anyway. Would you rather I say I did not hear it here first?” Once more their gazes met in the mirror, Anna’s determined and the modiste’s, hesitant. “Please, madame. I need to know.”
She could see the struggle in the Frenchwoman’s expressive face and knew the moment she had won.
Debra Mullins Page 7
