“Vaughn.”
“Edgar Vaughn? What does he have to do with this?”
“He’s investigating the society.”
“Really!” Marc adjusted his spectacles. “And he told you this?”
“Yes. I will tell you the whole of it later, but for now, let’s just focus on the fact that the society wants that note back, and Anna has it.”
“And we can’t confirm if they know she has it,” Marc mused.
“The best course of action would be to get it from her,” Rome said, sitting on the edge of the desk. “I don’t think they would be keen to kill her unless she gets in their way.”
“Why do you say that? Aren’t these men murderers?”
“Yes, but the death of a young woman under mysterious circumstances would generate more attention than they would like.”
“Whereas young men being slain by the sword could just be attributed to impetuous youth and a boy getting into deep territory with unsavory elements.”
Peter’s lifeless face flashed through Rome’s mind, and he clenched his jaw. “Yes. Even if they used a method other than the blade, the death of an otherwise healthy young lady, especially one of Miss Rosewood’s social standing, would cause a considerable uproar.”
“So you believe they may simply try to steal back the note?”
“Yes.”
“What if they don’t find it?”
Coldness settled over Rome, freezing his expression in a hard mask. “Then they might risk harming her. At that point, they would fear for their very existence.”
“So it is up to us to protect her. Unless Mr. Vaughn is going to assist?”
“I didn’t tell him everything. I’m trying to keep Anna out of it.” Rome got to his feet and prowled the room.
Marc rose as well. “So only you and I stand between Anna and these blackguards? You’re playing a deep game with our lives, Rome.”
Rome stopped dead and glared. “Would you rather I betray her to the society? What if they don’t know she has the note? By calling in the authorities and surrounding your house with armed guards, we would tell the society where to find their missing communication, as surely as if we had taken out an advertisement in the Times.”
“You’re exaggerating.”
“Am I?” Rome strode across the room to loom over Marc in subtle intimidation. “Peter is dead, and I was careful with him. If they are watching Peter, then they may be watching me.”
Marc simply looked at him with those calm gray eyes, unthreatened by Rome’s greater height. “In which case, you may have led them to our doorstep.”
“Damn it!” Rome turned away, irritated by his own shortsightedness. “You’re right.”
“But then again,” Marc mused, ever unflappable, “if you had not come, we would not know of this danger. At least now we can prepare.”
“I suppose you’re right.” Rome settled back on the edge of the desk again, determined to keep his emotions in check and think like a soldier. “So let’s make a plan. Will you ask Miss Rosewood for the note, or shall I?”
Marc hesitated before answering, his expression pensive. “You have said that Anna is obsessed with learning more about her brother’s death. If that’s true, do you suppose she will just hand the note over to us?”
Rome gave a bark of laughter. “Hardly. Anna Rosewood is a stubborn woman.”
“So you’ve said.” Marc raised his hand and tapped his chin with one finger. “I suppose we will have to steal it.”
“Agreed. And I should probably be the one to do it.”
Marc raised his brows. “Why you? This is my house.”
“I picked up quite a few talents in the military.” Rome grinned. “Don’t look so shocked, cousin. It was all for the good of England, you know.”
“Indeed.” Marc shook his head. “Very well, tell me your plan.”
“You will distract Miss Rosewood and the rest of the guests with an outing of some sort. I will cry off—exhaustion after my bruising ride. While you are gone, I will go into Miss Rosewood’s room and search for the note.”
“That should work. I shall give the servants the afternoon off so you are not disturbed.”
“Excellent.”
“And once you’ve found the note, you can give it to me, and I will put in my safe.”
Rome thought it over, then nodded. “A good plan. Even if the society believes she may have the note, once they search her room and don’t find it, they may well believe the rumor was a mistake.”
“And with it snug in the safe, we can hold it to turn over to the authorities.”
Rome got to his feet. “Shall we try this tomorrow afternoon?”
“I’ve already offered to take my guests on a picnic tomorrow, so that will work out splendidly.”
“Good. Together we will make certain Miss Rosewood stays safe.”
“I had best return to my guests,” Marc said. “And you should change your clothing and join us. I’m certain you must have alarmed Lavinia with your rather abrupt arrival.”
“No doubt you’re right.” Rome blew out a hard breath. “I will reassure her, Marc, but then I will retire to my room. I’m not good company tonight.”
“Of course.” Sober-faced, Marc nodded. “I’m sorry about Peter, Rome. He was a good lad.”
“He was.” Rome walked with Marc and waiting while the earl unlocked the door. “And I will find who did this to him, no matter how long it takes.”
“Rome!” Lavinia cried. She jumped to her feet as her brother entered the drawing room and would have run to him except for her husband’s restraining hand on her arm.
“Propriety,” he murmured. “And have a care for your state.”
“Very well.” She shook off Emberly’s grip and hurried at a quick walk to meet her brother.
Henrietta leaned close to Anna’s ear. “I’m glad Mr. Devereaux has arrived,” she whispered. “Perhaps he will distract Miss Fellhopper.”
Anna struggled against her own distraction. Freshly shaven and in clean clothes, Rome drew her gaze despite her best intentions. He lingered on the other side of the room, listening to his sister with one ear while greeting the players at the card table.
Then he turned his attention toward her.
Their eyes met for one sizzling second. Her breath caught, and her heart skipped, and her flesh warmed. She nearly stood up, except her mother leaned in again.
“See how she can’t take her eyes from him? Perhaps his handsome face will distract her from the earl.”
She sat back in her chair with a soft thud, appalled at how she had nearly betrayed herself.
Rome approached with Lavinia by his side. “Good evening, Mrs. Rosewood, Miss Rosewood.” His gaze lit on Anna for an instant, then moved on. “Emberly, good to see you. When did you arrive?”
“Just last night. I had expected to be delayed, but my schedule cleared unexpectedly.”
“Mine as well.”
“You were right, Henry,” Lavinia chimed in as she took her seat again. “It was just a business matter.”
“She had feared some fatal accident had befallen your mother,” Emberly told Rome.
“I’m sorry I worried you,” Rome said with a smile at Lavinia. “I was coming out here anyway, and a business acquaintance asked that I pass an important message to Marc.”
“I thought house parties bored you,” Lavinia teased.
Rome cast a smile at the group, lingering for half a second longer on Anna. “This one promises to be quite stimulating.”
Conscious of Lavinia’s watchful gaze, Anna kept her own expression polite. “Lord Haverford has suggested a picnic tomorrow, Mr. Devereaux. Are you certain you will find so mundane a pastime entertaining?”
“Of course he will!” Henrietta exclaimed, with a chiding look at her daughter.
“On the contrary, I find I am quite fatigued from my journey this evening.”
“How disappointing.” Mrs. Rosewood gave a charming smile. “But you wil
l join us for dinner, I hope? Miss Fellhopper has promised us a concert afterward. She has a lovely singing voice.”
He glanced over at Charlotte. “I look forward to hearing her.”
Anna followed his gaze, where pretty Charlotte laughed and teased her brother over a hand of cards. Her heart twisted with pathetic jealousy, and she had to turn away. She must control her emotions. Rome was an eligible gentleman, and Charlotte was an unmarried lady. He had every right to admire her, to even pursue her if he chose.
Just because Anna had been foolish enough to lose her heart to a man she could not have did not mean Rome should not find happiness elsewhere.
She withdrew into herself as the conversation continued around her. Curse the man! He wasn’t supposed to be here, confusing her with all these forbidden emotions. He was supposed to be safely in London while she did her best to lure Haverford into a marriage proposal here in the country. His very presence tempted her to forget about honor and follow her heart.
But this she could not do. Her family depended on her to make the excellent match they had arranged for her, and she had no wish to create such a scandal that it would ruin Rome’s chances at a future.
And he knew that, drat him. He knew their association was wrong, and yet here he was, standing before her. She knew that nothing so inconsequential as a house party would have drawn him away from London and the investigation of the Black Rose Society. That meant that something had happened to bring him here— something to do with the society.
She needed to talk to him alone and find out what he was doing here, then she would do everything in her power to make certain he left again with all possible haste.
Because as long as Rome Devereaux was close enough to see, hear, and touch, there was no way on this earth she could ever muster the strength to agree to marry another man.
At long last, the house fell silent.
Rome had expected to slip into a deep slumber upon returning to his room, given the exhausting events of the past couple of days. But his mind would not rest, and so he had lain in bed, tossing and turning amongst the tangled sheets, images of Peter’s lifeless body haunting him.
Finally, he had given up on sleep and turned to whiskey for comfort.
He stood before the window, moonlight bathing his nude body beneath the open dressing gown, his third glass of whiskey in his hand. Outside, the manicured lawns of Haverford Park glimmered in the soft, silver light of the moon, as if painted by the faerie folk.
If a man believed in that sort of thing.
He tossed back a swallow of whiskey. A man like him only believed in the pistol in his hand and the woman at his side. What he could see, taste, and touch. Feelings were foreign to him, uncomfortable. He had gotten into the habit of suppressing his emotions if they interfered with his work.
Love refused to be suppressed.
His throat clogged, and he sucked in a deep breath to keep the unmanly tears at bay. Another swallow of whiskey helped. Damn it, he would not bawl like a babe over what he’d lost.
Anna. Peter.
Peter was dead. Gone. Never to return. The immediate danger around the note had seen to it that Rome could not even attend the funeral. No, he must stand by and watch over the woman he loved.
Watch her with another man.
He choked back the last of the whiskey, then grabbed the bottle off the night table. All his life, he had tried to act with honor. Was this his reward? To lose the boy he was supposed to protect? To fail his fallen friend? To stand by, helpless, as the woman he loved wed another man?
When would it be his turn to step out of the shadows and live in the sunshine?
A sound outside his door made him tense. Quietly, he set down the bottle and glass, then tied the sash of his robe with two efficient tugs. The scrape of the latch sent him to his night table, where his pistol rested in the drawer. As the door slowly creaked open, he ducked to one side of the window and blended into the shadows.
A figure in white slipped into his room, closed the door silently, then began to creep toward the bed. Rome stepped out of hiding, pistol extended. “That’s far enough.”
The figure stopped. “Rome?”
Anna.
“What the devil are you doing here?” He lowered the pistol, then went to the night table and shoved it back into the drawer. “Get out.”
“I need to speak to you.” She came forward into the rectangle of moonlight reflected through the window. Though she looked the part of an innocent lady in her modest white nightdress and wrapper and her hair streaming down her back in luxuriant waves, he knew what passion lurked inside her.
Wanted it.
“It’s important. You know I would not take such a risk otherwise.”
“I’m warning you to leave.” He grabbed his whiskey bottle and poured a generous glass.
“What’s happened?” She moved toward him, her face soft with concern.
“What are you talking about?” He turned his back on her, didn’t dare look at her. He held up the bottle. “I’m having a drink is all.”
“I know something has happened, Rome. Nothing less than utter disaster could have pulled you from London at this time.”
He curled his hand around his whiskey glass and bent his head. “Peter Brantley is dead.”
“Oh, no,” she gasped. “Was he the one…was he the friend you had in the society?”
“He was.” He turned to face her, gripping his glass tightly to keep from reaching for her. “The society killed him. He’s dead because he tried to leave the country.”
She tilted her head, her luxuriant hair spilling over her shoulder. “Did you come here to tell me about it?”
He gave a harsh laugh. “Hardly. Don’t you remember? I told you I cannot be your partner.”
Confusion flickered across her face. “Then why are you here and not at Peter’s funeral?”
Unable to stop himself, he touched her cheek. “Because of you.”
She sucked in a breath and took a step back. His hand fell to his side. “But you just said…”
“You’re in danger, pet. That note of your brother’s? Apparently the society would kill to get it back.” His lips twisted. “I’m here to make sure you stay alive.”
“Oh.” She glanced down at her hands, tangling her fingers together.
“Did you think I was here for some other reason? Undying love?” He chuckled, the sound bleak even to his own ears. “Duty brings me here, Anna.”
“I see.” When she raised her head, unshed tears glimmered in her eyes. “That is all to the good, I suppose. When do you plan on leaving?”
The question sliced his heart. “Eager to be rid of me?”
“You’re a complication, Rome. It’s just a matter of time before his lordship makes an offer for me, and I don’t want any hint of our past to ruin that.”
“Do you think I would tell him? Good God, Anna, I owe that man everything I have!”
“I know. I’m sorry.” She took a shuddering breath, and he couldn’t help but notice how her breasts shifted beneath the thin lawn of her nightclothes. “But when you are here…Dear Lord, Rome, but I can’t think. I can’t see anyone but you.”
“That’s not the way to make me leave here.” He threw back his head and inhaled deeply, struggling for control. “I just lost Peter. I was supposed to protect him. I can’t lose you, too.”
She gave him a sad smile. “I was never really yours, Rome.”
“The hell you weren’t.” She flinched at his profanity, and he gave her a wicked smirk, whiskey fueling the frustrated anger racing through his veins. “You come apart in my arms, Anna. I may not have the right to claim you, but you can’t say that you were never really mine.”
“We both know the right thing to do here.”
“Stay apart? Is that it?” He set down the whiskey. “Is that what you want?”
She closed her eyes, pressing her lips together as a tear slithered down her cheek. “It’s what we have to do,” s
he whispered.
“Is it so wrong to love you?”
Her eyes sprang open, her lips parting in shock.
He gave a grating laugh. “Yes, I love you. I didn’t want to, but I didn’t have a choice.” He stepped closer, the scent of her luring him over the boundary of propriety. “I just lost a good friend to the sword of the enemy, and the woman I love is promised to marry another man. It seems to me I don’t have much more to lose.” He laid his palm alongside her cheek.
The tenderness of his caress belied the cut of his words. She nuzzled her face against his hand for just a moment, his merest touch sending her heart beating in a quick, steady rhythm. “I didn’t come here for this,” she murmured.
“Why did you come here, Anna?” He speared his fingers into her hair, his gaze intense. “Into my room, so late at night?”
“To find out why you’re here. When you’re leaving.” His scent teased her, and she had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from kissing the wrist only inches from her mouth.
“I’m here for you. And I’m not leaving until I know you’re safe.” He slid his hand to the back of her neck and pulled her forward until their foreheads rested against each other. “I will always be there for you, Anna. Watching you. Protecting you. Loving you.”
Her throat tightened. “Don’t make this any harder.”
“I’m not asking for anything.”
She lowered her gaze to his throat, lest he see the desperate hunger in her eyes. “What will you do when the danger is past?”
“Leave here. Leave England, maybe.” He let out a long, whiskey-scented sigh. “I can’t be around you without wanting you, and I won’t dishonor you or Haverford that way.”
She swallowed hard, the lump in her throat the size of a plum. “Thank you.”
He shuddered, then pushed her away. “Go back to your bed, Anna. Having you here, in my room, is more than I can resist. Especially now.”
Bereft without his touch, she stood numbly and watched him reach for his whiskey glass again. His hand trembled as he lifted it to his lips. “You cared for Peter very much.”
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