Price of Desire

by Lavinia Kent

  Lady Smythe-Burke turned back to Rose and glared. “Humpf, again. Don’t know why I bother to plan if you’re not going to follow. Major Huntington plays well enough without your help. It’s Sommerton you need to concentrate on. I only realized he wasn’t with you when he came in from the terrace with both the vicar’s daughters – flushed faces all around. It’s bad enough watching him stare down Lady Clarington’s dress and I am sure I saw him creeping down the halls last night. You need to get and keep his attention if you want to bring him to the point. How else will he win a new fortune if not through you?”

  She turned and stalked from the room as Rose stared after her. She rubbed her eyes wearily. She wasn’t sure she wanted a proposal from a man who crept down halls – she liked her men to stalk. No, that wasn’t what she meant at all. And what was all this talk of betting and wagers? She rubbed her eyes again. She just needed to get some sleep, sleep without green-eyed dreams.

  Damn. She had to find a way to stay away from him if she wanted to find a husband. How was she supposed to pay attention to her guests when wherever she turned he was there? Dratted man. She’d made the mistake that one night of playing chess with him and ever since her mind had been filled with their easy banter and the warmth of his smile. She’d thought he’d been bad before, now she felt like a fox with hound fast behind her. Wherever she went he appeared and watched – and touched. Oh nothing she could call him on, but the most insidious of tiny, glancing brushes – her skinned burned from each one.

  There was no escape. If she joined the gentlemen for breakfast, after hearing that he was still out riding, he’d sneak in before she was even seated. She’d almost spilled her coffee when those cool eyes slid over her.

  Later, she’d thought she was safe. She’d surrounded herself with the other ladies in the music room. Surely, practicing pianoforte was the last thing to attract a gentleman, but before fifteen minutes had passed a deep, rich baritone had wrapped around her as he wandered in and taken a position beside the bench.

  And now. Yes, archery was a sport designed for both sexes, but did he have to stand there in his shirt-sleeves, moisture beading on his throat from the hot sun? How was she supposed to think when each time he drew back the bow the cloth over his shoulders drew tight, revealing those heavily muscled shoulders she knew so well? Every time she glanced in his direction her mind stripped his clothes from him and left him stark, and nude, and magnificent, Hercules come to life.

  “Life is so unjust.” Lady Clarington had moved to stand beside her and it was evident her thoughts had followed Rose’s, if perhaps without the knowing accuracy.

  Rose echoed Lady Clarington’s sentiment, but longed to slap her across the face for staring so openly. Watching Lady Clarington watch him was almost as tortuous as looking at him herself. Life was unjust. In a fair world John would still be alive, Anna would truly be his, and she would never have met Wulf. Her heart clenched at the thought, but she brutally opened herself up to it.

  She should never have met him. Then her body wouldn’t throb so mercilessly and her mind wouldn’t spin with confusion.

  But, she would not have Anna either.

  It was such a blasted, endless circle.

  She longed to let loose with some of John’s favorite curses. It would be such a delight and a release. She could just imagine Lady Clarington’s expression if confronted with some of the more descriptive ones involving dogs and various intimate orifices. That would wipe that salivating look off her face.

  Of course, it would probably also end any chance Rose had of finding a respectable husband. She doubted there was a man here who’d want a wife who knew more curses than a fishwife.

  Although, Wulf knew and he’d still asked her.

  Damn, circles again.

  “Please forgive me, Lady Clarington, I need to check on the arrangements for tea. I want to be sure Cook is laying out the pineapple from the hothouse. It’s just ripened.” Rose said the first thing that came to mind. She had to get away.

  She turned and scurried away. Maybe she could dart up to Wulf’s chamber and replace John’s maps of the Dardanelles as well. She’d snuck them out of the collection in Wulf’s room first thing that latest morning after, when she’d heard him leave for his ride. Anna had been delighted to trace sea monsters with her and remember those peaceful times with John. But now, Rose couldn’t put them back until the dratted man left. And it was too painful to see them lying about reminding her of simpler times when her present life was such a mess.

  She’d have to put them away, one less reminder of how simple life had been, and how complex it was promising to become.

  How much longer would he be here? How could choosing books take so long? Of course, if he spent his time in the park showing off his prowess with a bow instead of laboring in the library it was no wonder that the task was still far from accomplished.

  She paused as she entered the house. Wulf was safe outdoors. She’d avoided the library since he’d arrived. Now was the chance to check on his progress and see just how much longer he’d be here. Maybe she could lay a gentle hint in the secretary’s ear and speed their departure.

  She walked briskly down the hall, reciting curses in her head. She had to get rid of him.

  “May I help you, my lady?” She turned, startled, as a slight man slipped from the library door, shutting it behind him. Mitter. That was his name.

  “No. I was just coming in. Beautiful day out,” she spoke politely.

  “Is it? I hadn’t noticed. Working hard.” He nodded towards the library door.”

  She turned as if to leave, and paused. “Oh, Mitter, how is the work proceeding? I’d have thought you’d be done by now.”

  Mitter blushed. “Sorry to take so long. It’s just so hard to get Major Huntington to concentrate. Even when he does bother to come and help he tends to open a book and get lost in it. Can’t seem to separate work and study.”

  Rose nodded. She’d never imagined Wulf reading. He seemed too vital for such pursuits.

  “He tends to borrow the books, too. I keep finding he’s taken them to his chamber to read before bed. It’s hard to pack when he keeps slipping them away.” Mitter had lowered his voice to a whisper as if revealing a secret of some depth.

  Rose nodded again. She didn’t care what he did with the books as long as he managed to get them in the crates and himself away.

  “Thank you.” She turned to leave.

  “Excuse me, my lady, but I’ve noticed some missing maps. The several editions of the Mediterranean do not seem to be here, but I’ve seen notations indicating they should exist.”

  “Why yes, they do. Burberry chose not to keep them here. He liked them closer at hand in his last years. He dreamed he still visited far off lands and solved ancient secrets.”

  “It would be useful to look them over to understand the entire collection. I do hate gaps in information.”

  Rose shook herself. She didn’t quite understand why that was necessary for his task, but undoubtedly he was like her and simply wanted to have all the facts before laying out a plan.

  She smiled at him in understanding. It would be unfair to let her own mood affect his ability to complete his work.

  “He kept them in a folio in his chamber. I haven’t had them returned since.”

  “I understand, my lady. I’d be sure to treat them with the best care.”

  “I’ll have them fetched.” She waved farewell and continued on her way, her mind already planning what she would say to Wulf. This time she was the hound and he the fox. She was going to track down Major Huntington, and let him know just what she thought of his machinations. She would lay down a precise timeline for how long it should take him to pack up the books. Oh yes, she would.

  Where had she gotten to now? Wulf surveyed the archery field making note of Rose’s absence and Lady Clarington’s greedy eye. He’d maneuvered Rose every which way for the past week, seeking to get her alone. But since the chess game – an opportun
ity he’d wasted – it had been to no avail. Lady Rose Burberry, he drawled her name out in his mind, had a knack of avoiding him. She’d draw him to her like a moth to flame with her fluttering dresses and sweet perfume, but then she’d become the moth and flit away from him.

  Oh, it was easy enough to track her in public, she was a consummate hostess, but she vanished like the mist, whenever he sought her solitary company. He’d even tried tapping on her door the last nights, but with no answer. It was tempting to pound until he drew some response, but her previous words had enlightened him to the effect any scandal would have on Anna.

  His Anna. She was the one light in any of this. For the past week he had snuck up to see her each morning before the household had awakened, and they had made plans for later meetings each day. The one advantage of having a daughter determined to sneak from the nursery was that she knew endless hiding and meeting places. He had had to overrule her on some of them, his large frame was not going to fit beneath her mother’s bed, no matter how tempting the thought, his body burned with frustration, but as a whole they had created a secret world between them.

  He loved her more each day, the delight of her first morning smile, the brave tremor of her lips when she scraped her knee, the way she curled, boneless into his arms when he told he stories of his own childhood. He could never let her go. She was his and he meant to keep her.

  With that thought in mind, he handed off the bow and strode to the edge of the field. He had promised Anna he would meet her before tea, after which she would be swept back to the nursery for baths and dinner. If he didn’t hurry now to their promised meeting spot he would be late.

  He spotted Lady Clarington starting to pick her way across the grass and turned and aimed for the stables. He had discovered the lady in question lost speed rapidly if the hems of her skirts were endangered.

  He rounded the edge of the cobbled yard and stepped sideways back towards the main house. His daughter had showed him a lower terrace well hidden from the windows above, perfectly suited for kicking a ball.

  She was seated on the step now, her small legs kicking back and forth eagerly. He really should tell Rose how lax the nanny was. Surely it couldn’t be safe for such a small moppet to be traipsing around on her own. The lake. The archers. The horses. His mind positively spun with possibilities.

  But, how would he explain his knowledge? No, he would have to wait until after they were married. Then he would make sure he always knew where she was, where both of them were. A grin spread across his face at the thought. Yes, once he married Rose he would put everything to rights.

  He sped down the steps anxious to see his daughter smile.

  How could he dog her every step for days, and then vanish when she was ready to speak to him? She continued her earlier string of curses. Marry him, indeed. She was sure he didn’t feel the need to wed every woman he bedded.

  It was only Anna that drew him, and much as she understood his desire to know his daughter – who wouldn’t want to know and love Anna – it was not a relationship Rose could afford. She had her own life to think of.

  It was the giggle she noticed first. She couldn’t remember when Anna had sounded so happy. While always good tempered, she had been showing a tendency to develop into a somber if stubborn child. Nanny must have found some knew game or toy to delight her. Perhaps they had stolen the kittens from the stables.

  She rounded the corner of the house heading for Anna’s secret terrace. From the time she had first discovered it, her daughter had been drawn to the hidden nook, treating it as her private abode.

  The deep, more pronounced laughter stopped her in her tracks. No. He couldn’t be there. He hadn’t even spoken to Anna, much less played with her. She would not believe he had genuine interest in Anna.

  “Do it again. I want to gallop.” Her daughter’s cry startled her from thoughts and she crept forward to peek around the house and down the stairs.

  Wulf sat on the thick stone rail extending around the terrace, his long legs bent in front of him. Anna sat splayed across his knees demonstrating her best equestrian seat. She screamed with glee as he bounced her roughly up and down, her face grinning out her heart’s delight. Suddenly, he opened his legs, catching Anna as she fell between them. The squeal grew louder as Wulf pulled her up and caught her to his chest. He lay back along the wall, her daughter reclining in complete limpness upon his breast.

  Rose’s own knees went limp and she slid down the side of the house, to crouch leaning against the wall. She could not control her own shaking. This was exactly the picture she always imagined when she dreamed of finding a father for her daughter. She might pretend practicality, but it was this she had dreamed, her daughter firm against a man’s broad chest, an invisible bond tying them together.

  She should be happy, before her was the proof that she was right to seek a father for Anna, that her daughter needed the love of a man. But, this particular love could never be. Wulf was everything she must avoid in a husband. He would never let her be her own woman. His every inch exclaimed his desire to be in control, his every confidence in his own abilities. He would never trust her abilities above his own.

  Besides, despite his demand of marriage, he would never forgive her for the past. He might burn at her touch as she melted at his, but that was not the basis for marriage.

  Marrying him would be placing herself in endless purgatory, something she would not do even for Anna. He was the one man she could not marry. Passion and parenthood were not enough.

  She took one last look at the perfection of the vision below, and rising to her feet turned and made her way back to the house. Her confrontation with Wulf would have to wait. She ignored the tears she knew were seeping down her cheeks.

  She had guests to see to. It was not the time to forge a new path, but tonight when all was quiet she would plot her way around this new obstacle.

  Wulf stood at his bedroom window, watching. Rose stood below him in the moonlight. He could not see her face, but the pale glimmer of her hair was unmistakable. Her shoulders were hunched forward in abject misery.

  Only what did she have to be miserable about? She had a houseful of men yapping like hounds at her heels, surely by the coming ball she’d have a handful of proposals. She had money and position and everything else a lady could dream of. And, she had Anna.

  No, she had no reason for unhappiness. Then why did it look like she longed to cry her eyes out? He had seen that posture before when young soldiers confronted the death of a friend and when he had been forced to pass along the news of a loved one's departing himself. There was no mistaking the curling stiffness that only unbearable pain could cause.

  It made no sense. She hadn’t shown pain at Burberry’s memorial, but then why should she? He had plenty of reason to know she was far from a loving and faithful wife.

  So why should she cry now? Her shoulders had begun to shake with such force he thought soon she’d be on her knees.

  She should be laughing with victory.

  God damn. She’d brought him to his knees – he had uttered the words he never thought to say, or at least implied them. And she had refused them without thought, denying his great need, and done her best to avoid him ever since.

  She should be exclaiming his defeat, letting the world know she’d brought another proud man low. That was how ladies behaved. Instead she stood alone, and cried out to the cold, dark garden.

  He grabbed a cover off the bed and slipped from the door. He’d solve this mystery.

  “Do you miss Burberry?”

  The soft words echoed through the silence.

  She should have felt his presence, had the time to wipe her face clean and prepare herself for confrontation. But, the question did not sound like battle.

  “Yes, more than you can imagine.”

  She answered quietly, keeping herself turned from Wulf. He must suspect her tears, but she would not let him see her ravaged soul.

  “I wouldn’t have expected tha
t.”

  “Nobody does. They all thought I married him for convenience and wealth.”

  “And didn’t you?”

  He still spoke gently, but she did not miss the underlying bitterness of the question.

  For a moment she wasn’t sure she would answer. She should just get up and stalk around him into the house. No matter the passion they had shared, he had no right to her private thoughts.

  “Yes and no.” She could barely hear her own voice.

  He moved closer until she could feel his breath enclose her.

  “I did choose him because he offered escape. I could not abide in my parent’s home any longer. The battles with my stepmother threatened to swallow me. But, from the first time I looked into his eyes, I found something I’d never seen before.”

  “Money and position.”

  Why must he always misjudge her? She bit her lip and resisted the urge to snap back. They needed to talk, not argue.

  “No, I know that most people looked at the marriage of an eighteen year-old girl to a retired admiral and assumed it was the common trade of money and station for youth and beauty. What they never understood was the deep and abiding bond between us.”

  Wulf didn’t say anything. She couldn’t fully make out his features as he stood back from the moonlight. She let her head fall back and stared up at the stars as she continued, “The first time I looked into John’s eyes, I found an acceptance and understanding that I had never experienced before. John saw to the core of me, to the shy girl wanting to try my wings, to the eager student frustrated by the boundaries of my sex, and to the woman who wanted to care for all those around me. It all sounds overly dramatic, but he simply understood me and let me be. That was worth more than all the king’s jewels could ever purchase. I would have married him if he’d been a penniless vicar and counted myself lucky.

  “I don’t know if you can imagine how closed the world can be for a girl. I’d known relative freedom as a child and then my father remarried. Mary, my stepmother, did everything she could to turn me into a blank-faced little doll. Sometimes I thought I was punished just for thinking.”