It wasn’t as though anything too untoward happened upon their meeting, but there had been the kiss. The kisses. Robert was going to marry her, so her honor was not technically in jeopardy, but young men often fell prey to the follies of youth, and more than one duel had been fought in history because of things of far less magnitude.
Robert could find nothing in Charles’ eyes revealing any anger or thirst for vengeance.
Charles smiled. “You don’t need to look so panicked. She tells me everything. You should probably know that now. Your meeting wasn’t really your fault. Not that it was hers, either,” he rushed to add. “Just that I’m happy you met.
“My sister, I love her dearly, as I’m sure that you do yours,” Charles continued, tipping his head toward Agatha who was currently inspecting a landscape piece. Agatha with her bouncy brown curls and the air of innocence surrounding her. She was neglected by her elder brother, but at least she wasn’t beaten and neglected. “And I know her well. My sister that is, not yours,” Charles said, cutting into Robert’s thoughts. “She has had a difficult life and she doesn’t open up easily. What I’m saying is that I’m glad you met the way you did, because you got to know her for who she really is.”
The entire conversation was a bit unsettling. Gentlemen rarely spoke of their feelings with other men, and certainly not so publicly. But it was nice to know that her brother loved her so well. It made whatever was squeezing his heart release to know that someone loved her, that someone saw past her beautiful exterior to what was on the inside. It lessened the guilt for having ever loathed her.
And he did feel guilty. He had left home as a young lad, embarked for school and never looked back. He couldn’t stand his home or the knowledge that when this moment came, the moment that Lady Rosalyn was of age, that he would be forced to marry her. So he had left her here with a mother who clearly despised her and a father who beat her.
It didn’t matter that he’d believed she was a snob, a spoiled little snit. Rose wasn’t that at all. She was an innocent girl whose innocence had been stolen away in far too few years. At least she had her sister on her arm and her brother in her heart. She was being cruelly beaten, but at least she had someone.
Robert swallowed around the lump working its way into his throat.
Rose hadn’t just feared her father, though. She had feared him as well. Robert thought back to their first conversation in the stables, when she asked about Lord Brighton and how she’d heard he was a cruel master. He had all but forgotten the conversation until now. Now he couldn’t forget it because he understood it. She wasn’t merely upset that her marriage had been arranged—she was afraid of how her husband would treat her. He couldn’t quite blame her for it. Robert had made certain to avoid her at all costs, remaining far away from her, in London. She had no way of knowing what kind of man he would be. All she had was the example set by her father and the memory of the young, angry boy Robert had once been. She had a right to fear him.
But did she fear him still?
He looked to her, capturing her eyes with his. He rather thought she didn’t fear him any longer. But there was only one way to be sure, and he couldn’t put it off.
He needed to know.
“Ah, Andrew, there you are,” Charles said as a young man in a scarlet uniform approached. “Lord Brighton, have you met my dearest friend, Mr. Captain Carver?”
“I have not. Captain Carver, pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
“The pleasure is all mine, I am sure,” the young man quipped. He was a terribly handsome fellow with green eyes and hair the color of molasses, and roughly about the same age as he. And he was a charmer to be sure, Robert could see already. He was the sort that left a trail of broken hearts like breadcrumbs. Despite his dashing looks and his charming ways, he was certainly an affable gentleman, the sort who was always surrounded with friends.
It was how Robert always dreamt of being—a bit laidback, but not careless. In another life, he would have been.
He looked to Rose again. He wouldn’t change his life for anything now.
Charles broke into his thoughts. “Andrew,” he said, “may I present the Duke of Brighton.”
“Your Grace,” came on a slight bow from the young officer.
“You must be quite the accomplished soldier to have achieved Captain so young,” Robert observed.
“I do what I can,” the man replied modestly, rocking back on his heels. “Say, Lord Brighton,” he added, stroking his jaw with his thumb in thought. Then, after a short pause, that hand snapped up, pointing first to Robert and then Charles, the man’s face alight with enthusiasm. “He’s the one marrying your sister, is he not?”
The words echoed through the vaulted gallery, and Robert stiffened as a dozen heads turned in their direction, including two nearly identical blondes, whose golden hair looked ablaze in the candlelight of the rainy afternoon.
Charles’ jaw stiffened as well, and he answered quietly, “Well, um, that bit is, uh… That is to say…” Charles choked then coughed and Robert jumped in to save Charles from depriving his brain of oxygen for too long, tripping over words in an attempt to find the right ones that didn’t seem at all eager to come.
“It is not yet official. But yes, I do intend to marry Lady Rosalyn.”
“Beg your pardon. I apologize. That was most undignified of me.” Then, slapping Robert on the back, “Well congratulations in advance. We’ll have to have a stiff drink when it has become official. Yes?”
Robert nodded once in acknowledgement of the offer.
Captain Carver might be a touch overzealous and possess the kind of charm that wooed the ladies, but what he lacked was the arrogance that generally accompanied such characteristics. And that, Robert found refreshing.
“If you gentlemen will excuse me,” Robert murmured, extricating himself from the duo. It was now or never. Now, while there was a lull in the conversation. It was only a small window that was available because the young Captain seemed entirely capable of talking endlessly. And while the conversation might be both interesting and enjoyable, Robert did not feel like talking to someone of his own sex right at that precise moment.
Robert did not have it in mind to talk to anyone, no matter their gender. Save for one.
“Lady Rosalyn. Lady Isabelle,” he said, leaning over the offered hands of both women and dancing a feather-light kiss over each set of knuckles. A kiss that was hardly a breath, which was a good thing, as his breath was once again all but lost in the presence of Rose.
“I trust you ladies are enjoying the afternoon.”
“We are immensely,” Isabelle answered matching his gaze before averting it over his shoulder where the crease between her eyebrows indicated that she saw something that piqued her interest.
Robert was mentally rehearsing how to politely ask for a private moment with Rose—he was failing, of course, because there was no polite way of asking a lady to leave one’s company. Luckily, before Robert could open his mouth and make an utter ass of himself, Isabelle opened hers. “Oh, Charles has joined us for the afternoon, and his dear friend Captain Carver,” she said mildly, her voice in no way indicating her feelings. “How wonderful. I must go join their ranks before one of those awful Crombley girls decide to attach themselves to them like the leeches they are.”
“Isabelle,” Rose said, the word a warning despite the lack of emotion in the tone.
Isabelle readily drained her face of the scowl she had momentarily bestowed upon the two Crombley sisters. It was an incredible talent, that, and incredibly frightening to be able to erase all evidence of the emotion so quickly. The two sisters were so much alike in that way as well. Robert didn’t like it. Not that he didn’t like that they were so alike, merely that he wanted to see their emotions. Not merely for his sake, but for theirs.
They were trapped inside of themselves—no doubt forced to be by their parents. He wanted them out in the open. He wanted them to feel their emotions as everyone else, not s
tuff them down.
Why not begin now? Why not help break them out of the shells that so thoroughly hid them? Why not allow them their fun and jibes?
“And you think that the Crombley sisters’ advances will be deterred by you? I think you misjudge their determination in landing rich husbands.”
His words were meant to goad and they worked marvelously. Isabelle instantly shot out from behind her protective shield with, “Oh, no. I might be their best hope! You see,” she added, leaning in and raising her brows as if divulging the secret of life, “all females will inherently dislike me. I am far too pretty. As long as I am near, the ladies are generally not.”
And with a quirk of her lips she was off, gliding across the room to her brother’s side as if being carried on a cloud.
“She really isn’t vain. Though, she is truthful. And her beauty is a fact,” Rose explained, watching her sister go.
To which Robert answered, “As is yours. More so, yours.” Any gentlemen worth his salt would have said the same words, and perhaps they would have meant them—her beauty was a fact, after all—but the difference was that Robert truly meant them. He meant them as no one else could because he knew her better. He knew that Rose wasn’t just beautiful on the outside, but on the inside as well.
There wasn’t anything ugly or even just ordinary about her.
“You flatter me,” Rose replied, outwardly unmoved by his declaration.
“I merely state the facts. And I would be happy to do so until my dying breath,” he added, whispering into her ear. And then, “Is there a place where we might speak privately?”
*****
It was not a good idea.
And yet, she hadn’t said no. In fact, it was her idea entirely to flee from the group whose numbers were all engrossed in paintings, or more so in each other, and steal away to the library.
The very empty library.
Oh goodness, what had she done?
They couldn’t be here, together. Alone, together. Her reputation would be in shambles if they were caught. Forget that, her sisters’ reputations would be in shambles.
Still, she did not say no, did not give voice to her concerns.
Instead, she walked slowly backward until her back came to a stop against a bookcase, while Robert clicked the door shut.
She didn’t say no because she didn’t want to say no.
Robert turned around, his crystal blue eyes slicing into her. They were like a knife she only wanted to push deeper and deeper. She was entranced by those eyes in the worst way. Looking into those eyes, she would do anything he asked.
“I love you,” he said from the door. Then, coming closer by several steps, “I love you.” And when he just a breath away from her, not even, for she could feel his breath on her lips, “I love you.”
It wasn’t every day that a person heard those words. And certainly not twice in one day. In fact, she never did. She loved her sisters dearly and she had no doubt that they each loved her in return, but it wasn’t something they spoke of, it was just known. She didn’t realize just how much she had longed to hear them.
They were the words she’d never expected to hear, and certainly never expected to hear from him. She didn’t expect to care either. But she did care. And she was just now realizing that she always had.
Rose loved him, and he loved her, and life was perfect.
The tears spilled over her lower lids and down her face.
He kissed her then. It started out light and gentle as before, but then it deepened and Rose once again felt like she was drowning. She was in the middle of the sea and she was sinking to the bottom, a lead anchor chained about her ankles. And yet, it was an anchor she had no desire to remove. She had no desire to come up for air.
If this was drowning, she didn’t care. She would rather die a thousand excruciating deaths than not have this moment.
Robert kissed her with vigor, his hands around her back and drifting over her chest, into her hair, even down around to her bottom. Rose was surprised, when he finally pulled back, panting, to find that her own hands were tangled in his dark waves and not loosening despite the distance he was attempting to conjure between them.
She didn’t want to let him go. She didn’t want to let the moment pass.
Robert settled for merely distancing their lips, resting his forehead against hers, closing his eyes and taking deep breaths of her through his nose. His heart was racing against her chest. He took a staggering breath, and said, “I love you, Rose.”
“I love you, too, Robert,” she said quietly, testing out the words on her lips. “I’ve never been this happy,” she added, her lips turning up in a hint of a hesitant smile.
Rose was so happy that it hurt. Not only had this been entirely sudden and unexpected, but it was unfamiliar. Joy wasn’t an emotion she felt. No emotions were. Emotions were a liability when your parents ruled with iron fists. Or boots, as the case may be.
Now that she had it, now that she knew the joy she had been missing, it hurt because she didn’t know how to feel it. She wanted to smile and laugh and cry, and throw herself into the wind and sing. But she couldn’t do it.
She didn’t know how to be happy, and how saddening was that?
What kind of a person didn’t know how to be happy?
Robert took one of her gloved hands in his and untangled their bodies, leading her further into the library, turned grey by the rain outside the floor-to-ceiling windows that lined an entire wall. He led her to stand in front of those windows, never breaking contact with her hand.
“I never used to like the rain,” he whispered. “I despised it, but I don’t anymore.”
“Why not?” Rose queried, intrigued by his sudden admission.
“It’s dreary and depressing and grey. Now I realize that I couldn’t live without it. There are so many beautiful places in this world that I will never get to see. From beaches and oceans and cities and continents and jungles. But all of it would pale in comparison to this.”
“I’m not so sure about that,” Rose murmured, but he heard her, his hand tightening just barely around hers, telling her as much.
“Do you know why I love the rain now?” he asked from behind her. “It’s because of you. To me, you are the rain.”
Rose couldn’t help the straightening of her spine, or the stiffening of her muscles, or her hand that attempted to snatch itself free of his grasp of its own volition. “What?” she croaked, hoping that she had heard him wrong. Or, in the very least, misunderstood what he’d said.
Dreary and depressing?
Robert moved to stand in front of her, blocking the pane of glass where, on the other side, rain drops fell to the ground. “Rain is essential. The rain cleanses and provides nourishment. It is just as necessary as the sun and soil for growing plants, but it’s underappreciated. You are essential, in that, I cannot live without you. You’ve cleansed my soul, nourished my body. And I love you.”
Rose melted at the words and the truth in them. “That was, by far, the most beautiful thing anyone has ever said to me,” Rose whispered. And it was.
To Robert, she wasn’t just the dreary rain that dampened everyone’s spirits. She was what kept him alive. Just as he was keeping her alive—both figuratively and literally.
“It’s the truth,” he said, sliding an arm around her waist and pulling her tightly against him.
Rose gasped into his mouth which found itself caught up in hers. But it wasn’t brought on by shock or passion. No, as her torso pressed firmly against his, she couldn’t ignore the agonizing tenderness there.
Robert immediately released her, practically jumping backwards. “Rose, what is it? What is wrong?” he asked, all concern.
Rose waved a hand at him. The pain was a blow that had stolen her breath.
His hands came to her side gently as her breathing restored. “Tell me what happened,” he asked gently. She heard the question he didn’t voice.
“It’s nothing,” she lied, no
t able to meet his eyes. “I fell from a horse, remember?”
“I don’t believe you,” he said slowly, quietly. “It was your father, wasn’t it?”
She shook her head against the accusation. “I don’t know what you mean,” she lied again.
“Rose, you can tell me. I love you and I will protect you. I’m not going anywhere. Let me protect you.” His warm palms cupped her cheeks, his fingers threading up into the hair at her temples, brushing over bruise and scar.
“Did your father hurt you?”
Rose remained silent. She didn’t think that she would say anything, didn’t think she would answer. It wasn’t the sort of thing one talked about—she certainly never had. To admit what happened, admit how horribly her papa had treated her over the years, it somehow made it real, worse. But she did find herself answering. “It’s always his boots, and it’s always someplace where no one will see. These aren’t my first broken ribs.”
“They will be your last,” Robert answered her fervently.
And staring into those clear eyes of crisp blue that were clarity incarnate, she believed him.
Robert would protect her. He would never let her be hurt again.
And for a moment—just a moment—Rose began to believe that sometimes fairytales really did come true.
Chapter 20
Rose woke up the next morning feeling sleepy and wonderful. Yesterday had been, simply put, the best day of her life.
Robert loved her. He had sworn to protect her. She couldn’t imagine anything greater.
Rose knew that she shouldn’t have allowed him such advances as she had in the library, but in her heart she wanted him so badly that she could not resist. She may not know how to show her joy, but she certainly knew passion.
Passion was a flame that had been sparked to life by Robert, and with each passing moment it only grew more ferocious.
She had no time to relish in the blissfulness of love—and its many accompanying emotions—as she was being summoned to her parents’ private sitting room nearly as soon as she had woken.
Rose by Another Name (The Blythe Series Book 1) Page 24
