The maid arrived with tea, but suddenly Rose wanted nothing to do with it. She feared anything she swallowed would only revisit her.
Standing once more, not entirely certain when she’d sat, Rose left the parlor. She walked as quickly as possible while still retaining some decorum to James’s office. Offering a perfunctory knock, she didn’t bother to wait for his answer before opening the door.
He sat behind his desk, papers spread out before him. Rose didn’t think he actually saw the papers or paid any attention to his work.
“I’d like to pay a call on Lady Octavia,” she said evenly.
She didn’t come for a fight and refused to continue their circular argument. Neither would she purposefully cause an argument over his request. If James wanted to know where she went, after breaking his trust so thoroughly, Rose would tell him.
“Digby will accompany you,” he said.
After a moment, he stood and crossed the room. James didn’t touch her, didn’t do more than watch her. The intensity of it, the still-pulsing anger in his movements, his gaze, froze her in place.
James raised his hand, but his fingers stopped a hair’s breadth from her cheek. A part of Rose died when his hand dropped to his side. The fear that shadowed his eyes terrified her.
“Keep Digby with you,” he said again, his voice strained.
She nodded. Her throat closed, and she couldn’t force words past the lump in her throat. His voice held nothing but concern, edged with fear, and he clearly wanted nothing but her safety. Mutely she nodded.
Rose stepped back and nodded again, still unable to find words. She wanted to tell him she was fine, that he needn’t worry, and, yes, that she thought he lost his mind. But all she managed was that small nod.
The carriage ride was simultaneously the longest and briefest she ever endured. Rose barely remembered entering the carriage or the ride to the Granville townhouse. At the same time, her thoughts whirled round and round over what transpired between her and James. A never-ending circle of arguments.
She had no idea if Octavia was home or if now was an acceptable time to visit a woman she’d hoped to become closer friends with. But the butler showed both she and an uncomfortably looking Digby into the parlor and only moments later escorted her to Octavia’s dressing room, where she stood for a final fitting for Isabella’s ball.
Already redressed, Octavia sat in one of the chairs. Rose walked in, suddenly nervous and unsure what to say. How much to say.
“Rose, what’s wrong?” Octavia asked and stood, quickly crossing the room. “It’s written across your face.”
The kindness in her voice, the understanding even, calmed Rose. She let the other woman guide her to the window seat and take her hands. Octavia’s hand felt warm around her cold fingers, and suddenly Rose knew she needed to speak.
“An argument with James,” she confessed.
“What did he do?” Octavia asked immediately.
The quickness of the question eased a knot within her, and for the first time since lying to James over breakfast, Rose breathed easily. She shook her head and wondered where to begin.
“I did something,” she admitted. “I spent time with my father at his townhouse, instructing a new clerk. For most women, that would be no concern to a husband.”
“But you did not tell him where you were going,” Octavia said quietly. “Did you?” The last was more a statement than question.
Rose shook her head. “I did not wish to upset him. But today he came to Father’s to discuss plans for the bazaar, and he found me there.”
Octavia stiffened in alarm. For a moment Rose thought it was over the lie, but in the next heartbeat she knew it was over James’s reaction.
“He was not pleased,” Rose admitted. “And we argued. We are likely still arguing,” she continued, “but I needed to see you. I simply do not know how to assuage his concerns.”
Rose paused, but Octavia simply watched her, not judging, just listening. That simple understanding eased another knot in her, and Rose felt some of the nausea abate.
“He’s unreasonable. He completely believes my father is a danger to me,” she continued, her voice softer with each word, each confession. “I don’t know how to convince him otherwise. I don’t want James to feel this fear.”
Octavia squeezed her hand. “James has never been an obsessed man or a controlling one,” she said. “But as long as I’ve known him, this has been his only fear.”
She paused, and Rose wondered what she thought as she gazed steadily at her. Slowly she continued, “That the woman he loved died, and he could do naught to prevent it. He once told me he was reluctant to truly fall in love, that he’d rather fall in love with a different woman every week than be reminded the woman he chose, the one he truly wanted, might meet a horrible fate.”
Rose sighed. “James believes my father, my father, would deliver a horrible fate toward me? I know it stems from his dreams. But—” She laughed, a harsh sound that hurt her throat. “Perhaps I should call them nightmares.”
She stopped again and tried to breathe, to ease the tension threatening to break her. When she spoke, it was haltingly. “How can we live our lives based on something so intangible?”
Octavia shook her head. “It’s difficult to advise you in this dilemma. But I will say perhaps James merely needs time. Your father is a grown man and can attend his own business while you tend to your marriage.”
Rose looked out the window and felt Octavia’s gaze on hers, but she couldn’t meet her friend’s eyes just yet. Lady Octavia was correct—perhaps if she gave it time, if she put James’s mind at ease and worked to rebuild the trust between them, things might be different in the future.
Yes. She could work with that. She’d do everything in her power to work with that—to rebuild her relationship with the man she loved.
Chapter Seventeen
HER LADY’S MAID, Shaw, quickly bobbed a curtsey and left. Rose watched her leave, her heart thudding heavily in her chest. She managed a small smile—it wasn’t the woman’s fault Rose was in a foul mood.
Anxious mood, perhaps—it was long past the time James normally joined her. He hadn’t dined with her, though Barrett assured her he had not left the house. She hadn’t seen him since the study when she’d told him of her wish to visit Octavia.
She’d stayed for tea with Octavia, only leaving when she could no longer put off returning home and feeling horrible Octavia may have had plans.
Without James by her side the house was far too quiet for Rose. It felt massive and empty, but she hadn’t known what to say to James. How to approach him. She didn’t want to fight, but wasn’t sure what their next step was. Where did they go from here?
Apparently, they did not share a bedroom.
Pacing the length of the room, her mind whirling, she strained her hearing for any sound of James. Was he too angry still? Would he stay away?
And how did she move him past his fear?
It was there, churning beneath the surface. She hadn’t fully appreciated it, all he’d said about his dreams and the emotion behind those words, until today, until their fight. Until his anger and fear clashed into something that made him nearly unrecognizable.
He’d always come to her rooms. Should she go to his? Take the initiative?
Rose huffed out an annoyed breath. She did not like being so uncertain. In the middle of her room, she stopped and stared at the door connecting their rooms.
With sure steps, she crossed the room and opened the door. James was not in his bedroom. Had he left? Between dinner and now, had he gone? Mayhap to his club? Or…Rose had no idea.
They’d talked of so much, but never of what James did when not working or at the club or…women. She slammed the door closed, annoyed with herself.
One fight did not mean he was with another woman, and she knew that. Deep within her she knew that was not the case. Leaning against the door, her head making a soft thud against the wood, she tried to order her th
oughts.
She missed him.
Her door opened and she looked up, surprise and hope mingling. James stood in the doorway between her bedroom and the hall. Rose’s heart skipped a beat, and she forgot how to move, could only stare at him.
He looked tired, but watched her with that same intensity as always.
“You’re here,” she managed, suddenly grateful for the door at her back.
Taking a deep breath, she pushed off it and took several steps closer, only to stop halfway to him.
“Of course I am,” he said but made no move to enter the room. “I wouldn’t abandon you.”
Rose swallowed hard and finished closing the distance to him. As soon as she moved within arm’s length, he reached out and cupped her cheek. His touch was all it took to steady her. Her heart still beat heavy in her chest, but not nearly as painfully, and it was a touch easier to breathe.
At least they were talking.
“I never thought that,” she admitted honestly. “I thought you were too angry with me to come to my rooms tonight.”
“I was angry,” he admitted, his dark gaze steady on hers. “Yes. But worry washed that away. Rose,” he continued and stopped. “I know you don’t believe this; you want to explain my sentiments away as boyhood dreams.”
He stopped again, his hand unsteadily on her cheek. His fingers dropped to her shoulder and squeezed. The touch seemed to steady him, too.
“Please indulge me in this.” His voice cracked, and she watched him swallow hard.
Her fingers brushed his cheek, his jaw, curled over his ear, and cupped the back of his head. “I’ll tell you where I go, I promise,” she whispered. “No more lies.”
She stepped closer and pressed her body to his. Not to distract him sexually, but to show him her trust. In every way she was able. “Can we settle on this as a compromise?”
Wordlessly he nodded. She accepted it, though it wasn’t the verbal agreement she wished—it was James accepting for the moment.
Rose brought her other hand up and rested it over his heart. It beat steadily under her touch, and she let the rhythm move through her.
“I don’t like seeing you so troubled,” she whispered. “I’m fine. And I was fine. And I’m here with you, now.”
Standing on her toes, she leaned closer and pulled him to her. James didn’t resist, and she touched her lips to his. Instantly he deepened the kiss, his hands pulling her closer and closer, his tongue tangling with hers.
His fingers tugged on her dressing gown and pulled it down her arms, letting it fall to the floor at her feet. Unashamed, Rose stood naked before him. Arousal pumped through her veins at his simplest touch. When he looked at her, his eyes darker than normal, it always, always made her forget propriety.
Now his broken gaze watched her. He pulled back just enough to see her, his hands warm and steady on her shoulders, along her back and down her arms, and he simply watched her. That angry fear continued to edge along his gaze, but when he looked at her like that, Rose forgot all else.
And she knew he did as well.
James stepped closer, kicked the door closed—oh, why hadn’t she realized it still stood open?—and lifted her. Whatever embarrassment she felt over being naked in the doorway vanished.
His hands gripped her upper thighs just beneath her bum, and his mouth attacked hers. He kissed her as if that was the only way to keep her to him. With him. Rose tangled her hands in his hair, deepening the kiss.
Her heart flipped and her legs locked around his waist, and all she wanted was to be closer. To feel him moving within her, to feel that connection that only came when they made love.
James set her on the bed and quickly shed his shirt and trousers. Rose leaned up on her elbows and watched him, his smooth pale skin revealed to her hungry gaze.
Tonight was not time for exploration. Frantic need beat between them—hurry, hurry.
She cupped her breast and watched his already black eyes darken further. He growled a low, hungry sound that went straight through her. She shivered and moaned his name even as she continued to tease him, and herself, fingernails scraping over her nipple.
In a blink he covered her, one hand lifting her leg and opening her to him. His teeth nipped at her lips, down her throat. Harder over her breasts, relentless. He tugged on her nipple, and all Rose managed was to dig her nails into his shoulders, her heels into his lower back and pull him closer to her.
“James,” she gasped, her hips arching into his. “James.”
“I can’t lose you, Rose,” he mumbled against her skin.
“You won’t,” she promised, her teeth sinking into his shoulder. “Never.”
His mouth continued its assault, nipping and sucking, and she was helpless to do more than arch into his touch. Beg for more.
His fingers brushed her core, throbbing and wet for him. He growled again and captured her lips, kissing her until she forgot everything but the feel of his body on hers.
“Now,” she begged, breaking the kiss to gasp for breath. “Now, James.”
His gaze caught hers, and for a single moment he stilled and watched her as he always did before he entered her. It was a single heartbeat and an eternity. Their moment. Rose fell into the gaze, into the world they created each time they made love.
With one single hard move, he thrust into her, and her orgasm splintered over her. Rose cried out, tightening her legs around him even as James moved.
No, it wasn’t gentle and easy. James pounded hard, his arms braced on the bed beside her head, eyes locked with hers. Rose hitched her legs higher on his waist, her pleasure building and building. It raced through her veins, coiled so, so tightly. So much yet not enough.
Relentless, he continued to move, breathing heavy, his eyes on hers, lost in their moment. With her nails scraping down his back, along his side, Rose reluctantly released him and touched herself. A few circles with her finger and she flew over the edge, shouting his name and clenching around him.
Still he moved, his fingers tangling in her hair as his hands cupped her head. His thrusts frantic now, he finally looked away, head thrown back, eyes closed. Rose tightened her legs around him, her fingers pressing into his back.
Her body tingled, nerves hot and alive, and she closed her eyes now, too, and simply felt. With a cry of her name, he came, body taut, muscles straining, and emptied himself in her.
Rose held him. Her toes curled into his bum, her body sung with her orgasms, and all she had the strength to do was hold him to her. His arms released their tense hold and dropped him to her. Rose simply held him closer.
She’d never known this depth of feeling. This need to protect him—even from himself.
Eventually, finally, he rolled them over, still buried in her, and held her tight.
“I love you,” she whispered into the quiet now settling around them.
Rose pressed her lips to his chest and sighed. She shifted and James slipped out, and Rose threw one leg over his—she wanted to keep him close.
“I love you, Rose,” he whispered into her hair. She felt his lips against the top of her head and his arms tighten around her. “Forever.”
She loved him so much more than she ever thought it possible. Ever thought herself capable of loving another. James’s admission eased some of the fears she carried since their rushed wedding.
But she still needed to be gentle with him and his unnatural reaction to any mention of her father. For now she let his words, and the very real emotion behind his admission, settle around her heart.
Perfectly happy and utterly content, she closed her eyes and fell asleep.
The banging on the door startled her awake. Her eyes opened, blurry in the darkened room, and she tried to understand what was happening. The banging continued, loud and insistent. Beneath her, James stirred.
He kissed her forehead even as he slipped from bed. Rose stretched and watched him walk, naked, across the room. He had a fantastic bum. From the floor he snagged his shi
rt and slipped it over his head. It fell just below his bum, covering her view. Pity.
“What?” James demanded and yanked open the door. “Why are you disturbing us at such an hour?”
“Pardon me, sir,” Barrett said from the door. “A messenger arrived but moments ago with a missive regarding Mrs. Hamilton’s father.”
Rose stiffened in bed. She knew Barrett couldn’t see her; James kept the door strategically opened. Her fingers numb, she tugged the bedclothes against her chest nonetheless.
“Mr. Kendrick has been injured in an accident this morning and wishes Mrs. Hamilton to urgently join him in his townhouse.”
Stunned, Rose looked to James. He looked over his shoulder and met her gaze—he didn’t look pleased, but she didn’t care.
“Thank you, Barrett,” James said, still looking at her.
He closed the door even as Rose rushed from the bed. Not looking at him, she went to her dressing room. Fingers shaking, she scrambled for a chemise. She needed to call Shaw to help her dress.
“Rose,” James said quietly from the doorway.
She stopped and looked at him. Holding the chemise to her chest, she only stared. Rose didn’t know what to do or say. Not after their fight—was it only yesterday?
“I don’t want you to go to him,” James said.
“You cannot object now!” she said, stunned. “He’s been injured; I don’t know what condition he’s in.”
His steady look told her everything—he didn’t care. Very evenly he said, “I won’t have you go to him.”
He stepped into the room, arms loose at his sides but shoulders tense. “I’ll send Digby to inquire after his condition.”
“No!” she shouted. “I won’t send a servant to tend to my father.”
James nodded. “Then I will go myself.” He closed the distance between them and took her hands. Very calmly and very clearly he added, “Stay here, Rose.”
Stunned, furious, and at a complete loss as to what just happened, Rose watched him leave.
Improper Wedding: Scandalous Encounters Page 13
