by Becky Lower
• • •
The following afternoon, Rosemary drifted into the parlor at her parents’ home. Her mother glanced up from her embroidery, and her eyes went wide as she took in Rosemary’s appearance.
“What are you doing, dressed in such a fashion? Your divine Mr. Cooper will be here shortly for tea, and you’re dressed as if you’re about to clean the parlor.”
Rosemary brushed her hand over her navy muslin dress, over which she still had her ink-stained pinafore. She had been working all morning on her latest story. She sighed softly and returned her mother’s gaze with steady eyes.
“First of all, Mr. Cooper is not my Mr. Cooper. Second, he is far from divine. And third, I have decided it would be for the best to not see him any further, except for business. I believe he’s aware of my feelings, especially after yesterday, so I don’t expect him to show up this afternoon.”
Charlotte Fitzpatrick shook her head. “But I don’t understand. I thought things were progressing as we planned. Mabel Wentworth told me yesterday she thought she witnessed you and an unnamed gentleman exiting from the coat closet at the theatre the other evening, seeming somewhat disheveled. And you know if Mabel would relate the story to me, it’s all over town by now. I have to admit, it was a stroke of genius on your part to have an illicit kiss in a public place. But now you must marry the man before Mabel has a chance to sully your reputation. Do I need to have your father talk to Mr. Cooper?”
Rosemary’s stomach tightened, as if it was in a vise and someone just turned the lever. She had bigger things to worry about than her reputation, but Mabel Wentworth had destroyed more than one young woman’s chances at a successful marriage. Oh, dear.
She ran her hands over her hair, which she had pulled back hurriedly when she’d risen from her bed in the morning so she could write down her thoughts before they left her mind. As she touched her locks now, she realized she had unconsciously pulled them into a queue, in the same manner Henry wore his. She untied the length of ribbon she had used and shook her head, letting her hair cascade around her face. She wanted no reminders, subtle or otherwise, of the man whose touch drove her wild.
“The man unsettles me, and I’ve decided it would be for the best not to encourage him any further.”
Rosemary didn’t miss the gleam that came into her mother’s eye or the broad smile on her face.
“Even better, if the man unsettles you. It does make for a lively life together.”
Rosemary sighed again, and sat beside her mother. “You know better than most that behavior such as what I indulged in with Mr. Cooper the other evening was most unlike me. That’s what I mean about him being unsettling. I’m not a person given to such illicit thoughts and deportment. I’ve always left scandalous behaviors to Jasmine and Ginger. All I ever wanted to do is to write my books in my garret room and make a modest living from that, so that I can live a quiet, scholarly life. But every time I’m with Henry, and he kisses me, all my plans for my orderly future head out the window, and I can’t remember what it is that I truly want from life.”
Charlotte reached for her daughter’s hand. “Let me put this in terms you will understand, if I may. You know how it is when you’re writing a story and sometimes the characters take control of your story line? How you thought the story was going to unfold one way and suddenly, it veered off in a totally different direction?”
Rosemary’s eyes closed for a second. “My stories do that a lot.”
Charlotte squeezed Rosemary’s hand before she let it go. “Well, now it’s happening to your life. You’ve got a hero, a swashbuckling one, I might add, and he’s commandeering your life story. So handle it as you do when you’re writing, and follow the story line until it is totally unveiled. You know how frustrated you get when you try to force a story that has a mind of its own. So don’t fight it. Now go change your dress and fix your hair, so you’ll be a fitting heroine when your divine Mr. Cooper comes to call.”
Rosemary opened her eyes and stared at her mother. Unfortunately, she made a lot of sense. “But what if Henry turns out to be of a similar mind to his father? What if he won’t tolerate me as one of his authors because he thinks women need to be at home, raising children and whiling away their days mastering embroidery?”
She glanced down at the embroidery her mother had set aside while they talked. “Sorry, Mother.”
Charlotte picked up the hoop, which stretched the fine linen being worked on, and gave it a sharp, critical look. “I don’t think I’m whiling away my days, nor do I think it’s a waste of time to learn how to sew. Your sister Jasmine is proof of that, since she now is becoming known as a fine dress designer. But it’s not the right path for you, I’ll readily admit. Did Mr. Cooper do more in the closet than kiss you?”
Rosemary squirmed in her seat. “Well, I returned the kiss. That’s what I mean about my body betraying me. He makes me weak all over.”
“Was it the first time you’d kissed each other?”
Rosemary stood, and began to pace in front of her mother. “No, Mother, and I know what you’re going to say. He kissed me during our first fencing lesson, again in the closet, and then yesterday, when I went for my next lesson.”
“In front of Dorcas?”
“Dorcas left us alone as soon as we arrived. She, uh, wanted to do some shopping.”
“I see.” Her mother set the hoop down and stared at her daughter.
“I told him then he was being outrageous, that I would cease the fencing lessons, and that I’d be certain to have a responsible chaperone for our future outings, if there were to be any. But I’d rather not see him again except to hand over my latest novel. How can I possibly be attracted to a man who has no tolerance for women in business, despite how well he kisses?”
“You need to adjust your thoughts, my dear. His father is the small-minded pig, not Henry. You don’t yet know what Henry’s beliefs are. I told you I could chaperone you yesterday, but you thought Dorcas and you could handle things. We’ll just have to make certain that you are not alone with the man again. Especially now that Mabel is spreading the word. But there’s no need to curtail seeing Mr. Cooper, since you have admitted an attraction. Go, change your clothes, and I’ll happily sit with you two this afternoon. I have some questions of my own for the divine Mr. Cooper.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Not wanting to cause a fuss, Harry hurriedly downed his meal, eager to leave the dining hall.
“Get a wiggle on, Penelope, and finish your dinner.”
“What’s the rush, Harry?”
“Those men are getting roostered.”
Penelope glanced over at the table of men, one of whom wore an eye patch. “Oooh, they look like pirates! How exciting.”
Rosemary’s heartbeat rose when the knock sounded on the door. Although outwardly she was a model of decorum, sitting demurely in the parlor with her ankles crossed and her hands folded, she longed to assume the Parry #1 stance Henry had taught her. This meeting was going to be as much a fencing match as if they had weapons in their hands, and she had to be sharp, be on her toes. She chewed on her lower lip as she sat alone in the parlor and awaited his arrival into the room.
The butler showed Henry in, and Rosemary’s eyes locked with his for a moment. He scanned the room and got a huge smile on his face when he realized they were the only ones in the parlor with just a teacart for company. His shoulders visibly relaxed as he came forward and took her hand. If he noticed her ink-stained fingers as he bent over them, he did not acknowledge it.
“Miss Fitzpatrick, how lovely to see you again.”
“Mr. Cooper.” Rosemary could hear the stiffness in her voice, but couldn’t control it. She had no idea how this afternoon would go, so it was best to be on guard. En garde.
He took a seat opposite her, and they sat staring at each other for a few long moments. Rosemary studied his elegant face, the way his long eyelashes created shadows on his cheeks. Such lovely cheeks. Leading to an equally lovely m
outh, full of expression. She moistened her lips as she gazed at him, remembering how soft and tender his own lips were when he kissed her.
And then she mentally shook herself. She could not allow herself to fall under the spell of Henry Cooper again. Her purpose was only to advance his interest in her. She could control her feelings for him. Her resolve stiffened as the silence between them intensified. Harry Hawk and Penelope were counting on her. Until she handed Henry Cooper her completed novel, declared she was indeed the author, and they went their separate ways, she would take the helm of their relationship and steer it in the direction she wanted it to go. It could not be run off course, as so many of her stories were. Despite her mother’s encouragement not to fight it, this was real life, not one of her dime novels, and things could be orderly if she paid close enough attention.
Rosemary cleared her throat and motioned to the teacart with her hand. “Would you care for some refreshments?”
“Tea would be wonderful, thank you.” He stood when Rosemary did, and moved with her to the cart. She took a deep breath to calm herself. He was making a move, much as he did in fencing. An engagement. They were close enough to join blades and attack, so it was up to her to control the situation. French fencing terminology swirled in her mind. What had Henry called it? A prise de fer? Yes, that was it. She’d take his blade from him.
If only she could gain control of her body. Rosemary’s hand shook at his nearness, and she spilled a bit of hot tea onto her fingers. Her hand recoiled as the scorching tea turned her fingers red. Henry removed his handkerchief and wiped her fingers clean. Then he kissed each wounded digit softly. Rosemary’s heart clattered against the cage she had put it in. Not a very effective counter-attack on her part.
“Oh, how clumsy of me,” she said as she attempted to remove her hand from his. His hold on her tightened, and he leaned in, intent on pressing his advantage and finding her lips.
“Mr. Cooper, how nice to see you this afternoon.” Charlotte Fitzpatrick breezed into the room with a Cheshire Cat grin on her face.
Rosemary pulled away from him immediately, picked up the two cups of tea she had poured, and deposited them on the low table between the chairs. Her mother took up residence in the chair next to Henry. Rosemary returned to the cart, poured a third cup of tea for her mother, and then settled back onto the loveseat, her eyes on Henry. His shoulders seemed slumped now. Rosemary bit back a grin. Her mother’s plan was working. He may exude confidence when it was just the two of them, but when her mother was added to the mix, Henry Cooper became just another bumbling young man making a social call. She was going to enjoy this.
“It’s good of you to join us, Mrs. Fitzpatrick. How is Uncle Frank today?” Rosemary’s eyes raked over him. Perhaps she had misjudged his demeanor. He was still on the attack. She only hoped her mother would catch on.
“Who?” She darted a glance at Rosemary, who rolled her eyes.
“Uncle Frank is still feeling poorly, Mr. Cooper,” Rosemary replied evenly. “His health is so fragile.”
“Will he not be able to finish the book he’s working on, then?”
“He owes one more in the series to you, and he’ll not renege on his existing contract. After he finishes the contract, he may retire. We’ll see what happens.” Rosemary could barely control her outrage at his line of questioning. But at the same time, she thought this must be why he was such a master of fencing. He could lull you into thinking he’s done for, right before he took your blade. He had performed the prise de fer, not she. And had done so magnificently. She definitely could benefit from more lessons.
“Ahh,” Charlotte replied, finally understanding Henry’s question. “George’s brother, Frank.”
“Oh? I thought he was related to you, not your husband.”
Rosemary had a moment of concern for her mother, who was getting more confused by the course of the conversation. Best to stop it now.
“This is not a business meeting, Mr. Cooper, and my mother has no head for the goings on of your publishing house. Or Uncle Frank’s involvement. Are you not here for personal reasons today?”
Henry sat back in the chair and appraised Rosemary. “Forgive me. You are correct, Miss Fitzpatrick. My goal today is to sip some tea with you and your mother, and to invite you to a chamber recital on Friday evening.”
Rosemary slid her gaze from Henry to her mother. Charlotte brightened considerably. “The recital at the Mastersons?”
“Yes, that’s the one.”
“Well, Mr. Fitzpatrick and I already planned to attend the recital, so we’d be happy to accompany you and Rosemary.”
Henry relaxed back into his chair. “Good, then. It’s settled.”
“No, it is not, Mr. Cooper,” Rosemary replied. “I haven’t yet agreed to go with you.”
Henry and Charlotte exchanged glances. Then Henry locked eyes with Rosemary. “You’re correct, of course. Will you accompany me to the recital, Miss Fitzpatrick?”
Rosemary smiled demurely. “I’ll need a day to think about it. I’ll send you my answer tomorrow.”
She had learned a thing or two in their brief fencing lesson. She had deflected his attack with a parry of her own.. She could keep him off-balance, just as he could her. A little shiver of excitement ran down her spine. She did so love fencing.
• • •
Henry paced around his office, occasionally assuming a parry stance and slashing through the air with an imaginary sword. Rosemary had gotten the upper hand yesterday by making him wait for an answer on the recital. Well, she may want to play games with him, but he was ready for a riposte, an attack made immediately after her parry. She was a worthy adversary, but he was tired of these games.
He hoped she’d deliver the reply herself. If she walked through his door, he’d show her no mercy. He’d lunge at her, back her into a corner, and then kiss her until she couldn’t talk. She and her mother had driven him to the edge yesterday with genteel conversation. He had gritted his teeth as they’d chattered on about mutual acquaintances, fashion, and other inanities. He’d had enough talk. He wanted more. More of Rosemary.
Henry’s tortured mind stopped its whirlwind pace as the swishing of long skirts in the hallway captured his attention. The door handle turned, and Henry held his breath. Rosemary entered, and Henry’s heart began to race. He moved forward, ready to complete the attack his mind had been formulating. Then he noticed her mother trailing behind.
His mind screeched to a halt, along with his body. Damnation. He enjoyed Charlotte Fitzpatrick’s company, but right now all he wanted was to be alone with Rosemary. To kiss those lips until they swelled under his ministrations. To thrust and parry with her tongue much as they had done with their swords during her fencing lesson. To rip her clothing from her body and take her to his bed. He took a step back.
“Good morning, Mrs. Fitzpatrick, Miss Fitzpatrick.” He raised his imaginary sword and saluted them. The match had begun.
Charlotte was first to respond. “How nice to see you again, Mr. Cooper. We were out shopping and thought, rather than a note, we’d just pop in and deliver the news ourselves.”
Rosemary’s huge gray eyes stared a hole through him. His gaze locked with hers as Charlotte’s words buzzed in the background.
“What news have you, then?” His question was directed to Rosemary.
“Yes.” Such a simple word, yet Henry’s heart skipped a beat.
“Yes, as in you’d enjoy my company?” He had to be certain.
Rosemary’s face softened a bit as she replied, “Yes. As in I will accompany you the recital.” She pointedly hadn’t said she’d enjoy his company, yet he witnessed a flash of heat in her eyes as she stood her ground against him. He was pressing her, pushing her as if their blades were entangled. And good fencing form meant he should be following up his press with an immediate threat of his own. His mind overflowed with possibilities.
“Excellent,” he replied to Rosemary before he turned his attention to Mrs. Fitz
patrick. “Have you ever before taken a tour of the production side of a publishing house, Mrs. Fitzpatrick?”
“Well, no. But I’ve never seen the business side, either. This is my first visit.” Point One for Mrs. Fitzpatrick.
“What about the art department? Would you care to see how our covers are created?”
“Ooh, yes, that would be most enlightening! I do have a bit of talent with watercolors myself.”
“Then follow me, and I’ll have one of the art staff show you around.”
Henry was back in a flash, having deposited Mrs. Fitzpatrick with his loyal employee, Levi, and he was alone in the office with Rosemary. Finally. He had no time to waste.
She appeared nervous. Her tongue moistened her lips as she stood straight, facing him. Henry groaned as he followed her tongue’s movement, and he took a step toward her. In moments, she was backed into a corner, and Henry had an arm on either side of her, penning her in. She raised her eyes to him.
And he was lost. His hand left the wall and tangled itself into her hair. Pins went flying as he brought her lips to his and kissed her with all the passion he’d been denied for days. His tongue invaded her mouth, and hers dueled with his, thrusting and parrying in an unforgiving rhythm. His body moved against hers, and he was certain she could feel his need for her, up against her center. He pressed himself into her even more and inhaled her patchouli scent, which drove him over the edge. He moved against her, matching the pace their tongues were setting. She moaned softly, and raised her hands to undo his queue. Her hands roamed his mane of hair as she returned his kisses with as much passion as he gave to her. Her hands encircled his head, pressing him against her mouth. He couldn’t have escaped if he’d wanted to.
“My goodness, I can’t leave the two of you alone for a minute, can I?”
Rosemary gasped and Henry jumped away. Mrs. Fitzpatrick had returned to the room without either of them noticing. Henry faced Mrs. Fitzpatrick, fully expecting the wrath of a mother protecting her daughter’s innocence. Instead, she smiled, a secretive smile that confused him.
