by Kelly Bowen
“It was.” Her fingers twisted. “Thank you, Dawes. For doing that. For protecting Charlie. For protecting my brother and Rachel.”
“It’s not enough.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Your brother and Miss Swift—they do something that matters. They make a difference.”
“They are very good at what they do, yes,” Rose agreed slowly, unsure where he was taking this conversation.
The earl continued to stare out the window. “I’ve never, until now, considered what drove me to collect art the way I did.” He put a hand on the window casing and leaned forward, his face a blurry reflection in the glass. “Those artists left something behind. They created something bigger and better than they were as mere individuals. I envy them that.”
Rose listened.
“How did I get here?” Eli mumbled, more to himself than her.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Your brother spit in society’s eye when he became a physician. Miss Swift will do the same. Defied everyone and risked censure and ridicule to do something that matters. My entire life, I have had nothing but opportunity and means to do something worthwhile. And I haven’t. It’s unacceptable.”
Rose frowned. “Some might consider fighting for your country worthwhile. Brave. Honorable.”
He fell silent again. “Do I have a carriage here?” he asked suddenly.
Rose studied his profile. “Yes.”
“Good. I’m going to need it.”
“Where, may I ask, are you planning to go?”
“We are going out.”
“We?”
“Yes.”
“Is that an order or an invitation, my lord?”
Eli pushed himself away from the window and turned to look at her. “An invitation.”
Rose sniffed. “I have no idea how you managed to enchant as many women as you did, Dawes. You have the finesse of a Smithfield boar. Or was that part of your charm?”
He smiled slightly, a subtle curve to his lips. “Part of my charm, I’m sure.”
Rose shook her head. “Very well, then. I accept your invitation. Where are we going?”
“I’m not entirely sure yet,” he told her.
“Do I need to pack a trunk? A cloak? A parasol? A pistol?”
“A lunch.”
“What?”
“Pack a lunch. Enough for three.”
“I was jesting, Dawes.”
“I wasn’t.”
“Who are we meeting?”
“I’m not entirely sure of that either.”
“Is this you trying to be a mysterious rogue?”
“This is me trying to be a decent human being.” His smile had long since faded, and it had been replaced by a troubled look.
“Very well,” Rose said quietly. “I’ll see to it. Shall I meet you outside?”
“Please. I have a few things I need to attend to before we go.”
“Of course.” She held his gaze for a moment longer, the light coming in from the window touching his hair with gold where it fell over the ruined side of his face. Standing there, in the light as he was, he reminded her of the charismatic, impossibly handsome scoundrel he had once been. Except that scoundrel was gone, replaced by a solemn, impossibly handsome man who had just chased an army captain away to protect a boy he hardly knew.
Impulsively Rose put her hands against his chest and went up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek.
Too late, she realized her mistake. Too late, she felt the heat beneath her palms, the rhythm of his heart under the thin layer of linen. Too late, she heard the sharp intake of his breath in her ear. Her lips had only just grazed his skin when she felt his own hands come up to cradle her face, preventing her from withdrawing.
She stood there like that for a timeless moment, motionless, her mouth a whisper away from his. He would release her, she knew, if she struggled. If she braced herself against his chest and pulled away, he would let her go. It would be the smart thing to do.
But she did not want him to let her go.
Something had changed, shifted between them. What he had started on that beach, what he had promised in the hall outside her studio, had suddenly been placed in her power. She had told him that he was a friend. That despite everything, or perhaps because of everything, their friendship had survived. Been tested by betrayal. Strengthened by truth.
What she was considering now was far more complicated than friendship. It was a dangerous foray into the unknown with a man whose ultimate ambitions were just as unclear. If she did this, she didn’t know what he would become to her. Or she to him. But right now she was having a hard time concentrating on any of that.
Because she wanted to taste him. Wanted to know what all that muscle and heat would feel like beneath her hands and her lips. Wanted to explore every inch of him. Her hands slid up and over his shoulders, her fingers tangling themselves in the thick blond hair at the base of his skull. The movement pulled her closer to him, the distance between them evaporating as her breasts pressed against his chest, her legs tangling between his. He didn’t move, letting her decide exactly what would happen next.
Very slowly she tipped her head, brushing her lips against the corner of his mouth. Softly, as when he had kissed her for the very first time. She moved fractionally, this time catching his lower lip ever so gently with hers. Still he remained motionless, though she could feel the rapid rise and fall of his chest against hers, that slight friction against her breasts making desire rise, hard and fast. She wondered if he would take her here, in this drawing room, if she asked him to. Up against the windows facing the empty lawns, buried deep inside her, her legs locked around his waist. Two people surrendering to a riptide of physical attraction and letting it carry them away.
But for how long? How long before he went back to London and Rose simply joined the ranks of women who had had Eli Dawes? Who had used him to fill a lonely space in their lives for a time and moved on?
She didn’t want to move on. She didn’t want their future encounters to be distant and awkwardly polite, the way lovers became when they were no longer intimate. She didn’t want to lose this friendship that was still so raw and imperfect, but no less precious for it. Yes, she wanted him desperately. So desperately that she ached and throbbed everywhere. The need for him to touch her, to take her, was devastating and intense, and every second of her restraint was an exercise in torture.
But she wanted a friend more.
She pulled back from him, and he released her. His eyes were heated, his breathing labored. “Rose,” he whispered.
“I can’t do this. I can’t lose you,” she said.
“What? I’m not going anywhere.”
“You will.” He would claim his title and rightful place in London, that she was sure of. And she could not go with him.
“No.” The earl was shaking his head.
“We should go,” she whispered unevenly before he said anything else. Before he did anything else that would test her precarious resolve.
He let out a heavy breath. “If that’s what you wish.”
Chapter 11
The equipage that came with Avondale was well maintained and well sprung, the team a handsome pair of matched bays, and the coachman who waited for him capable and efficient. Rose was already waiting for him inside, a basket of food at her feet. Eli climbed in, closed the door, and settled against the impeccably tidy interior across from her. She met his gaze, offered him something that looked like a self-conscious smile, and then averted her eyes.
Eli’s body still hummed with the sexual tension that had crashed around them like a tidal wave. It had been a good ten minutes after she had left him in that drawing room before he had been able to compose himself enough to follow. Nothing he had ever experienced could have prepared him for the torrent of primal need that had nearly eviscerated him. And Rose had barely touched him.
The way she had looked at him, the way she had caught his lips with hers, had le
ft no doubt that she felt it too. It had taken everything in his power not to haul her against him and pin her against the nearest wall. Kiss her until she couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. But he hadn’t. He had let her decide what she wanted. And she had withdrawn, for reasons that he still didn’t understand.
“Do you regret kissing me?” he asked bluntly.
Her gaze snapped back to his, a fetching blush rising fast and furiously in her cheeks. Bloody hell, she was beautiful.
“You asked me that once,” he said at her continued silence. “And I answered you honestly. Or as honestly as I could at the time, I suppose. You will not insult me if you say yes, but I insist you answer me with the same honesty.”
Rose gazed at him. He couldn’t tell what she was thinking. “No,” she said after a heartbeat. “I don’t regret it.”
“Then why did you stop?”
Rose looked away.
“You don’t get to do that,” he said.
“What?”
“Avoid my questions. Because friends discuss difficult things. That’s something else you told me.”
Her eyes came back to his. “I suppose I did.”
Eli waited.
“I don’t want this to be complicated,” she said finally.
“This?”
“Us.” Rose ran her hands over her knees. “Don’t you think we’re already complicated enough, without us losing our heads?”
Eli sat back with a thump. Losing their heads? Is that what she thought that this intense physical temptation was that rose instantly every time they were together? Something no better than some adolescent adventure or a drunken night of casual bed sport? He frowned fiercely. There was nothing casual about what he felt for Rose Hayward. If he lost his head around her, it was because he had long ago lost something far more terrifying. Like his heart.
“As strange as it sounds, in some ways you know me better than anyone,” Rose said quietly. “You hold some of my deepest secrets.”
“Rose, I’d never betray that trust.”
“I know.” She gave him a small, almost sad smile. “And that is why I stopped. Your friendship is worth more than a few moments of pleasure.”
Eli realized he was still frowning and forced his face to relax. He had no idea what to say, because no woman had ever valued his friendship. All had prized his title and his fortune, some those few moments of pleasure that Rose spoke of, but none had professed to be his friend. “You don’t imagine we could be lovers as well as friends?”
She didn’t look away. “Do you?”
Yes, he wanted to shout. Because he wanted all of her. He had wanted all of her since the very first moment he had met her. Since the very first time he had waltzed with her. Argued with her. Laughed with her.
But she hadn’t been his then, and he couldn’t force her to be his now. But nor would he retreat the way he’d done before. He would not let her go. But he would respect her wishes. For now.
“The things I imagine about you and me keep me awake at night, Rose,” he said in a low voice. Her cheeks flushed anew, and she squirmed, her hands pressed between her knees.
Good, he thought savagely.
“But I appreciate your honesty,” he continued. “I’d hate to think you might have spent the duration of this ride pinned to the back of your seat, afraid I’d pounce on you because you’d given me the wrong idea.”
“And what idea would that be, exactly?” she asked, and it sounded a little breathless.
“That you find me charming. At least more so than a Smithfield boar.”
Rose laughed, and Eli stared, captivated by the sound and the sight of her merriment. Once, long ago, Rose Hayward had laughed often and easily, but this was the first time he had witnessed such unguarded amusement since his return.
Eventually her laughter faded, and they sat in comfortable silence as the carriage rattled over the rutted roads. Outside, the sea disappeared and reappeared as they traversed the rolling hills, wild flowers and long grasses bent against the stiff breeze. Far below, glimpses of the chalky white cliffs stood out in stark relief against the deep blue of the water.
Rose sat back and studied him, her eyes skipping over his dusty boots and worn breeches. “Will you tell me where we are going?” she asked as the carriage turned slightly inland.
“Hougham parish,” Eli told her.
“And what, exactly, is in Hougham parish?”
“Not what. Who.”
She cocked her head.
“Mrs. Soames. And her daughters, Mildred and Margret. The girls are identical twins, by the way.”
Rose was staring at him. “How do you know that?”
“I asked Charlie.”
“I see. Lunch for three, indeed,” she murmured.
“The food is a peace offering,” he said. “In case Mrs. Soames is less than…receptive to my presence.”
“That’s why you asked me to come with you.”
“It crossed my mind. A beautiful woman is less intimidating,” he admitted. “But I would never have regretted any opportunity to spend time with you.”
She was giving him a strange look.
“What?”
“Nothing.” She shook her head slightly. “Though I’m starting to see remnants of your legendary charm.”
“It’s not charm; it’s the truth,” he said simply.
She fell silent, regarding him with the impenetrable gaze of hers that he was starting to loathe. He couldn’t tell what she was thinking.
“What is it, exactly, that you hope to accomplish here?” Rose finally asked.
“To provide Mrs. Soames with reassurance that her son is safe and well. Or as well as can be expected given the circumstances. I’d like to save a parent the grief of believing their child may be suffering. Or worse.”
“Like the grief your father endured.”
Eli felt his teeth clench. “I can’t imagine he grieved overmuch. I was an embarrassment to him.”
“You’re wrong. I think your father was proud of you.”
“Proud of me?” Eli asked roughly. “My father was outraged when I told him I was leaving. The military is for spares, not heirs, he said. He made it abundantly clear that if I disobeyed him and left, he no longer considered me his son.”
“Do you think he perhaps spoke out of anger because he was afraid that he would lose you?”
“My father wasn’t given to fits of impulsive rage. He was quite clear.”
Rose studied him. “He never truly believed you were dead,” she said quietly.
“How can you possibly know that?” he demanded.
“He told me.”
“When?”
“Harland treated your father for his gout. Often I would go with him.”
“Why on earth would you—” He stopped. “To look at my paintings.”
“At first. Not as much later. I discovered I enjoyed your father’s company. Almost as much as I enjoyed Da Vinci’s.” She offered him a soft smile.
“He never looked for me. Never hired anyone to look for me. Never did what the solicitors did.”
“I think he believed you would come back when you were ready.”
Eli slumped back and stared sightlessly out the window. “And I came back too late.”
“For some things, perhaps. But not for others.”
Another silence fell between them as the carriage rattled on. The shadow of regret and grief that followed him had suddenly become more pronounced in this carriage. The opportunities he had let slip away were staggering.
“I want Mrs. Soames to know that if she or the rest of her family require any further assistance, they may appeal to me for help,” Eli said, ending any further conversation about his father and all the regrets that surrounded that topic.
Rose sighed but did not press him. “Of course,” she said. “But know that pride may be the only thing Mrs. Soames has left. She may be unwilling to accept your help, however much she needs it.”
&n
bsp; Something in the way she said it caught his attention. He looked back at her. “You speak from experience.”
“Perhaps.” She shrugged as the carriage slowed and turned sharply before drawing to a halt altogether. It bounced slightly as the driver descended.
“Will you tell me?” he asked.
The door was suddenly opened, and a gust of wind swirled in the interior, ruffling Rose’s skirts. Eli watched Rose, but it was clear an answer to his question was not forthcoming. He stepped out and offered Rose his hand. She took it without any hesitation and joined him on the ground, then released his fingers. Eli resisted the urge to snatch her hand back in his and keep her close. Instead he took a step forward and examined his surroundings.
They were in a depression of sorts, the land sloping to the sea, the shadows of the white cliffs on one side and the open water on the other. Thick reams of marsh grass rippled in the relentless wind, and the pungent odor of decaying vegetation and brackish water was overpowering. A forlorn, forgotten place home to biting insects and brooding plovers.
And people, it seemed.
Just beyond the rutted track listed a tiny, crooked cottage, if it could be called that. It was more of a shed, really, battered by the elements, with large chinks in the walls and its thatch ragged and in poor repair. A pitiful garden had been scratched out of the dirt along one side, pieces of spindly driftwood driven into the ground as stakes. A fishing net had been draped over more stakes and spread across the yard like an abandoned spider’s web. There was no sign of anyone anywhere.
“Are they here, do you think?” Rose asked.
Eli shrugged. A movement near the back of the cottage, behind the garden, caught his eye. He stepped forward again. “Mrs. Soames?” he called.
There was no answer.
“I’m here about your son, Charlie.” He was aware Rose had moved to stand beside him. “I mean no harm,” he said loudly. “I only bring news.”
“And cake,” Rose added.
A head popped out from behind the cottage and then another. Two sets of pretty brown eyes stared out at them from small faces. A small, black, one-eyed mutt slunk from behind them and barked loudly before retreating back toward its mistresses.
