by Kelly Bowen
“Just answer the question.”
“This is absurd.”
“In all the time I’ve known you, I’ve never pretended ignorance simply because I was afraid to oppose you or because popular opinion stated that, as a woman, I couldn’t possibly hope to understand.”
“You can’t be serious, Rose.” Eli looked annoyed now. “To ask you to pretend ignorance—to pretend to be someone you aren’t—would be an insult to my own intelligence.”
“Most of society believes both my sister and me to be flawed because of our excessive education. I’ve been told too much knowledge makes a woman dangerous. Unpredictable. Threatening.”
“Now you really are insulting me.” The earl put his hands on the edge of the desk and leaned toward her. “Your mind, Rose, is what set you apart from any other woman I’ve ever known. Your intelligence, your abilities, your compassion, your convictions. I wouldn’t be much of a man if I couldn’t admire any of those things. If I were threatened by those things.”
He was close enough that she could see the tiny chips of color in his iris, iridescent green tempered with golden brown. The heat from his body reached her, along with the rich scent of the outdoors and whiskey. Her eyes dropped to his mouth, and for a heart-stopping moment, she almost gave in to the impulse to lean forward to taste the whiskey on his lips. Rose closed her eyes, fighting the desire that was suddenly pounding through her.
“Do it,” he demanded softly. “Kiss me.”
Her eyes snapped open to find him watching her, the same arousal reflected in his expression. Hazily she wondered whether she was that transparent or this man simply knew her too well.
“I can’t,” she managed.
“Do I threaten you?” he asked. Both of them were frozen in place, neither drawing away.
“You threaten my control.”
“Good.” His voice was rough. He leaned toward her, and his lips grazed the underside of her jaw.
Rose shuddered. “Dawes—”
“Tell me what you want, Rose.”
You, her mind hissed. You, her body begged. “I want you…” She trailed off, wondering what would happen if she left that fragment of truth as it was. “To take me to dinner.”
The earl still didn’t move. “I don’t want to take you to dinner,” he whispered, his breath hot against her neck. “I want to take you right here. On this desk. And then later, in my bed. Or yours. Probably both. And then in your studio on that sheet of crimson silk.” His lips brushed her skin again, sending currents of electricity arcing through her. “And after that, I’ll let you choose.”
Rose squeezed her eyes shut again, every nerve ending in her body on fire. How did he do this to her? How, with only words and the merest suggestion of a kiss, did he reduce her to a woman disoriented and trembling with need?
“I want you, Rose. Stay with me. Here. Tonight. Just you and me. No one else.”
“Dinner,” she gasped, opening her eyes and stumbling back. She could not kiss him. Because if she started, she would not stop. She would kiss him and kiss him and kiss him and then beg him to do everything he’d promised. She would allow him to draw her into his bed, or perhaps she would do just as he said and draw him into hers. And she would surrender to the reckless longing that filled her, abandon caution, and embrace the all-consuming desire she harbored for this man. And everything that mattered, everything that she knew she needed to do tonight—that Eli Dawes needed to do tonight—would tumble to the side, forgotten and forsaken in a landslide of lust.
“Dinner,” she repeated more firmly. “I need you to come with me to the Silver Swan.”
The heat in his expression cooled, and he shook his head. “No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I said no.”
“That’s not good enough.”
“And just what will be good enough for you?” He straightened.
“The truth.”
A muscle was twitching along the edge of his jaw. “You want the truth?”
“Yes.”
“The last time I was in a dining room was in Ostend, on my way here. And I was asked to leave because my appearance was upsetting several women.”
Rose felt her stomach fall to her toes. “That’s…inexcusable.”
“Perhaps. But it will happen again. And I refuse to allow you to be publicly ostracized and embarrassed simply because you are with me. At the very least, I can protect you from being subjected to that.”
“A gallant sentiment, Dawes, but I don’t need protecting.”
“I didn’t protect you before, when it mattered, and I won’t—”
“Save your shiny armor and white horse for something better than my sensibilities,” she said.
He scowled. “All I’m trying to say is that it’s easier for everyone if I avoid crowds. Avoid public places altogether.”
Rose, of all people, understood that feeling better than anyone. But Eli was not she. He was better. “The easy thing is rarely the right thing.” She crossed her arms over her chest to keep herself from touching him. “But you already know that. You did not hesitate this afternoon when we went out looking for Mrs. Soames.”
“Because it needed to be done,” he said, his voice tight. “It wasn’t a frivolous social call.”
“Neither is this,” Rose told him. Which was why she was insisting.
“Why does my appearance not repel you?” he asked suddenly.
Rose scoffed. “Now who’s insulting whose intelligence here, Dawes?”
He straightened, his face grim. “I’m being serious.”
“So am I. It’s just skin. A part of you, just like any other. And I have a strict policy never to measure a man’s merit on his scars.”
He stared at her, as if gauging the sincerity of her words. “Are you trying to be funny?”
“No. Pretty is as pretty does, Dawes. Your aunts know this. Harland and Clara know this, as do the young women who are here right now. And, I hope, you know this too.”
“It’s not that simple.”
Rose uncrossed her arms. “Your intelligence, your abilities, your compassion, and your convictions are what make you attractive. I wouldn’t be much of a woman if I couldn’t admire any of those things.” She turned his own words back on him. “So yes, maybe I’m asking you to prove something to me. But maybe I’m trying to prove something to you too.”
The earl gazed at her as the time stretched, the silence louder with each passing second. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking.
“Fine,” he said without warning.
“Fine?” She tried to temper the strange exhilaration that suddenly soared inside her.
“Let’s go to dinner. But not before you tell me what the hell is at the Silver Swan that is so damn important.”
“Not what,” Rose said. “Who.”
He looked down at the desk and closed one of the ledgers with a loud thump. “A man with the answers to this problem?”
Rose smiled at him. “Not a man. But a woman who will certainly appreciate one who isn’t afraid of her dangerous mind.”
* * *
The Silver Swan was located just at the edge of the busy harbor, the traffic since the end of the wars having resumed with a vengeance. Judging by the number of people coming and going and by the bustling stable yards, the inn was as popular with weary travelers as the public rooms and dining rooms were with sailors and their officers, fishermen, and locals.
The building was nothing like what Eli remembered. The dilapidated structure with its patched roof and walls had vanished under extensive repairs, and in its place stood an impeccably maintained building, the whitewashed walls turned gold in the early-evening light. Eli looked up as they climbed the wooden steps, noticing that along with the building, the signage in front had been vastly improved. A gleaming sign hung neatly on chains, a graceful swan and the inn’s name carved expertly in the wood.
“An improvement since the last time you were here?” Rose asked, her arm tucked securely into
his.
“Yes.” She was trying to distract him, he knew, just as she had on the ride here with her constant stream of conversation.
Every muscle in his body had tensed, as if that could somehow prepare him for the stares, the whispers, the looks of pity and disgust. It was humiliating, this reaction, because he should be better than this. Rose believed him to be better than this. Yet all that reasoning hadn’t made it any easier.
“Let’s go in,” he said abruptly, reaching for the heavy brass door handles.
Rose simply nodded and allowed him to hold the door for her, and they both stepped inside. Eli blinked a couple of times, allowing his vision to adjust to the sudden loss of bright sunlight and his hearing to adjust to the somewhat raucous din. They had entered the old public rooms, but gone were the paltry collection of crooked tables and broken chairs. Instead rows of tables and benches had been installed, and nearly every space was occupied by a patron. The air was laced with the aroma of baking bread and cooking meat and the unmistakable scent of ale. A long serving counter dominated one side of the room, and bowls of what looked like stew and tankards of ale were being consumed as fast as the women behind the counter could serve them. A few roughly dressed men turned as the door banged shut behind them, and Eli could feel the weight of their gazes, though after a few seconds, most simply turned back to their food and drink.
Eli’s gaze suddenly settled on a familiar face, the man’s mahogany hair pulled back in a careless queue. Harland Hayward was standing against the far wall near a narrow door, deep in conversation with several men. The baron was gesturing and speaking intently.
“Your brother is here,” he said to Rose. “Are we to join him?”
She followed his gesture in time to watch as Harland slipped through the narrow door and out into the night, his companions right behind him. “No.” Her eyes lingered on the door a moment longer. “Tonight I have someone else for you to meet. Come.” She slipped her hand into the crook of his arm again. “There is a table waiting for us in the dining room, where it’s not so loud.”
Eli allowed her to lead him through the crowds and toward a door near the back. As they stepped through, the noise faded, and Eli found himself in a dining room that would not have been out of place in any well-appointed London square. A precisely ordered collection of linen-covered tables were arranged throughout the spacious room, covered in delicate glassware and gleaming silverware. Servers who could have passed for liveried footmen circulated throughout the room, quietly and efficiently seeing to the needs of the diners.
Here officers’ uniforms and tailored coats replaced the rough homespun of the patrons in the public rooms. A number of bejeweled ladies accompanied expensively dressed gentlemen, the conversation subdued, and as Eli and Rose made their way to the empty table nearest the large window overlooking the harbor, many of the conversations stopped altogether. A portly woman in a feathered turban at the table closest to them made a sound of distress and turned her face away.
Eli ignored her and saw Rose seated before sitting opposite her. A server materialized at their table with a bottle of wine and, oddly enough, seemed oblivious to Eli’s appearance. “Good evening, Lord Rivers, Miss Hayward,” he said as he opened the bottle. “Her Ladyship is regrettably delayed, but she will be with you as soon as possible,” he continued as he expertly filled their glasses. “She asked me to convey her apologies. And she also said to tell you that the lamb tonight is exceptional.”
“Sounds lovely,” Rose replied with distraction, glancing around the room. “Does that suit, my lord?”
Eli nodded, watching her. She suddenly seemed on edge.
“Very good.” The server inclined his head in their direction, left the bottle of wine on the table, and vanished as silently as he had appeared.
Rose was still scrutinizing their fellow diners, her complexion oddly pale and her face pinched.
“Is there someone here in the dining room whom you know?” Eli asked. “Someone you need to greet?”
Her eyes snapped back to his as though he had caught her doing something untoward. “No,” she replied, sounding strangely relieved. “I know no one here. No one at all.”
Eli gazed out the window at the forest of masts that crowded the harbor. “Yet our server knew who I was. And that we were coming.”
“Yes.”
He turned back to her. “How?”
“I sent word ahead this afternoon. I wanted to ensure we had a table when we arrived.”
“Before you knew I would…ask you to dinner?”
“You were always going to ask me to dinner, Dawes.” She reached for her wineglass.
“You couldn’t know that. I might have refused. I tried to refuse.”
“And yet here we are. Because it was the right thing to do.”
He had never, in all his life, wanted to touch a woman the way he did right now. Draw her into his arms and never let go. “Your confidence in me is humbling.”
Her eyes held his for a moment. “But not misplaced.” She smiled fully at him then, as if to dispel the somber gravity of the conversation. She lifted her glass toward him. “Perhaps a toast?”
Eli’s fingers curled around his wineglass. “To what?” he asked.
“To new beginnings. And friendship that will always make difficult things less so.”
Rose was deliberately putting space between them again. Shoring up the line that separated friends and lovers. And he would let her do it—let her defer to whatever it was that was holding her back, let her keep whatever secrets she held that were preventing her from letting go and taking what she wanted. But not for much longer. Because if Eli knew nothing else, he knew that he would not let the precious gift of a second chance with Rose Hayward slip away.
“Dawes?” Rose was watching him expectantly.
He lifted his glass. “To new beginnings,” he repeated. “And friendship that will always make difficult things less so.”
She smiled at him again, her dark eyes holding his, and brought her glass to her lips. She drew in a deep breath and closed her eyes. “And to wine that isn’t English,” she sighed in clear bliss before taking a slow, deliberate sip.
Rose’s lashes swept over her fair cheeks, her lips parted, and her head fell back slightly back to expose the graceful column of her neck. She made a small sound of pleasure as the wine slid down her throat. Eli swallowed with difficulty, his own mouth dry, and brought his glass to his lips, gulping the expensive burgundy like cheap ale.
He set his empty glass down only to find Rose watching him again, a faint crease of worry marring her forehead. “What’s wrong?” she asked.
“You are so beautiful,” he blurted, before groaning inwardly at the utter insufficiency of that statement. Worse, it had been delivered with all the elegance one would expect from an awkward adolescent. He knew this was the moment when he should say something witty to put her at ease. The old Eli Dawes had had an entire repertoire of smooth, clever flattery that could be produced at a second’s notice. But all he could do was stare at the woman in the rich apricot-colored gown, her red-blond hair piled on top of her head, her dark eyes like pools of warm chocolate. The need to taste her—to devour her—was racing through his body like a scorching wildfire whipped by winds.
“Thank you,” Rose said, her voice a little unsteady and a blush staining her cheeks. “I thought perhaps you were uncomfortable here.” She glanced around, and Eli didn’t miss the suddenly averted eyes of several diners.
With a start Eli realized he had forgotten that there was anyone else in this room. “No. Not at all, actually. But my words have made you uncomfortable,” he said.
Rose bit her lip, her color still high.
“Would it help if I took off my shirt?” he teased in a low voice, unable to help himself. “Because you’ve always seemed quite comfortable with that.”
Rose threw back her head and laughed, and Eli lost his breath all over again. That had been a stupid, stupid thing to say.
Because now all he could think of was doing exactly that. And then pulling every stitch of her clothing away from her body so that he might feel her skin against his. And then—
“Good evening.”
The address yanked him back into the present, and with some horror, Eli realized that the greeting had come from a woman standing at the edge of their table. Good God, how long had she been standing there without either of them noticing? How much had she heard?
Engrained etiquette propelled him to his feet, and he found himself facing a young woman regarding him frankly. Coffee-dark hair framed her round face, and she was dressed in a fine if simple cobalt gown that matched the color of her eyes.
Across the table from him, Rose cleared her throat. “Lady Anne, allow me to present Eli Dawes, Earl of Rivers,” she said. “Lord Rivers, Lady Anne Faulkner.”
Faulkner? The Duke of Holloway’s sister?
“A pleasure, Lord Rivers,” Lady Anne said, offering him a warm smile.
“The pleasure is all mine, my lady,” Eli replied automatically, relieved that his manners were still somewhat intact, even if his wits were not.
“And I am so happy you came tonight.” Lady Anne was speaking to Rose now. “I hardly ever see you outside of Avondale. I wish you would come out more often.”
Eli watched as Rose shifted uncomfortably and a shadow of something he couldn’t quite identify passed over her face. “I come when I need to.”
Eli suppressed a frown. He felt as if he had missed something important.
“I apologize for my tardiness,” Lady Anne was now saying, somewhat ruefully. “As you can see, it’s busy tonight.” She swiped at a strand of dark hair that had fallen across her eyes.
“It is I who need to be thanking you for making time for us tonight,” Rose responded, and whatever darkness might have lurked in her expression was gone. “Even amidst the madness.”
Eli stepped forward smartly and drew out a chair for Lady Anne, comprehension dawning that this was the woman Rose had wished him to meet. Though what the sister of a duke could do to help him with the problem that was the Soames family was beyond him. As was the reason they needed to meet in a Dover dining room.
