by Micki Miller
Table of Contents
Excerpt
A Scandalous Request
Copyright
Dedication
Previous Releases
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
A word about the author…
Thank you for purchasing
Also available from The Wild Rose Press, Inc. and other major retailers
“Are you all right? Did he hurt you?”
His deep voice cut through the night with the swiftness of a warrior’s sword, and though his words were kind, his tone was not. In fact, he sounded downright angry.
“Yes. I mean no. I mean…” She straightened her bent bonnet as best she could before saying, “I’m fine.” It was hardly the truth. While she suffered no more than a few bruises, her heart pounded a wild tempo against her ribs and her body shook to rattle her bones.
Lord Darington seized her then, his hands like steel bands around her upper arms. His grip was firm, angry, but not painful, though it no doubt could be should he choose to make it so. He was holding back. The man could snap her like a winter twig if he so desired.
“Have you no sense at all?” He spat. “Do you have any idea what could have happened to you out here?”
Rose tipped her head back. She wished she hadn’t. But for a slight tick, his face could have been stone, inset with glaring eyes as dark and turbulent as a tempestuous storm. Intensity radiated from his powerful physique in waves she could swear were tangible. Lord Darington wasn’t just angry. The man was furious.
A Scandalous Request
by
Micki Miller
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
A Scandalous Request
COPYRIGHT © 2018 by Micki Miller
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: [email protected]
Cover Art by Rae Monet, Inc.
The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
PO Box 708
Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708
Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com
Publishing History
First Tea Rose Edition, 2018
Print ISBN 978-1-5092-2227-8
Digital ISBN 978-1-5092-2228-5
Published in the United States of America
Dedication
To Ashley, Bill, Lila, Lawton, Keegan, and Keller. You keep love in my heart.
Previous Releases
The Marshal’s Pursuit
The Darkest Sum
Chapter 1
London, January 1812
How she wished it was not her birthday.
Rose squirmed to free herself from the lecherous grip of her sister’s husband, but Baron Piers Rutherford held tight, forcing himself against her petite frame with deliberate indecency. The excess of his soft body molded around hers, making her entrapment complete.
Panic clawed at her insides. Then Rose remembered her sister, older by twelve years, sat but a few feet away. Piers would rein in his lascivious behavior in front of his wife, wouldn’t he? Edwina’s presence, if not her protection, is what kept Rose safe in the past.
The man was shameless. He took advantage of any circumstance he could forge into an excuse to touch her, or to brush his body against hers in the dining room or the corridor when there was plenty of room to pass. And as the years ushered her into womanhood, his advances had become not only more frequent, but also bolder. This blasted birthday was but another excuse for him to put his filthy hands on her.
Finally, as an icy gust threw snow against the window, the white, lacey specs a sharp contrast to the black night, Piers loosened his grip. Rose took such a quick step back, she almost tripped.
It was no small struggle to keep her revulsion hidden. The cool temperature of the room hadn’t stopped Piers from perspiring, profusely, as was her brother-in-law’s normality. The man always carried a dose of humidity with him. It was but another accentuation to his foulness.
Rose had a powerful desire to run upstairs and into her room, tear off her now damp gown, and scrub her skin raw. Instead, she maintained her composure and took another step back.
“I can’t believe our little Rose is twenty years old! Can you, Edwina?” Piers didn’t wait for his wife to answer before continuing. “Why it seems only yesterday you were but a poor, tiny waif on our doorstep with nowhere else to go, no one else to turn to, and now look at you, all grown up!”
Piers then lunged, throwing out his blubbery arms and wrenching her in for another moist hug.
His indecent behavior was even more disturbing than the deliberate arrow to her pride. She long ago thickened her hide when he hurled those spears. She had to. Her choice was to either numb her pride or drown in her humiliation.
Neither her brother-in-law, nor her sister, ever missed an opportunity to speak of her circumstance. They often reminded her how she was indebted to them for every stitch of her simple clothing, every morsel of rationed food that made its way to her mouth.
Rose allowed herself an inward groan as she thrust herself away from her brother-in-law once more.
At her age, she really should be married and in a home of her own. She’d had several callers. One young man, Callum Overshire, even approached Piers and made a formal request to court her. Piers turned him away. It left her both aggravated at his control over her life, and relieved he’d not forced her into marriage.
Callum was a pleasant enough gentleman, but marriage to anyone, well, the thought alone could cause Rose a full shudder. The very idea of a man pawing at her as Piers did, and worse, having the right to because he was her husband, caused her stomach to roil and her head to pound. In this house, at least, was trouble she could handle.
Or rather, it had been. Of late, her sister’s husband had grown more audacious, and Eddy’s presence was becoming less of a deterrent.
Piers ran his tongue across his plump, bottom lip, gawking at Rose as if her simple, demure clothing hid nothing from his lustful eyes. Rose shot a glance toward her sister. Edwina returned her silent plea for rescue with a glare so full of hatred and blame, Rose shrank with despair.
Using one hand, as the other held an empty glass; Edwina heaved her thin body up from her favorite seat positioned close to the stingy fire. Rose lowered her eyes to the ruby cushioned chair where her sister had been sitting. The contrast between this room, the modest-sized parlor where they receive visitors, and the rooms upstairs, was extreme.
The furnishings down here, the green sofa and Edwina’s button back armchair, the two, orange floral tall backs, were all of quality and in good condition. The imitation Moorefield carpet showed not the least bit of wear and the heavy wood sideboard and tables always gleamed with fresh polish.
Their private rooms upstairs in the baron’s home, however, were ever meager and threadbare. The only bit of luxury at all was the fine, chintz drapes hanging over the windows, as they could be seen from the outside.
Almost immediately upon rising, Edwina listed to her left and it took a precarious moment to gain her balance. Experience taught Rose it was best to ignore her natural instincts and not offer help. Her sister had more pride than dignity and her temper swelled larger with each drunken tumble.
Just as Edwina steadied herself, the empty glass in her hand slipped. She tightened her grip, though, hugging the glass against her heart before it could fall.
Rose gazed at her sister, appalled at how skinny Eddy had become over the last year or so. Her bodice was loose and her slate blue gown hung askew upon her bony shoulders. Edwina’s hair, once as golden and thick as Rose’s, now gave the impression of loosely bound straw. Puffs the color of stormy skies sat in bags below her dull eyes. What had become a permanent scowl pinched the gray tinge of her face.
After following her body’s lean toward the flat-paneled sidebar, Edwina sloshed cheap brandy from the fine, crystal decanter into her glass. She tipped a long sip, and then another. Finally, she turned toward Rose and managed to focus her glossy eyes. Rose cringed as Edwina’s narrowed gaze ran a slow, condemning inspection of her from top to bottom.
“Yes. Our little Rosalind has grown into quite the thing, hasn’t she?” Each word Edwina spoke slurred into the next. A powerful coughing fit overtook her then, evoking heavy barks from deep within her chest. When it was over, Edwina shot a brittle smile to Rose and added, “Happy birthday, sister dear.”
“Thank you,” Rose murmured. She took a few steps to stand by the paltry fire that did little to keep away the chill of the night. Rose stretched her hands out hoping to catch what little heat it offered. Without guests in the house, Piers would keep the cost of warmth down to the barest minimum.
“I’ve had cook prepare a special meal for tonight,” Piers said. His happy leer bespoke his anticipation of gratitude. “With some of those sugary cakes you like so much for dessert.”
Rose mumbled another quiet thank you without turning from the fire. Piers had walked up behind her and she did not want to give him a chance at another lewd show of affection. Her imagination provided a moment of entertainment while she stared at the andirons. In the privacy of her mind, she hefted one of them, spun around in a trail of sparks, and shoved the heavy piece into his bloated belly.
Rose suppressed a smile at the image, and then lost it altogether when his sour breath wafted over her shoulder and across her face.
“Tomorrow we shall take a nice stroll in the park, as I was otherwise occupied today and unable to take you on an outing for your special day. I know how you love the outdoors.”
“That’s not necessary,” Rose said, slipping away from Piers, and the small bit of warmth the fire provided. “I understand you’re a busy man. Besides, tomorrow I’m working with Lord Sennett on the Foundling Project. He’s had some wonderful ideas to raise money for the cause. We’ll be quite busy the entire day.”
“Just you and the Viscount Sennett, working alone together?” Piers said. His tone darkened and the joviality drained from his voice. “That’s highly improper, my dear. I’m afraid I can’t allow it.”
“Of course we won’t be alone,” Rose responded, spinning around to face him. “Lady Emory will be there, as well as Lady Brimsford.”
After an interminable pause, Piers said, “It seems the viscount has gathered quite the little brood of hens all for himself.”
Rose bristled at the insinuation leveled at her good friend and didn’t hesitate to come to his defense. “Lord Sennett’s intensions are nothing if not noble, I assure you.”
“My dear, you are much too innocent to understand a man’s intentions.”
Not so innocent. Not since you set out to grope me at every possible opportunity.
The words were on the tip of her tongue. Her well-honed sense of preservation kept them there. She forced a reasonable tone and said, “He’s been a great asset to the cause, both with his money and with his influence. Ashton is a very kind and generous man.”
“Ashton, is it?”
Rose winced inwardly at her slip, knowing it was impossible for Piers to understand a pure friendship, free of clandestine motives. “We’ve become good friends. Nothing more.”
The baron’s steady gaze held still on her for a long time before he said, “You will remain here tomorrow.”
“I told you, Lord Sennett and I won’t be alone. Lady—”
“Yes, you told me. They are married women, not innocent young chits like yourself. It would be nothing at all for Lord Sennett to corner you alone and take advantage of you.”
“He would never do such a thing,” Rose said, her temper rising. Unable to keep the jab from her tone, she added, “Lord Sennett is a true gentleman.”
Though she could tell Piers caught her intent by the way his eyes hardened, be it ever so brief, he did not give her the satisfaction of acknowledging it. “I said I forbid it.”
“Oh, let her go, Piers,” Edwina said from her place leaning against the sidebar, an unkind smile twisting her pursed lips.
Piers ignored his wife and focused his address on Rose. “The matter is closed.”
“I’m a grown woman,” Rose said, her voice escalating as she fought to keep her anger in check. The older she got, and the more troublesome her brother-in-law became, the more difficult it was to achieve such.
The work the group was doing mattered. If they could get this new foundling home built, the lives of those orphaned and abandoned children would know a vast improvement. And, on a note of pure selfishness, working on the project gave her good stretches of time to be away from the house.
In a strained, but reasonable tone, Rose said, “What we’re trying to accomplish will make a significant difference for all of those children. I’m sure you can understand the importance.”
Linking his fleshy fingers across the broad expanse of his belly, Piers said, “I’ve already said no, Rosalind. You’ll do as I tell you. Do not forget your place in this house.”
Rose’s anger and frustration came untethered from her good sense and she shouted, “You cannot confine me here as if I was your pet!”
At her insolence, Piers’ eyes flared with outrage, and then something else flashed across his face, something Rose could not define with any accuracy. A dark entity prowled in his shallow depths, incited, vile, and very, very frightening. Rose had the distinct impression she had roused a horrible beast.
Piers lowered his arms and stepped toward her, the gleam in his eyes shone bright above the tilt of his leering grin. His jaw twitched beneath heavy jowls. At his sides, his thick fingers pulsed into fists. The pace of his breath had accelerated, deepened, and she detected a slight tremble when he sucked in a gulp of air.
Rose had never been more afraid.
Before she could react and protect herself, Piers slapped her hard across the face. Her head snapped back, and she had to shuffle her feet to keep from falling. Her sister’s laughter penetrated the ringing in her ear.
Rose pressed her hand to her cheek. Her skin burned against her shaky palm. Without looking at either Edwina or Piers, she ran from the room, bolted up the stairs, and didn’t stop until she slammed her door shut. She smashed the flat of her hand against the wood panel and wished there was a lock to turn. A dozen locks would be better.
After lighting the candle sitting on the scarred table beside her bed, Rose paced through the chill of the room with furious steps. She knew every inch of the small chamber, as it had been hers since she was twelve years old, when her mother and father were lost at sea. She thought of them now. Sometimes, like tonight, she missed them so much the ache in her heart twisted fresh.
On the table beside the candle stood the golden amber pig her parents had commissioned for her twelfth birthday, two months before they died. It was a bea
utiful piece they had made just for her. As long as her flattened hand and three inches tall, she loved the way it transformed flecks of light into living versions of its own amber color.
The solid, carved pig gifted her with comfort every time she saw it, more so when she held its solid weight.
She snatched up the heavy pig and clasped it against her in a tight grip as she paced off her rage and frustration across the oval carpet so ancient it was unraveling. Outside, fat snowflakes clung to the window. Others flew by on the cold breath of winter.
In the habit of saving her precious allotment of wood for bedtime, Rose did not yet light what was in her small hearth. She was too upset to pay much notice to how chilled the room was anyway. Besides, her endless pacing was enough to keep her warm.
From the door, to her narrow bed with the rough, plank headboard. To the window, crusted with snow, and back to the door. Over and again while her mind sought possible solutions from her impossible situation.
Sometime later, when she tired and her steps slowed, a heavy breath left her, carrying off the last of her energies. She crawled upon her bed. With the amber pig still cradled in her arms, she wept while the cold wrapped around her like the dungeon of her circumstance.
****
Rose awakened to a knock at the door.
As she sat up, fully dressed atop her covers, the memory of the evening’s wretched events returned. At another knock, Rose swiveled her head toward the door. It was Edwina. Her sister was distant and unsympathetic, more so with each passing year. However, Eddy was her blood and her husband had gone too far tonight. Rose crossed the room, opened the door, and found Piers on the other side.
Before she could react, Piers said, “Rose, I’m sorry about what happened tonight.”
Rose said nothing. She wanted to believe her brother-in-law was speaking the truth, that he was sincere in his regret for striking her. She was not a greedy woman. All she’d ever wanted was a peaceful life.
“I lost my head tonight,” Piers continued, his plump hands gripping each other atop the round protrusion of his stomach as if to plea. “I promise you, it won’t ever happen again. I’ve been sitting alone downstairs for hours. I can’t go to sleep without your forgiveness. Please, Rose, say you’ll accept my apology.”
