A Scandalous Request

by Micki Miller

Her sister’s face reddened, nettled by the drawback of amending attitudes. The tide was shifting. Without the support of the crowd, Eddy might be considered sour, or even cruel. Before her rage at not being the object of sympathy could spew from her rigid lips, Piers took hold of his wife and dragged her back to blend into the gathering.

  Rose stared at her sister’s retreat. Her own anger, fresh, or perhaps enlivened from dormancy after so many years of forced restraint, bloomed hot in her belly.

  Eddy had no right or reason to treat her so. And as for herself, she was tired of turning the other cheek, of hoping and waiting for a caring sister who wasn’t coming, who, in all actuality, never even existed. Ashton had given her the beautiful, true knowledge of what it meant when another person cared for her. She couldn’t go back to expecting less from someone she cared about. She wouldn’t.

  A part of her would always feel sorry for Eddy, and she wished her sister no ill. However, Rose was finished with her childish, naïve dreams of a loving sister. She couldn’t have what didn’t exist.

  Murmurs rumbled behind them as she and Burke made their way out of the cemetery, the deliberations already begun. After but a few steps, Rose stopped sudden. She spun away from Burke’s protective hold. Then, she hurried back, skirting the other mourners without taking in their surprised faces, until she reached Ashton’s casket. There she stopped, and held still for a moment while raindrops patted on her black bonnet.

  The casket was constructed of knot-free pine. The breast plate on top was engraved with Ashton’s full name, and the date of his death. Angels in flight were engraved on either side of the script. Lewis must have arranged all of it with a funeral furnisher. Even after his horrid accusations, Rose’s heart twisted with the image of him handling all this alone.

  With the reverence of gifting royalty, she lay her lilacs upon his casket and fussed with the arrangement until she was satisfied. Rose whispered to Ashton. One last thank you for all he had done for her. One last promise to always keep him in her heart. Then, before she would break down and be called a false crier, she made haste getting back to Burke.

  A minute or two later, the carriage rolled away from the cemetery, away from Eddy and Piers, from the questioning eyes of the attendees, away from Ashton’s grave. Rain tapped on the roof and the wheels cut a watery trail through sporadic puddles. Some were big enough to splash muddy water against the side of the carriage.

  “Your Aunt Eloise?” Rose said after they exited the cemetery.

  “She’ll be arriving in a few days or so. A common cold has delayed her, but I received a note this morning saying she’s well on the mend. I should have told you, but in all honesty, with everything else happening, I forgot.”

  “Thank you for inviting her, and for placing doubt on my guilt. What you said back there, I want you to know I understand the risk to your standing if word got out your aunt has not yet arrived.”

  Burke accepted her appreciation in quietude before saying, “Your sister. She’s hell-bent on destroying you.”

  “That may be a bit strong.”

  At his raised eyebrow, Rose said, “Eddy is so unhappy with her life. I think she’s mad at me because she can’t be angry at herself for making a poor choice in husbands, or because she’s ruining herself with drink. To blame herself would only make it worse. I’m an easy target for her. Still, Burke, as awful as Eddy can be, I still can’t believe she would murder Ashton just to hurt me.”

  Burke held her gaze for a moment, saying nothing. His doubts about her sister’s innocence were wearing on her. Maybe because they’re your doubts, too.

  “So,” Rose said, needing to change the course of this discussion. “Tell me about your Aunt Eloise. I should know about my old, dear friend.”

  ****

  Rose flipped from her left side to her right, snuggling into the soft mattress, the fine linen sheets, and the warm counterpane. Except for the low crackle from the hearth, not a single sound disturbed the comfortable room. Yet sleep would not come. Her head rang with Edwina’s hatred, and her ugly words. No matter her defense of Eddy, the fear her sister may have been the one who murdered Ashton festered inside her.

  Rolling on her back, Rose stared at the play of firelight on the ceiling. She tugged the soft counterpane up around her shoulders. The physical comforts did not soothe her to sleep. In fact, her mind could not have been more awake. Perhaps some fresh air would help.

  Abandoning her hopes of drifting off, she flung away the covers, sat up, and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. After sliding her arms into her wrapper and cinching it, Rose padded barefoot down the stairs, through to the back of the dark house, out the back door and into the gardens.

  The moon, at about half, granted sufficient illumination for a walk. Her feet chilled on the paving stones. She scarce noticed. The freshness of the cool night air soothed her almost as soon as she stepped outside. She breathed in deep through her nose all the floral and greened scents of the outdoors. Yes, this is what she needed.

  Taking a different direction than when she’d walked with Burke, Rose took little more than a vague note of the rows of fragrant crab apple trees. Her mind’s scattered worries about her future, about what her sister might have done, about her feelings for Burke, hindered any real focus beyond the serenity of being outdoors.

  She should have thought of this earlier. The night air always helped her to sleep. She missed her evening walks with Ashton and Lewis. Or, sometimes just one of them, if the other had business to attend.

  Well, she could walk alone. Especially here in these gardens, lovely even with nothing more than the partial moon to light them. She needed to organize her thoughts and contend with them one at a time. Out here in the fresh air, she could do so.

  Burke believed her innocent, for the time being. Might that change? No matter how much she wanted to deny the existence of such a possibility as him reverting to his belief she was guilty, she could not. If he and the men he hired fail to unearth the real killer, if someone puts forth another piece of damning evidence against her, Burke might well reconsider his position. After all, he’d had no doubt whatsoever about her guilt before.

  She wanted to forget that day in the prison, when he lashed out at her with such hatred his words struck like fists. Would it come to the same ugliness again?

  He risked his good name to free you from the prison, and again when he defended you at Ashton’s funeral. The man is making every effort to prove your innocence. He knows you are not a killer.

  And if all Burke’s efforts do indeed catch the real killer, what happens then? She’d shared his bed while married to another man. At best, all she would ever be in his eyes is a trifle, an immoral woman to serve as a distraction from his regular routine. Then, a thought slithered into her head, so ugly it weakened her knees and she had to sit on a nearby marble bench.

  Perhaps Burke’s belief in her was not sincere. Maybe he took her from the prison to enjoy her company in his bed for a while before sending her back to her doom.

  Rose shook her head. No, a person couldn’t be so cruel. Then her sister came to mind, the hatred, and the bitterness. And Edwina was her flesh and blood. Rose wasn’t a child, and she was able to face reality. Yes, a man she hardly knew could without doubt be that cruel.

  Yet, Burke had made no advances toward her. He’d been a gentleman in all respects. And today at the funeral, he’d told a bold lie, knowing it would spread through town. If anyone suspected his aunt had not yet arrived, he would lose all credibility. No small matter for a man of his stature.

  Heaps of thoughts, many of them opposing, tumbled through her head on a caustic gale. The pitiless blizzard was enough to cost her sleep for many a night to come.

  Rose drew in a deep breath of the cool, night air, in hopes of cleansing her mind’s distractions. She caught a sweet whiff of some floral scent and thought to come out here in the daylight so she could better see the gardens around Burke’s grand estate. For now, though, she needed to get
some sleep so tomorrow she might think with a clear head.

  A rustling just beyond the nearby hedgerow drew her attention from her scattered contemplations. She rose from the bench, spun in a circle, and scanned the area. It was no doubt too late and too dark for the gardeners to be working. Perhaps Burke also had trouble sleeping and was walking in his gardens.

  “Burke? Hello? Is somebody there?”

  All was quiet, but for a few sporadic cricket chirps. Chances were, what she’d heard was some small critter not yet settled down. Rose shivered as the night’s chill bore into her. Funny, she hadn’t been bothered by the temperature until just now.

  She rubbed her hands over the thin fabric covering her arms. Her feet were cold and her head ached. It was time for her to go inside. Pivoting toward the house, she stopped sudden to listen. Did she hear something again? She was about to scold her imagination when another sound drew her attention.

  It came from behind her.

  Her heart sped and her scalp tightened. Whatever made the noise was too big to be a squirrel or some such critter. Before she could turn around to see what it was, something hard struck the side of her head, and the world went black.

  Chapter 17

  Burke flung back the counterpane and sprung from his bed. From a nearby chair, he snatched up his dressing gown and stuffed in his arms. He was pacing before he even finished tying the roped belt.

  He’d spent the last several hours laying there, failing to settle his mind and fall asleep. Granted, the investigation into Ashton’s murder had only just begun, but Rose’s freedom, her very life, depended on his ability to find who had murdered her husband.

  He’d hired every available thief-taker in London, offering a hefty wage as well as a reward so generous, the men were falling over each other to get to work. He would find the assassin, Burke vowed. He had to.

  Other thoughts also kept him from sleep, far less honorable thoughts.

  Rose slept but a few rooms away, soft and warm in her bed. Every moment of their one night together played in his head; her unique, woman’s scent, the feminine sounds he drew from her, the way his entire body, his every sense, reacted to hers. Having Rose in his bed had been like imbibing a heady intoxicant, floating him to an earthbound heaven.

  He desired her again. No, not again, still. For his want of her had never ceased. His hunger for Rose encompassed him whole. It gripped him from the top of his brain to the soles of his restless feet. The memory of her curious hand upon his skin set him a quiver, as if his body could relive that night for sheer want of it.

  If he went to her now, would she welcome him? No. How could she? She’d accepted his apology. It was better than he had a right to expect. Yet, he wanted more. He wanted what he’d been too obstinate to accept. He wanted the trust she’d once given freely.

  Remembering how he’d spoken to her that night in her prison cell, he doubted she would ever give him her trust again.

  In her place, he would never forgive such a betrayal.

  Burke paced his dark chamber in agitation, as that last was the most disturbing thought so far. What he had thrown away in his hasty belief of the worst, what he had treated with unheeded callousness, was the most precious thing he had ever experienced. It killed him to know he would never again see the unspoiled trust in her eyes when she looked at him.

  What had he done?

  Rose was so full of passion, so open with her feelings, giving herself to him as she had no other man. Yes, he’d yearned for her then, and yes, he yearned for her still. For Rose had lodged herself not just in his head, but also well within the protective folds of his heart.

  In a rush so sudden he almost tripped, revelations assailed Burke like hurled bricks. All he believed he did not want he wanted with raw desperation, a wife, a house full of children, heirs to carry on his name and title. His vengeance against his parents to let the earldom die with him hurt no one but himself. They weren’t here to care.

  He was here, though. Rose was here.

  He could make the choice to live alone with his bitterness, or with the enrichments of a true family. It was possible. Enough good existed in this world to make it so. Because of Rose, he understood all this now.

  But was it too late?

  Her nature was better than his was. Perhaps the scope of her forgiveness was also superior.

  Burke’s eyes shifted toward the double doors of his bedchamber. Perhaps Rose was also awake. Dare he hope she thought of him, too?

  Burke crossed the room and his hand gripped the silver doorknob before he stopped himself. He dragged the flat of both hands against the door in an outward spread, resting his forehead between them against the cool wood.

  He had no right to go to her now, not at this late hour. Besides, she needed to sleep. Rose hadn’t had a proper night’s rest since her husband was killed. She’d lost weight, telling smudges lay dark beneath her eyes, and the events of these past days, the murder, her incarceration, had diminished her light. And even if all was well with Rose, he still had no right, not when he’d said such terrible things to her that day in her cell. After she’d given him her innocence.

  Burke swung around, putting his back to the door before temptation overwhelmed what decency he had left. Still fighting her lure, he paced to the window where he stared into the night.

  Movement below caught his eye. For a moment, he thought he saw a spirit floating about his gardens. Then he realized the figure in flowing white catching the moonlight was Rose. Apparently, she too could not sleep. He knew she enjoyed walking outdoors. Perhaps a late-night stroll was a good idea for him, too. More so since Rose was out there.

  However, Burke did not move. He stayed before the pane of glass, apprehensive about tempting himself so, alone with her late at night, and mesmerized by the enchanting vision she presented.

  Rose swiveled around, her white wrapper floating about her legs in an ethereal swirl. He caught a glimpse of elegant bare feet, slender ankles, and a quick flash of her well-shaped calf. The sight could make one believe her a fairy princess come to sprinkle magic in his garden. Then Burke’s wistful smile tightened into a frown. The night was chilly. Her feet were bare, and the thin wrapper she wore was not enough for warmth.

  He tossed aside his dressing gown and got into his trousers and a shirt, buttoning his shirt as he strode down the hall. At the bottom of the stairs, he grabbed his coat from the rack and carried it through the house and out the back door.

  Burke made his way along the paving stones at a slow pace, as he did not want to startle her.

  “Rose,” he called out in a low voice to notify her of his approach. She did not answer.

  He continued on the curved path, rounding a tall hedgerow.

  He raised his voice a bit. “Rose?”

  A heavy clatter echoed from somewhere down the walking path. Burke picked up his pace. Around a curved marked by a square-cut bush, something lay on the paving stones. When he got to it, he stopped, staring with curiosity. A shovel laid across the path.

  His gardeners were meticulous in their care. They did not leave their tools lying about where someone might trip over them. Had Rose been using it? Many ladies enjoyed gardening, and she did have a fondness for the outdoors, but digging in the garden this time of night?

  When he picked up the tool to set it aside lest someone fall over it, a wet shine on the shovelhead caught his eye. He touched it with a fingertip. Even in the low light of the moon, Burke could tell it was blood. Its crimson color sat warm upon his finger.

  “Rose!” he shouted, dropping his coat and flinging the shovel aside as he ran down the path. “Rose!”

  Burke found her lying motionless on the ground, blood running from her head. He scooped her up into his arms and ran inside the house. Timmons must have heard him shouting, because when Burke carried Rose through the hall, the sleepy-eyed butler was cinching his robe.

  “Sir, what’s happened?”

  “Timmons, send for the doctor, now!”
>
  Burke whisked her up the stairs, kicked open Rose’s door and carried her to the bed. He no sooner laid her down when Cora bustled into the room. “What’s going on here? What’s happened to my lady?”

  “She’s been attacked. Get some water and clean cloths.”

  Within minutes, the maid had everything he needed on the night table beside several lit candles and Rose’s amber pig. Burke dipped a cloth into the bowl of water and with a most gentle touch, cleansed the wound. Rose groaned, but did not open her eyes.

  Cora stood beside him, wringing her hands. “Is she going to be all right, milord?”

  “I think so,” Burke answered, with more hope than knowledge.

  Cora made a quick inspection of Rose. The maid then dragged the covers over her and tucked them around her. “Who would do such a thing?” she said, fussing a bit more, the worry in her voice unmistakable.

  “I don’t know,” answered Burke through an angry grimace. “But I have an idea. Cora, send a footman for the constable.”

  “At this hour?” At his sharp glare, she replied, “Yes, milord.”

  ****

  Rose opened her eyes for less than a second before squeezing them closed again. The soft light from the candles beside her bed shone inordinately bright. She heard a groan, and it sounded as if it came from her, but her head swam with pain and confusion so it was hard to tell.

  “Easy, Rose. Don’t try to move.”

  “Burke?”

  “The doctor just left. You’ve taken a bad blow to the head, but you’re going to be just fine.”

  She lifted a hand and felt the bandage wrapped around her head. The room around her tipped one way, and then the other, before settling at a reasonable plane. She then raised her eyelids enough to see Burke sitting in a chair beside her bed, with a smile not quite strong enough to hide his worry.

  He held her hand in his and his fingers gave hers a little squeeze. Her eyes had to adjust again. When they did, she raised them to meet the sea green warmth of Burke’s.

  “I didn’t fall,” she told him. “Somebody struck me.”