A Midsummer's Kiss (Farthingale Series Book 4)

by Meara Platt

“Pruitt, she needs something to drink,” one of her sisters said, wringing her small hands together in worry. “And wash cloths to clean the grime off their hands and faces. We mustn’t track soot all over this lovely new house after Mama worked so hard to put it in shape.”

  “Right away, Miss Lily.” He sent one of the maids to attend to the chore and then sent two others to the kitchen to bring out refreshments and wash cloths. “Will tea and cakes do for all of you? Sir, shall I send out something a little stronger for you?”

  “Tea will do for me.” He needed to keep his wits about him, for he had yet to regain control of his body despite the fact that he was no longer holding Rose.

  Pruitt assigned several footmen the task of securing the rubble now that the fire was out and, once assured that Rose was all right, ordered the others back into the house. Only the governesses and Rose’s sisters remained beside them. “I’m Dillie,” one of the girls said, smiling at him. “This is my twin, Lily.”

  He grinned. “I guessed as much. Identical blue eyes and dark hair. Identical faces.” Same thin, gangly bodies. “Lord Julian Emory, at your service.”

  “Emory? As in Viscount Chatham? Lady Nicola’s brother?” Rose attempted to raise herself to a sitting position, but the movement caused her to cough again.

  Alarmed when the coughs suddenly mingled with wheezes, he drew her into his arms and placed a hand on her chest to feel her heart and lungs. Her heart was beating wildly, but not in a haphazard pattern that would signal something more serious than a cough. Her intake of air, despite her wheezing, appeared adequate.

  After a frighteningly long moment, she calmed.

  Dillie stared at him and then turned to her twin. “Why is his hand still on Rose’s breast?”

  “To check her lung capacity, of course.” Lily frowned. “What did you think he was doing?”

  “Girls, I’m right here. You can ask me… er, no. Lily just answered the question.” Which didn’t explain why his hand was still on Rose’s breast, or why he was unable to draw it away. “Who is Rolf?”

  Perhaps he ought to meet that sister after all. Nicola had been urging the introduction for weeks now. Was the girl anywhere near as beautiful as Rose? Not that he’d actually taken a good look at Rose. No, his body had responded to hers in the dark. Quite another matter by the bright light of day. He finally took his hand off her chest but kept it loosely poised at her waist, for she was still unsteady and trembling from her ordeal.

  She needed comforting.

  He needed something altogether inappropriate.

  Why her? Why now? No matter, his inexplicable bout of lust for the girl would soon pass. Even if it didn’t, he was never going to act upon it. Still, he was curious to study the face attached to that exquisite body. He spared her a glance… more than a glance.

  Merciful heavens!

  Despite the smudges of soot on Rose’s cheeks and tip of her nose, there was no mistaking her beauty. She had lively blue eyes, a deep ocean blue that glistened with mirth and intelligence. Her hair was a riotous tumble of honey-blonde curls. She had a generous, sensual mouth. “You asked about Rolf,” she said, interrupting the wayward thoughts he should not be having.

  He nodded. “Is she your sister?”

  Rose’s full lips curled upward in a radiant smile.

  Her sisters began to giggle.

  Bloody nuisance.

  “I’m Rolf. Didn’t Nicola tell you?” Rose shook her head lightly.

  Yes, his sister had told him repeatedly, only he hadn’t been listening. His heart slammed into his chest. “You?”

  She nodded. “Rose Olivia Lorelei Farthingale. Rolf to my friends.”

  “Lorelei, as in the siren who lures men with her irresistible beauty and plaintive song onto the rocks to their watery graves?” He arched an eyebrow.

  She managed a soft, still raspy laugh. “At the moment I sound like a bullfrog, and I’ve never lured any man, so I don’t think your siren and I are related in any way.”

  “I suppose not.” Clearly, Rose was far more captivating than any mythical creature ever could be. That she was modest about it only added to her allure. No! She couldn’t be alluring to him. Not now. He couldn’t afford the distraction.

  Rose pursed her lips. “Where’s Nicola? Didn’t she come with you?”

  He winced. “I’m afraid I tossed her rather ungently into my carriage when we heard the explosion, and ordered the driver to take her a safe distance from your home.”

  “Of course. That was the sensible thing to do, while you ran toward the unknown danger. Nicola’s often spoken of your military service, and I see that her glowing description of your bravery is well deserved.”

  “I did no more than anyone else would do.” In truth, he was feeling quite cowardly right now. Rose had him quaking in his boots. Nicola had spoken of her in glowing terms as well, and that description seemed wholly inadequate. He’d braved Napoleon’s army, had spent the last few years on dangerous spy missions within the heart of enemy territory. Surely he could resist Rose’s innocent charms until this latest mission was completed.

  He had to.

  Pruitt returned with wash cloths and refreshments. He handed Julian a damp cloth and another to Rose, and then set the refreshments out on a nearby table. Obviously this is where Nicola and Rose had planned to sit during their visit, for it was quite pleasant outdoors if one overlooked the lingering wisps of smoke.

  One twin grabbed slices of cake and set them out on plates for him and Rose, while the other twin poured lemonade. “Rose, come sit with us.”

  Julian reached out to lift Rose into his arms. “Your ankle looks swollen. You had better not walk on it yet. I’ll carry you to your chair.”

  Rose became flustered, her cheeks stained a bright pink. “Oh, I’m sure I can manage on my own. You needn’t… oh, dear.” She cried out softly the moment she rose and attempted to put pressure on her ankle. She fell against his chest. “Ouch! It really hurts.”

  He wrapped his arms about her and carried her to her seat. “Let me have a better look at that ankle.” He reached out to take it very delicately under his inspection. “It could be broken.” All three sisters and their two governesses gasped as he raised Rose’s gown to examine it.

  “I’m sure it isn’t,” Rose insisted and nudged the hem lower.

  “And what if I’m right and it is broken?” He frowned at her, although he was more annoyed with himself for desiring to see her ankle for reasons other than medical. He wanted to see a lot more than her ankle. The pale blue muslin gown she wore did little to hide her curves. Even though his eyes still stung, he could see well enough through them to know that she was nicely shaped. “At the very least, it’s badly bruised and must be attended to at once. Why won’t you let me do it?”

  “It’s most improper,” she grumbled.

  “He’s already touched your breast,” Lily pointed out. The twins were still hovering over them, curious as kittens.

  “What?” Apparently, Rose had been too dazed to notice at the time. Her face was no longer pink but crimson. She gazed at him in confusion. Or was it unbridled horror? Bloody nuisance. Most women liked having his hands on their breasts. Why should she be any different?

  “You were having trouble breathing,” he explained, once again annoyed with himself for wanting her to… Never mind. He shouldn’t be thinking about her or her body. Done. No longer in his thoughts… Well, only a little.

  Perhaps more than a little.

  He was about to insist on attending to her ankle when Nicola entered the garden. Julian frowned. “I thought I told you to wait in the carriage.”

  “I was worried about you.” She started to mimic his frown, then saw Rose beside him, and her expression suddenly lightened. She couldn’t stifle her knowing grin. “I see you’ve met Rolf.”

  Rose was still blushing. “In a most unusual way.” She pointed to her foot. “Your brother rescued me. My work table fell on my leg.”

  “But I heard
a blast. It couldn’t have been just the table toppling. What happened? And you both have soot on your faces and all over your clothes.”

  Rose nodded. “Someone sabotaged my kiln.”

  “Oh, dear! You said this pottery business was run by scurrilous knaves. I never dreamed they’d behave so badly. Rolf, you might have been killed!”

  “They only meant to destroy the kiln,” Rose said with a stubborn set to her jaw and a passionate blaze in her eyes. “But they won’t stop me.”

  Julian groaned inwardly. The girl was beautiful and strong-willed, a great combination if one were seeking a debauched night of… but never with Rolf. No, indeed. Not with her. “What makes you believe these knaves are done with you? Assuming this was more than a mere accident.”

  “I can assure you, I am always careful with my kiln. It was no accident.” The swirls of blue in her eyes glowed as brightly as gemstones.

  Julian frowned. He was already caught up in a mission and didn’t have time to protect Rose, but he wasn’t about to turn his back on her if she was in danger. “What if they try again? If what you say is true, I can’t imagine your parents allowing you to continue this enterprise.” He glanced at the twins. “Think of your sisters, if not yourself. They might have been standing near the kiln or by the door as it blew off its hinges.”

  Her mouth was drawn in a taut, thin line. “Are you through lecturing me?”

  “Not nearly through.” After all, he’d earned the right to speak his mind by pulling her out of the rubble, hadn’t he? “What of your season? It’s hardly underway and you’re already hurt. I’m sure your parents put a lot of time and effort into launching you into society. They’d much rather see you married than injured… or worse.”

  Nicola was nodding as he spoke, a rare moment when he and his sister agreed on something. “My brother’s right, Rolf. You can’t put your life at risk for the sake of a dish or vase, no matter how beautiful. We’re in our debut season. We promised to get through it together, so you ought to be thinking of balls and courtship and handsome, eligible bachelors… like Julian for example.”

  He glowered at his sister. “But not me.”

  Rose’s eyes rounded and she blushed in obvious embarrassment. “Of course not, Lord Emory. I wouldn’t presume. I’m most grateful for your assistance and promise to be more careful. You’re right, of course. It galls me to have them win, but I suppose they have for the moment. My family will be relieved. As you said, they brought us to London in the hope we’d find suitable husbands.” She glanced at her ankle and then looked up and cast him a wan smile. “There’ll be no dancing for me for a while. In truth, I was never very good at it anyway.”

  Perhaps he’d been a little too stern with her. “I’m sure you’re an excellent dancer. I’ll claim the first waltz once you’ve healed.” Oh, hell. He shouldn’t have said that. Now Nicola will think her matchmaking scheme had worked, when nothing was further from the truth.

  Rose shook her head and laughed lightly. “Prepare to have your toes stepped on, my lord.”

  He winked at her and grinned. “I’ll wear my thickest boots.”

  * * *

  Rose didn’t mean to be unappreciative, but she sorely wished Lord Emory would leave before he lifted her into his arms again and insisted on carrying her into the house. She’d rather manage on her own, even though her ankle was sore. It wasn’t broken, and Lord Emory had not given ground on tending it, so he’d put a cold compress on it and then bound it with the bandages Pruitt retrieved from her uncle’s quarters. Her ankle was in as good a shape as could be expected. Even Uncle George would commend him on the admirable job he’d done.

  In truth, Lord Emory had taken excellent care of her, his medical knowledge obviously learned in the midst of battle, which only made her like him all the more for the attentive care he’d obviously given the soldiers under his charge. He was smart and brave, and now that he’d wiped the grime off his face she could see that he was irresistibly handsome. His dark blond hair fell in thick waves almost to his shoulders, and his dark green eyes made her melt a little each time they crinkled at the corners when he smiled.

  He was muscled, too. She’d felt the sinewed ripple along his arms when he’d carried her earlier. His broad, muscled shoulders were clearly outlined beneath his white lawn shirt because his jacket was ruined and he couldn’t put it back on. “Our Uncle George is a doctor. He’ll properly tend to my ankle when the family returns. You needn’t wait around for them. I’ll manage quite well with the help of my sisters and our staff.”

  He smiled at her again, making her melt. It was a miracle she hadn’t turned into a complete puddle by now. Nicola had been right about her brother. He was charming, but Rose knew better than to mistake his politeness for anything more. “Are you that eager to be rid of me, Miss Farthingale?”

  Lord Emory was experienced and sophisticated, and he knew how to go about in society. He ran with a fast crowd. Despite the unusual manner in which they’d met, she was ordinary in every respect and he probably considered her excessively boring. “Not at all, my lord. I have no wish to be rid of you. After all, you saved me, and for that you’ll always be welcome in the Farthingale home. But I suspect you’ve reached your limit of polite conversation and are eager to be on your way.”

  “Do I look as though I’m eager to be anywhere but here?” He was still smiling and she was still melting. Drip, drip, drip. Her little puddle would soon be a pond. With ducks swimming in it. And a swan or two gliding across it.

  She cleared her throat. “Well, no. But you must find my conversation quite dull. You’re too polite to show it.”

  The twins weren’t nearly as polite. Having gobbled their ginger cakes, they sat fidgeting and bored until Rose took pity on them and gave them permission to return to the house. As they rose along with their governesses, Lord Emory also got to his feet. “Lily,” he said with quiet authority, holding her back as the others walked ahead, “I’m curious about your stash of explosives. How did you come by it? May I see it?”

  She nodded. “I found a small pouch when we’d all gone down to see Uncle Harrison’s regiment ship off for France last week. I tried to return it once I realized what it contained, but everyone was too busy to pay me any notice. So I brought it home. It’s hidden under my bed.”

  “Under your…” Lord Emory’s eyes rounded and his mouth gaped open for an instant before he seemed to recover. “I’m good friends with the regimental commander. Will you permit me to return it to him?”

  If Rose could have jumped to her feet and hugged him, she would have done so. “An excellent idea, my lord. This is the perfect solution, and it can all be done quietly.”

  Lily frowned. “Shouldn’t I tell Papa? I’ve been meaning to show it to him, but he and Mama are always so busy lately, I can’t seem to get their attention.”

  “We’ll figure it out afterward. Bring Lord Emory the pouch.” Rose shook her head and released a groaning laugh as Lily skipped off. “Brilliantly done, Lord Emory. Thank you.”

  He chuckled. “And now, what were you saying about my being bored? Because I don’t believe I’ve ever spent a more unusual afternoon.”

  “You’re right, of course. I only meant that you don’t strike me as a tea and cakes sort of gentleman.”

  “Is that the only reason you want me gone?” He arched an eyebrow, looking impossibly irreverent. “Or are you worried that I’ll give your parents an accurate account of what happened today?”

  Well, perhaps there was a little of that. “My ankle is bound, my gown is covered in soot, and the kiln is damaged. I think they’ll suspect all is not as it should be. If you’re worried that I’ll understate the danger, rest assured the twins will not overlook a single detail. They’ll probably embellish the story and have you dueling a marauding pirate or two at some point in their retelling.”

  He ran a hand through his hair and laughed. “I like your sisters, even though my eyes still cross whenever they stand together.”
>
  “Rolf has two more sisters,” Nicola said, her own grin wide and her eyes revealing her triumphant joy in finally getting her and Lord Emory to meet. “The twins are the youngest, but there’s also Laurel and Daisy. Laurel will make her debut next year and Daisy the following year.”

  “You all have floral names except for Dillie,” he noted, nodding as Rose offered him more tea. He really was being quite attentive and polite, not at all impatient as Nicola had described him.

  “Her real name is Daffodil, but she’s not very fond of being called that. Yes, we’re all named after flowers, although our parents sometimes think they ought to have named us Nettle, or Thorn, or Bramblebush. We vex them at times.”

  He was smiling at her again in a charmingly seductive way that tempted her to rethink her decision to hobble into the house on her own. Why was it so important? Couldn’t she pretend to be a delicate female in distress and feign endless gratitude when he lifted her into his manly arms and carried her inside?

  The wind began to pick up and the white clouds suddenly turned gray, obscuring the sun. Lord Emory glanced up as well. The wind ruffled his blond locks, brushing them back to accentuate the strong angles of his cheekbones and firm jaw. “Looks like our run of good weather has come to an end. Miss Farthingale, let me help you into your home before the rain pours down and turns the dirt on our clothes to mud.”

  Pruitt must have also noticed the sudden change in the weather. He hurried out with two footmen to clear away the tea and linens. “May I help you, Miss Rose?”

  Lord Emory moved possessively close. “I’ll take care of her, Pruitt. See to the tables.”

  Rose regarded him curiously. Nicola wished for a match between them and had never been subtle in her desire, but Lord Emory’s name was already linked to a recently widowed countess, a renowned beauty who traveled in his fast set. He was reportedly infatuated with her, if one were to believe the gossip rags, although he didn’t seem to be the sort to be led about by the nose by any woman.

  But what did she know about men? Or love?

  Nothing, obviously. Her senses were still addled, for Lord Emory appeared to be interested in her beyond a casual concern for her injured ankle. It couldn’t be so.