The Viscount's Rose (The Farthingale Series Book 5)

by Meara Platt

  “I know,” he said quietly. “My family means everything to me. But I’m not an infant in leading strings. I’m a bloody viscount. I ought to have their trust and respect.”

  “Because you’re a viscount? It’s merely a title.”

  “They ought to respect me for me. I’ve earned it.”

  She knew of his prowess on the battlefield and the lives he’d saved because of his intelligence and bravery. She also knew that he was adept at business and had worked hard to maintain the family’s holdings after his parents had suddenly died. “Your father would have been very proud of you.”

  He was admirable in so many ways. For this reason, if there was something to be learned about what went on between a man and a woman, she wanted Julian to be her teacher. In truth, she couldn’t imagine feeling this way about any other man. How could she when he overwhelmed her senses?

  Everything about him was a jolt to her composure, the way his body moved with the grace and sleek power of a wolf, the way his eyes shone with kindness and humor, the way his mouth curved in a slightly lopsided smile that was at the same time boyish and quietly seductive.

  What confused her was his connection to Valentina. Despite his good looks and obvious charm, he wasn’t the rakish sort. She sensed he was a man of honor and would be loyal and true to the woman he loved.

  So why was he holding her hands?

  Why had he kissed her with the force of storm waves crashing to shore? Goodness, he’d completely swept her away on a tide of passion. No prim kisses for her. No, indeed. Each touch of their lips sent her reeling and each time he put his arms around her, she felt drawn into a swirling pool of pleasure.

  Even now, his eyes were a maelstrom of smoky desire, as though he wanted to swallow her up whole and do all those naughty things to her he’d hinted about a moment ago. Not for one night, but for a lifetime. She understood expressions; she had to in order to capture the essence of a person when drawing portraits.

  Julian was looking at her in an I-want-you-as-my-mate way.

  She shook her head to clear her muddled thoughts. He couldn’t be. He was on the verge of proposing to Valentina. His actions simply didn’t make sense.

  What was she missing? “Julian, I think we must speak of an unsafe topic.”

  He was instantly wary. She felt his tension through his fingers that remained entwined in hers. It was telling that he hadn’t drawn them away. “Such as?”

  “Your countess.” There had to be a logical explanation. He couldn’t possibly love that woman. So why was he courting her? That he was so attentive and fawning over her like a doting dandy simply felt amiss. Was she blackmailing him?

  “That topic is out of bounds.”

  “Why?” He wasn’t the sort who would care if sordid secrets about him came out in the open. Nor did he seem the sort to allow the person who’d leaked those secrets to go unscathed.

  “Enough, Rose. I will not discuss it.” Until this moment, Julian had been gentle with her, but there was no mistaking the hard, lethal edge to his words. She was stepping into forbidden territory, and he would not indulge her trespass.

  She’d seen that flash of steel in his gaze when he’d taken it upon himself to deal with the saboteur of her kiln. Those who crossed him would not escape punishment. That’s why she was so worried about Nicola. Julian loved his sister, but he was going to make her suffer before he ultimately forgave her.

  Would he do the same to her when he found out about her involvement in their scheme? She shook out of the thought and concentrated on him, and that brought her back to Valentina.

  Why pretend she was the love of his life? What hold did she have over him? Since Rose had ruled out the possibility that it was a deep, dark secret about himself, it had to be someone else’s secret he was protecting. Someone he loved. A family member? No, it didn’t seem likely. A friend, perhaps? A good friend, one he held dear to his heart and felt honor bound to rescue.

  Oh, dear. That friend must have gotten himself into serious trouble.

  But what sort of trouble? Murder? She dismissed the possibility. Julian would not condone cold-blooded killing. Still, this secret was something dire, something so awful that his friend had begged for Julian’s help.

  It still didn’t explain why Julian had agreed to sacrifice his own happiness and chain himself to the horrid countess for the rest of his days. How loyal did his friend expect him to be?

  “You’re nibbling your lip,” he said with a groan, interrupting her concentration.

  “I’m thinking about you.” This mystery merited investigation. She’d talk the problem over with her sisters as soon as she returned to London. They’d come up with a plan. She’d invite Nicola into the discussion, assuming Julian allowed his sister to return to London as well. Right now, he seemed inclined to banish her to the Scottish highlands, to a remote family property where she might never be seen or heard from again. “Your actions simply don’t make sense.”

  “Rose, I will not discuss it.” He drew away and began to pace across the kitchen like an agitated wolf locked in a cage, silently stalking from end to end in an obvious attempt to subdue his anger.

  What had she done? Poked a finger into a raw, open wound? She wasn’t about to stop. “There is an attraction between us that cannot be denied.”

  He glowered at her. “Don’t make too much of it.”

  “I’m not. You forget that I’m an artist, that I understand the nuances of a person’s expressions. That’s how I distill the essence of a person and capture him or her on canvas. I know what’s fake and what’s real.”

  “And?”

  She groaned softly. “You’re real. Everything wonderful about you is real. There’s a natural valor that emanates from within you, shining outward with a golden warmth. As for your countess, there’s a brutal coldness that pours out of her in icy waves. The sun dies in her presence.”

  “That’s rather dramatic. You don’t know her.” He sounded unconvincing.

  “Nor do I wish to know her. More important, I sense that you would have nothing to do with her unless there was a compelling reason. Whose life are you trying to save?”

  He strode forward and loomed over her, his face so close to hers that she was almost blinded by the flash of anger in his eyes. “Stop. I’m not your bloody concern. My friends are not your bloody concern. The discussion is over.”

  His warning was even more proof that the situation was dire. She returned his glower.

  “Rose, you cannot speak of this to anyone. Not my sister. Not your sisters. Not anyone.”

  “We Farthingales are mostly wonderful, but we do have some irritating qualities. For one, we don’t like to be ordered about or told what we can and cannot do or told to stop looking at a puzzle when it’s so obviously begging to be solved.”

  He was still looming over her, his every muscle straining. She wanted to set her hands on him and feel every flex and tug. However, he looked angry enough to bite her hand if she dared raise it to touch him. “That’s more than one irritating quality. I believe you’ve mentioned at least three.”

  “I understand that you’re hoping to intimidate me by hovering over me in that imposing and frowning manner, but I must tell you that your nearness is quite thrilling to me and is shooting delightful tingles of desire up and down my spine.” She sighed. “I know you won’t hurt me, Julian. You may kiss me, if you wish. I’d rather like that.”

  He drew away as though scalded and cursed under his breath as he resumed pacing like a caged wolf. “For pity’s sake, Rose. You mustn’t tell me such things. You don’t even realize what the word desire implies. Desire is…” He was furiously rubbing the nape of his neck and still stalking from one end of the kitchen to the other. “Desire is hot and sweaty, it leaves you breathless and spent.”

  “In each other’s arms?”

  He shot fireballs at her with his angrily blazing eyes. “I am not going to teach you about desire. Not tonight, that’s for damn certain.”
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  “But you will another time?” She knew that she was pushing him over the edge of his endurance, but someone had to break through his wall of reserve and find out what was really going on. She understood that he was involved in something dangerous. But he wasn’t the danger, certainly not to her. The countess was. She knew to keep her distance from that heartless woman.

  “Not if you continue to irritate me. Go to bed, Rose. Take whatever you need to make yourself comfortable and then barricade your door.”

  “Against you?”

  A muscle twitched in his jaw.

  She shrugged. “Very well, but there will be no barricades between us, Julian. My door and my heart shall always be open to you.”

  Rose was a snoop, and Julian knew she was going to interfere in these last few weeks of his investigation unless he dealt with her now and stopped her misguided attempt. He had two choices. The first was to tell her the truth and swear her to secrecy, which wasn’t a choice at all since he didn’t have the authority to disclose the details of the investigation or even reveal that one was being conducted.

  Even if Prinny gave him the right to disclose certain details to Rose, what assurance did he have that she wouldn’t tell her large and intrusive family? Or, heaven forbid, his?

  The second choice was to push her away, to dash all hope of there ever being something between the two of them. It was the only sensible solution, but could he feign disinterest when every thrumming part of him ached to have her? This wasn’t merely a passing fancy, but a throbbing, pulsing ache that spanned universes and would not be restrained by the boundaries of time.

  Bloody nuisance.

  This was Rose, his annoying sister’s best friend. A young innocent who had yet to complete her first London season and had never been kissed by any man except him. He suppressed the surge of possessive pride that swelled within his chest at the mere thought.

  No, he refused to give the girl any power over him.

  Love was an impossible complication. How hard could it be not to fall in love? He’d endured severe hardships on the battlefield. He could manage this.

  “The girl’s a bloody nuisance,” he muttered under his breath, watching Rose gather her blankets and the dry gown that was still neatly folded inside the window seat that served as a storage chest.

  She must have heard his grumble and glanced up at him. “Did you say something to me?”

  His heart tugged at the hopeful look she cast him. “No.” Now he was just being surly. In his own defense, the less he said to her the better. He had very little resolve when it came to Rose, especially now that she was regarding him with a forlorn look in her big blue eyes. Damn it. They were glistening with unshed tears.

  Had he been too gruff with her?

  He could apologize and sweep her into his arms, kiss her soundly on the lips.

  No! What was wrong with him? He was about to botch a yearlong investigation because of this innocent.

  “Good night, Julian.”

  He sighed. The bundles in her arms were almost as big as she was. “Let me help you with those.”

  She drew away. “I can manage on my own. They aren’t heavy.”

  “I know.” But they were bulky and awkward. He took the blankets and gown out of her arms. “I’ll set them on the bed and then take my leave of you. Simple enough.”

  “I suppose that’s how you want your life to be, nice and simple,” she retorted, obviously still stinging from his words. “You’ll never have it if you marry the countess.”

  “Message received, Rose. You needn’t repeat the warning.” They entered the spare room containing the cot and he dumped the blankets on it. Taking more care with her gown since it was the only decent change of clothes she had, he set it neatly over the back of the one chair in the small room. “Go to sleep. Stop meddling.”

  “I’m sorry. You’re right, of course.” She turned to face him as she hastily shrugged out of his jacket. “Here, you’ve given me all the blankets so take this back for yourself.”

  “I’ll be fine, Rose. I don’t need it.”

  She continued to hold it out to him. He caught her sweet scent on the fabric, the scent of sunshine and warm breezes and meadow flowers. “Then take one of the blankets,” she said, noting his hesitation although she couldn’t have understood the reason for it. She was a torment to him. He’d never have a peaceful night’s rest while the scent of her clung to him. “You must have something to keep you warm.”

  He did—the fiery heat of his desire.

  He grabbed his jacket out of her outstretched hand and strode out of the chamber, slamming the door behind him in his haste to leave. He needed to be out of there before he was overcome by the temptation to remain. Rose had an inviting way of looking at him that drove him wild.

  He tossed his jacket onto the table and went in search of the whiskey bottle he’d noticed tucked away on one of the pantry shelves. He grabbed a glass and the bottle and set both down on the table. He then knelt beside the hearth to stoke the fire once more.

  The room was now hot and dry.

  Rose was safely abed and knew better than to come out again.

  Alone with his turmoil, he unbuttoned his shirt and rolled up the sleeves, deciding against taking it off completely on the chance Rose came out of her room for whatever reason. He poured himself a whiskey and leaned his shoulder against the mantel while he sipped his drink and lost himself in thought. The glass was empty before he knew it so he poured himself another.

  The liquid was an opalescent amber under the fire’s glow and glistened as he absently twirled it in his hand. The gem-like beauty of the whiskey was illuminated by the flames and somehow reminded him of Rose’s beauty, for there was an exquisite, shimmering quality to her features, her hair a luminescent gold, her lips as red as rubies, her eyes as dazzling as sapphires. Blast! He was no better than a mewling boy spouting odes to Rose’s beauty.

  Women did not affect him like this. Never. Why now?

  Why Rose? He’d asked the question of himself before and each time ended up scratching his head, for the answer was elusive. He simply felt the way he did because his heart willed it. Not that he was ever in the practice of following his heart. Quite the opposite, he was a creature of reason and logic, save matters concerning Rose.

  She wasn’t a classic beauty in any sense. Beautiful, to be sure, but in a warm, embracing way that made him want to reach out and hug her. He usually reserved that affection for his family, especially his youngest sisters who were growing up without the attentive care of a doting mother and father.

  Rose was naturally welcoming and expressive. A chuckle quietly burst from him as he thought of the girl’s attempts at seductive glances, so adorably inept. It was obvious that she’d never known a man’s touch, had never felt passion before. She’d tried to look sultry, but instead looked like she’d stepped on a worm. Yet her paltry attempts had done the job, arousing him to fiery heights, only she didn’t realize it.

  He poured a third drink and then stuffed the cork back in the bottle because the effects of the drug had not completely worked through his system. He’d already passed out once today and had no intention of doing so again.

  “Julian?”

  He groaned. “I thought you were asleep. You ought to be by now.” He dared not look at her in his weakened condition. Lusting and drunk was never a good combination.

  Thunder once more rumbled in the distance, a harbinger of the next wave of rain and lightning from the tempest that seemed to be swirling overhead with no intention of abating or moving on. It matched the torment now swirling within his chest and causing his heart to pound in a rampant, tumultuous beat.

  “I meant to sleep, but you’re right. I ought to have changed out of my damp clothes. They didn’t feel quite so bad while I was up and moving about, but the dampness crept into my bones and left me cold once I settled between the sheets. Not even the blankets were enough to warm me.” She walked to his side. “I can’t reach these
last buttons. Will you help me? Here, I’ll move my hair out of the way.”

  He groaned again. “You let down your hair?”

  She quirked her head in confusion. “Yes, isn’t it obvious?”

  Of course it was. His fingers itched to wrap themselves in those long, silken waves. He longed to caress the vibrant curls and watch them spring back softly against her perfect shoulders.

  “I couldn’t sleep with the pins in it. I would have braided it, but I needed my brush and it’s at the bottom of the window chest. Um, I knew you didn’t want me to come out of my chamber, so I didn’t think there would be any harm in leaving it loose. I intended to fix it in the morning. Then I grew cold and nothing seemed to warm me up. I had to ask for your assistance.” He could feel her soft breaths against his shoulder as she rattled on in explanation, obviously feeling as uncomfortable in his presence as he was in hers.

  “Um,” she said again, sighing, “I’ll fetch it now.”

  “Don’t bother. It can wait until morning.” He closed his eyes a moment and swallowed hard. “Here, turn your back to me.” He set down his empty glass on the mantel. It had been full a moment ago. He shouldn’t have drained it so fast.

  Drunk.

  Lusting.

  Soft woman who sparkled like a gemstone standing before him.

  With her gown unfastened.

  Begging for him to finish the job.

  His body heated with such intensity it felt as though the flames crackling in the hearth had leaped out and engulfed him. They hadn’t, of course. The heat came from within him, kindled by his own fiery desire.

  This will not end well.

  Rose made the mistake of turning to face him once he’d accomplished the simple task. He was amazed that he’d managed it, for his hands began to shake the moment his knuckles brushed across her soft flesh and had yet to stop shaking. He was worse than a ten-year-old lad peeking into one of London’s pleasure houses. “Thank you.” She made the further mistake of smiling up at him.