Snowbound With the Notorious Rake

by Sarah Mallory

  Althea’s performance was warmly applauded and she crossed over to the pianoforte, calling to Lawrence to come and turn the pages for her. Rose watched him standing beside Althea, bending to catch something she said, sharing a smile with her. It took her a little while to realise that the hard, angry knot in her stomach was jealousy. She breathed deeply, her fingers clenching and unclenching in her lap. So much for her resolution!

  ‘Bravo, my dear!’

  Magnus’s utterance caught her attention and with a little jolt of surprise she realised Althea had finished. She put her hands together in appreciation of the music, although she had not attended to a note.

  ‘Now,’ Magnus continued, looking about him, ‘who will be next…Rose?’

  ‘Thank you but, no, not tonight.’

  ‘Pray show us what you can do,’ he urged her. ‘I know you play very prettily; I have heard you perform at Bluebell Cottage.’

  Rose smiled and shook her head.

  ‘Do not put her to the blush, Brother,’ said Althea sweetly. ‘To amuse oneself on the little box piano at home is all very well, but it is very different to playing properly on a Broadwood.’

  Mrs Molland drew in a hissing breath. Rose put her hand on her mother’s arm to prevent her from leaping to her defence.

  ‘Of course it is,’ she agreed cordially. ‘However, now you mention it, I have been practising a rondo by Mr Mozart and confess I should like to know how it sounds on such a fine instrument.’

  Rose walked across to the piano and sat down. Lawrence stepped closer.

  ‘Do you have music, ma’am? May I turn the pages for you?’

  She shook her head, the light of battle in her eyes.

  ‘Thank you, I have no need of music for this piece.’

  With that she spread her hands out over the keys and began to play with such gusto that an immediate silence descended over the room. It gave her immense satisfaction to see the shocked look upon Althea’s features. Poor Miss Emsleigh, she rarely visited Bluebell Cottage so she was not to know that the piano was one of Rose’s main pleasures, or that she spent many hours practising.

  Rose ended her performance with a flourish and sat back. Magnus led the applause, beaming delightedly at her before looking around the room as if to invite his guests to appreciate just what an accomplished bride he had chosen.

  ‘Exemplary,’ murmured Sir Lawrence. ‘I have rarely heard anything finer. I can think of no better set-down for our hostess.’

  He had been standing by the piano, watching her, throughout her performance, but Rose had been so caught up in the music that she had barely noticed him. Now his words reminded her of her situation. With a strained smile she shook her head at him and slipped away.

  The musical entertainment continued, but Rose could not enjoy it. She was angry that she had allowed her irritation to get the better of her. She had suffered Althea’s barbed comments before and had always allowed them to pass unchallenged, but tonight was different. It had been Rose’s intention to stay in the background and be nothing more than a spectator for the evening, but her display upon the pianoforte had drawn everyone’s attention. With dismay she saw that both Althea and Lawrence were watching her, dark resentment in one glance, warm admiration in the other.

  The evening dragged on. The tea tray was brought in and Althea dispensed cups of black Bohea to the guests who milled around the room, talking and laughing. Rose carried a cup of tea to her mother, but could not settle. She wanted to go home, but Magnus would not call the carriage for a good hour yet, and she did not wish to draw even more attention to herself by requesting to leave early. Instead she touched Magnus’s arm and drew him aside.

  ‘Is there somewhere I may sit quietly for a little while, Magnus?’

  ‘What is it, my dear, are you unwell?’

  ‘A severe headache, but I am sure it will ease presently, if I can only be alone.’

  Immediately he guided her out of the room.

  ‘There is a good fire in the library,’ he said. ‘Shall I send Althea to you, or your mother?’

  ‘No, no, I would not upset your party, Magnus. I shall do very well alone, thank you.’

  They slipped out of the room and Magnus led her away from the public rooms to the library. It was a large, imposing chamber, almost divided in two by the bookshelves that jutted out into the room. On this side of the divide a marble fireplace and two armchairs provided a degree of comfort. Beyond, a large mahogany desk filled the centre of the floor, its surface bare of any ornament. Magnus used his study for working; this room was merely for show, neither the desk nor the leather-bound tomes, purchased by the yard from a Bristol bookseller, intended for anything more than ostentatious display.

  Magnus settled her in one of the chairs beside the fire.

  ‘No one will bother you here. I shall come back again in a little while—’

  ‘No, there will be no need for that.’ She gave him a weak smile. ‘I have taken enough of your time. Go back to your guests, Magnus, and I will join you very soon, I promise.’

  She watched him walk away, her smile fading as he left the room. Guilt ripped at her conscience; she was betrothed to Magnus, yet even here, in his house, her thoughts, her attention, constantly turned to Lawrence. Their brief liaison had lasted only two nights, but the pain of separation was as strong now as the day she had ridden away from Knightscote. It was like a raw, angry wound that would not heal.

  ‘Oh, will it never end?’ The words were dragged out of her and she dropped her head in her hands.

  As if conjured by her own longing she heard his voice, full of concern.

  ‘What is it, Rose? Are you ill?’

  She lifted her head. Lawrence was standing with his back to the door, his blue eyes fixed upon her.

  ‘How did you know where to find me?’

  ‘I saw you leave—you did not look well. Then Magnus came back alone…’

  She hunted frantically for her handkerchief.

  ‘Please go.’

  ‘I want to help.’

  She wiped her eyes, ashamed that he should observe her weakness. Glancing up, she saw that he was still watching her.

  ‘Talk to me,’ he said quietly.

  Rose jumped up and began to pace up and down. She sought around for some ladylike term to do justice to the pain inside. There was none.

  ‘Damn you,’ she uttered vehemently. ‘Damn you, Lawrence Daunton! You were not supposed to come back into my life. I was managing very well without you.’

  This was not quite true, but Rose had no intention of admitting the gnawing loneliness she had felt during the spring months. Angrily she kneaded one fist into the palm of the other. ‘I thought I could play this game. That we could meet as strangers, friends even, but it is not possible. I cannot relax in your company—you make me discontent with my lot in life!’

  ‘This does not have to be your lot, Rose.’

  She shook her head, hardly attending to him.

  ‘I have worked so hard to forget you. My world was ordered and—and calm. My future was assured. Then you come striding back, overturning everything I have worked for, winning my son’s regard—’

  ‘I did not plan that.’

  ‘No? And what about the pony?’

  A sudden smile softened his features.

  ‘Blame Sam for that! Little monkey, when he chattered away to me, saying you could not afford a mount for him, I could not help myself.’

  ‘And thus he gave you a means to tempt me, to put myself into your debt.’

  ‘No! I would never use Sam as a way into your affections!’

  His vehemence surprised her.

  ‘Nevertheless I am constrained to be obliged, when I would rather have nothing to do with you!’

  ‘Do you think you are the only one suffering?’ he flashed. ‘To be near you, but unable to talk freely, unable to cherish and protect you—’

  ‘We agreed it could never be—’

  ‘No—you said it could
not work. You had married one rake and would not risk your happiness with another. But I am no libertine, Rose. I was wild, yes, and I allowed rumours to circulate. But I am a changed man. Ask any of my friends in town—write to that wearisome aunt of yours who passes on to you all the gossip! They will all tell you I have not looked at a woman this year. My friends have waited in vain for me at the gaming tables. I have spent most of my time upon my estates, adding new buildings, improving the land—at first I did it out of anger, my only thought was that I would show you I was not the feckless character you thought me! Then, as the months went on, I found I enjoyed it, much more than the social round I had become locked into. I faced up to the truth that I had never wanted to marry Annabelle and had stayed in London merely to avoid the fateful day. I had misbehaved, flaunted my string of mistresses in front of her, hoping that she would realise I would not make a good husband and cry off. She never did. I was afraid to marry her; I did not want to be imprisoned in her world of dull domesticity.’ He exhaled slowly. ‘It was a dreadful thing to discover about myself, Rose, that I was too much of a coward to tell her the truth. I truly thought it would break her heart. Looking back now, I think she wanted the match as little as I. If only—! I bitterly regret it now, but there is nothing I can do to change the past. But you can change your future. You say you are not content with your life—then change it, Rose. Break off your engagement to Emsleigh!’

  ‘You know I cannot.’

  He grabbed her arms.

  ‘Why not? Are you afraid of what everyone will say?’

  ‘No!’ She pushed her hands against the solid, unyielding wall of his chest. ‘That is not the reason. I chose Magnus because he is everything you are not: correct, dependable, solidly upright. He will be a perfect father for Sam.’

  ‘Are you sure, Rose? Are you sure Emsleigh is the upright, honest gentleman you think him?’

  ‘Of course. He has never given me any reason to doubt that.’

  ‘But you don’t love him.’

  Rose bit her lip.

  ‘That is not a requirement of our marriage.’

  ‘Then it is doomed to fail.’ He pulled her closer, but as he went to kiss her she turned her head away. Her heart was pounding so hard it was a constant drumming in her ears. ‘Your blood is on fire when I touch you,’ he muttered, his lips grazing her neck and causing her to tremble. Her head went back as his kisses left a burning trail upon her skin. ‘If you must marry, let it be me!’

  ‘You—you are asking me to marry you?’ she said raggedly. ‘When you have just admitted you lived for years in London rather than succumb to—what did you call it?—dull domesticity?’

  ‘There would be nothing dull about our marriage.’ The dark desire in his eyes sent a shudder through her. ‘I would be a good husband, Rose, if you will give me a chance to prove it.’

  She closed her eyes, scalding tears welling up.

  ‘Yes, you have behaved yourself for the past ten months, but that is not a lifetime!’ She choked back a sob. ‘Harry was a model husband for the first year, until Sam was born, but then he reverted to his old ways. I cannot—will not—risk that happening again.’

  He sighed. ‘One can never guarantee what life has in store. Sometimes you have to take a risk.’ His grip tightened on her arms. ‘Sometimes, you have to follow your heart. You have to trust me, Rose.’

  With a tremendous effort she freed herself, shaking off his hands to say angrily, ‘I do not have to do anything! You ask too much of me, sir, when all I ask of you is that you leave me alone!’ She covered her face with her hands. ‘Please,’ she said softly, ‘please, just go away.’

  ‘Is there nothing I say will convince you that I have changed for good?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘Only time will tell us that, Lawrence, and that is something I do not have.’ She drew a long, steadying breath and said resolutely, ‘I am marrying Magnus in the spring.’

  She spoke slowly, her words falling heavy as lead between them. Lawrence watched her, his face pale and impassive, but the muscle working in his jaw told her just how tense he was.

  ‘So, I have my answer,’ he said at last. ‘This is goodbye.’

  ‘Yes.’ She put her hands to her cheeks. ‘This year has been the most miserable I have ever spent. You c-cannot know how much I regret taking the wrong turning last winter.’

  A wry smile twisted his lips.

  ‘I am very sorry if you think that. I have come to believe your arriving at my door was the finest thing that ever happened in my life.’

  With a final, clipped little bow he turned on his heel and walked out. In the silence she listened to his footsteps fading away. He would leave, she knew it. He would hurry down the stairs, there would be a flurry of activity as one footman hurried off to fetch his coat while another dashed to the stables to order his horse.

  Go after him. Tell him you have changed your mind.

  The insidious voice in her head teased her with views of a halcyon future where they would live in wedded bliss. She folded her arms across her stomach. Better to conjure the images of her marriage to Harry Westerhill: the arguments, the blows, the long waking nights knowing he was lying in another woman’s bed. And even if she could endure all that, Lawrence would expect an heir. How was she to tell him that she could have no more children?

  Chapter Seven

  Lawrence groaned and turned carefully in his bed. His head hurt dreadfully, but he knew he could not blame Emsleigh’s wine for that. He had returned to Knightscote in the early hours of the morning and settled down to contemplate his future with a bottle of brandy. To see Rose in such distress tore at his heart. When he had first learned that she had postponed her marriage to Emsleigh he had begun almost un consciously to hope that she might have changed her mind about him, but that now seemed impossible. She was determined to marry Emsleigh, to provide Sam with a respectable father. Aye, that was the bitter irony—if Lawrence’s suspicions were correct, then Magnus Emsleigh was anything but respectable: he was responsible for sinking the Sealark to claim the insurance and inadvertently responsible for Ruben Wooler’s death. Lawrence could not ignore that, nor could he share his suspicions with Rose. But he could not let her marry Emsleigh while he suspected him of such villainy. He had to discover the truth.

  A week later Lawrence was forced to admit that his investigations were not going well. He had sought out Captain Morris, but he had told him nothing more than the agent had already gleaned from the crew members: a fire had broken out in the hold and they had been forced to abandon ship. The accounts were all the same—too much so for Lawrence’s liking—but since they all held notes of hand from Magnus Emsleigh, promising them various sums once the insurers had paid out, it was unlikely anyone of them would admit to anything different. The only person who seemed troubled was Abel Wooler, brother of the drowned sailor. Lawrence had spoken to him on several occasions and had the distinct impression that he was hiding something.

  Lawrence decided that he would go and see Abel once more. If he stuck to his story then there would be nothing for it but to return to London. He would have to tell George Craven that the insurance claim must stand.

  And that would leave Rose free to marry Magnus Emsleigh. The thought irked him, but if he had nothing stronger than his own suspicions, what right had he to object to a marriage that would give Rose and Sam a secure and comfortable life?

  Riding to Mersecombe did much to raise Lawrence’s spirits. There were still signs of the early snow on the high ground and a biting wind cut at his cheeks as he galloped across the moor. It was a little warmer down in the valley, where the steeply wooded hills provided some shelter, and he slowed his hectic pace. Lawrence tried to convince himself that the sudden twisting in his gut as he rode past the church was due to the brandy and not the fact that Rose would be there, taking lessons in the little schoolroom.

  ‘Good day, Sir Lawrence.’

  The soft greeting interrupted his thoughts and he b
rought his horse to a stand. Mr Wilkins, the vicar, was standing at the edge of the road with a soberly clad woman at his side. He introduced her as Mrs Reed, a distant cousin.

  ‘I am taking Mrs Reed to the schoolroom: she is to be Mrs Westerhill’s replacement.’

  ‘Ah, yes.’ Lawrence nodded, said all that was proper and rode on.

  Another reminder that Rose was to wed Magnus Emsleigh.

  Lawrence clenched his teeth. Dear heaven, he would be glad to quit this place! As he rounded the bend in the road he spotted a figure on the road before him—it was Abel Wooler, heading for the Ship Inn. Well, perhaps fortune was favouring him at last.

  He stabled his horse and entered the inn, pausing to allow his eyes to grow accustomed to the dim light. The inn was deserted and he soon spotted his quarry, sitting at a table near the fire.

  ‘Good day to you, Wooler. Will you take a drink with me?’

  The man looked up. His eyes were wary, but he nodded.

  Lawrence called for ale and drew up a stool.

  ‘How is the pointer bitch?’

  ‘She is doing well,’ Lawrence replied. ‘Growing apace. You’ve sold all the other pups now?’

  ‘Aye, they’ve all been taken.’ Abel paused while the serving maid brought a heavy blackjack to the table and filled two tankards with frothy ale. Lawrence gave her a handful of coins and asked her to leave the blackjack on the table.

  Abel raised his tankard to Lawrence, taking his time to savour the drink before saying in his slow drawl, ‘Somehow I don’t think ’tis dogs you wants to talk to me about.’

  ‘No. I wanted to ask you again about the Sealark.’

  ‘I’ve told you all I knows, Sir Lawrence.’

  ‘But have you? Doesn’t it seem odd to you that Emsleigh should entrust such a valuable cargo to his least seaworthy ship?’