Rose

by Conrad, Angela

  “You don’t know? How should I? Perhaps after you ruined her, she jumped off a bridge.”

  Islay grabbed Sandhurst’s cravat and twisted it until the viscount squealed.

  “Unhand me, I don’t know her location. Who needs Rose now, with everything destroyed?”

  Mark kept twisting until the viscount’s face turned red and he choked out, “I swear I don’t know where she is.”

  Mark let go and the viscount dropped his head, slid his hands on his desk and sat down.

  “You can have Rose, she’s ruined by you; not worth anything now, you take care of her.”

  “Oh I intend to, you swine.”

  Simon staggered on his feet and went to reach for Mark in a fit of jealous rage. Mark hit him hard on the jaw and Simon crumbled to the floor.

  “Tell that bastard when he wakes up, if he wants a duel I’m available,” Mark growled.

  ……….

  Rose was having a terrible day and arguing with the Kensington groom was the last knife in a heap of sharp blades she wanted to avoid.

  “Lady Marlene ordered the horse ready,” Rose repeated again.

  “I don’t take orders from any silly miss. Her father pays my wages and you’ll not have his horse,” the grisly man uttered, scratching his head.

  “Marlene gave me permission, she promised I could try him out for a ride,” Rose tried.

  “At night, alone, with a veil half over your pretty face? Ah no lass, you won’t pull the wool over this man’s eyes.”

  “Please, it’s a desperate matter, I must get away,” Rose asked, giving up any pride.

  “Running away from your famous father I’d guess. Oh, I know who you are alright. Daughter to that haughty Lord Sandhurst. I can’t say I blame ya, but you’re not taking his lordship’s favorite horse.”

  “What about another one? Any mount? Surely there is a simple stable mare I might use,” Rose pleaded, seeing the old man soften a touch.

  “Sorry, I cannot. Are you meeting a young fellow? Where would a young lady who looks like you go that was safe?”

  “Nowhere,” came a deep baritone voice from the alleyway.

  There sat Mark Islay, mounted on a strong black stallion, dressed as before but looking fatigued and worried.

  He slid from his horse and took Rose by the arm. Never had flesh felt so wonderful to him. He had her and he was never letting go. Before she could twist away, he lifted her and sat her on his horse, quickly mounting after her, guessing she would try to escape.

  “Thanks for delaying her, I will see her safe,” Mark said to the Kensington stable hand.

  He heeled his horse and took off at a fast trot before the man could say a word. The thought that the duke’s men could have found Rose and taken her filled Mark with such fear, that he was amazed by the force of his emotion. It was beyond anything he’d ever suffered in his life. He knew losing Rose to another man would never happen, not as long as he had the strength to prevent it. He hugged Rose so tightly that she struggled.

  “Lord Islay, what do you think you are doing?” Rose asked, a rush of happiness and loathing battling inside her.

  “That disgusting book you saw was not mine. Your father planted it there with my ex valet’s help. It is not my hand, my past, or my plans for you,” Mark shouted in her ear. He tightened his strong arm around her waist and squeezed again.

  Rose stopped resisting and turned. Mark reined in his horse at the Islay mews and dismounted. He pulled Rose off the horse and into his arms, carrying her casually into the front door of his townhouse, as easily and normally as if it was a regular, daily occurrence.

  He climbed the massive front staircase, servants scrambling to move out of his way, and walked into his bedchamber, where he loudly kicked the door shut.

  Once inside, he slowly dropped Rose on his bed and reclined on top of her, so fully, she could not move.

  “Don’t try to get away again,” Mark ordered. “I’m never letting you go.”

  Rose looked into his eyes and for the first time recognized a gentleman’s heart lodged there. Mark looked relieved, satisfied, and content.

  He started kissing her neck. He reached up and removed Marlene’s silly hat and veil. Placing his arms around Rose, Mark turned them both sideways, lifting part of his weight off of her.

  “My father really did that? Created such a book listing victims and seductions?” Rose asked, searching his blue eyes for the truth.

  “Yes, he heard you and Marlene talking about my past affairs and had the idea. I’ve wondered at my valet’s manner recently and with what I found out this afternoon, it wasn’t hard to guess,” Mark revealed. “I’ll prove it to you, show you samples of my writing. It is not mine.”

  He inhaled her scent and started kissing her again. Mark could not believe Rose was here with him, safe. He kissed her with all the pent up emotion and feeling running richly inside him. He reached around to her back and unbraided her glorious hair. The blonde curls came free in his hands and spread about them both.

  Rose returned the kisses. She believed him. She trusted him. It amazed her that she could feel this way, but she followed her heart and ran her hands through his long hair.

  They lay together, tightly wedged as one, kissing each other with joy and desire. Mark ran his hands over Rose and she matched his movement. She moaned into his mouth and he repeated the sound louder.

  Gads, this is torture,” Mark said. “I have to stop.”

  “I wish you wouldn’t,” Rose replied.

  “Don’t say so. I have to tell you something first.”

  “I don’t want to hear it, my father’s plan, a sick duke, I can guess most of it. Was Simon in on it?” Rose had to ask.

  “I don’t think he was until the end, when he saw no other way to have you. He planned on being with you Rose, siring the heirs. He was drinking too much and thinking too little,” Mark told her, watching her face and hating to hurt her.

  “That’s really awful,” Rose shivered. “What a terrible way they planned for me to live my life.”

  “We’ll go over all of it later, but now I have to tell you when I said, ‘I think I love you Rose,’ it wasn’t true.”

  She looked at him in surprise and started to pull away, hitting his arm, but Mark held her tighter.

  “Not ‘think’, but know Rose. I do love you. I’m mad for you. I can’t live without you. Marry me Rose,” Mark demanded. It wasn’t a question, but an order.

  He started kissing her again and between kisses he would repeat, “Marry me,” over and over in her ears until she laughed.

  “You can’t say no, at least fifteen people saw me carry you inside my townhouse and news of us being together is all over London. You’re trapped Rose, you must accept me,” Mark said, running a finger over her cheek.

  “You’ve had so many women Mark, it’s hard to forget.”

  “All before you. The night I saw you I dismissed Lady Clarkson and never saw her again. I haven’t been with anyone since. I don’t want anyone but you Rose. Please believe me, I have never loved a woman before. The way I want you, the desire I feel for you, it is very different.”

  Rose looked into those dark blue stormy eyes and believed him. He was anxious, worried, he really did want her desperately.

  “Marry me Rose. I love you, do you love me?”

  “Yes,” Rose declared. “I love you too Mark Islay. That book broke my heart. Do you remember when I told you the man I choose would have to be satisfied with just me? Are you sure Mark? Will you promise to be faithful?”

  “I want only you and I can be faithful to you Rose. I could never stand to lose you. I’d do nothing that would risk losing you. I’m sorry your father is such an ass. I’m sorry you were hurt. But we are together now Rose.”

  “If I agree to marry you, what are you planning? Are we going to Gretna Green?” Rose whispered.

  “I was thinking special license, but I’m game for Scotland if you desire the trip.”

  “
I think I do. I’m tired of society, rules, plots, and games. I just want to be with you Mark. I will marry you.”

  He gazed into her eyes, then at her lips and smiled.

  He whispered, “Thank you Rose. You won’t be the first countess married in Scotland. Tomorrow, we’ll go.”

  “What about tonight?” Rose asked, looking into his handsome face and smiling, as excitement ran deeply down her spine.

  “Tonight, you’re not leaving this bed,” Mark promised, reaching around and undoing the lacings of her gown.

  “Before marriage?” Rose asked, though she no longer doubted him.

  “We’re married already Lady Islay in my heart and my mind. Do you trust me?”

  “I do. I trust a gentleman, who would believe it?” Rose laughed.

  “I would, I do. Kiss me sweetheart. I cannot wait one more day.”

  Rose complied. She adored Mark Islay more than she thought possible. She knew they would marry and be together. She believed in him.

  It was a beautiful feeling, trusting someone and loving them. Rose gave up every fear and tightened her grip on her gentleman.

  “I love you, I do.”

  “I love you madly Rose.”

  ……….

  CHAPTER NINE

  True Love’s Test

  Lord Islay Town House

  Residence of the Earl and Countess Islay

  Berkley Square

  London, England

  Late summer 1814

  It was the night of their first party, hosting as man and wife. The one night that Lord Mark Islay lowered his standards of good behavior, drank too much, wavered in his judgment, and let his friend influence him; it was the night he lost Rose.

  They had been blissfully married for three months. Mark had never been so content or felt such happiness. Rose was everything to him. He could not leave her alone during the nights or stop staring at her all day. She was blonde, sweet perfection, from her flawlessly formed features, her magnificent figure, up to her crowning long golden hair. She was also sweet, even tempered, funny, kind, and giving.

  Rose knew how to love a man. She held him in a way that made him feel special, cared for, needed. Her youthful body so responsive to his every touch, their love making ran hot and passionate. She kissed him as if he was her very world and Mark wanted to forever be the center of her life.

  It was surprising, after the childhood she had suffered, that she became such a wonderful wife and countess. When Mark met Rose, she had no trust whatsoever in gentlemen. He had a reputation as a rogue and a colorful past with many conquests peppering the floor of every ball or party. She understood immediately, more than he noticed, Rose saw the longing stares and hurt expressions. It made him feel guilty and glad to be rid of that rogue’s lifestyle. He had been wasting his life on idle pursuits.

  Mark was a good husband. Always beside Rose, never dancing with anyone else, he remained loyal and true to her and she grew to love him in a way he dared not hope to ever have. Her love was a rare gift, a feeling some men lived their entire life without having. Mark treasured it.

  His behavior made his friends smile and tease him. They asked where his prowess had gone. They envied him having Rose and one lord contemplated breaking them apart for his own ends. If Mark could be tempted to be unfaithful, Rose would be easier to persuade into an affair.

  That dreadful night, Lord Fletcher was back in town and having seen Rose before, grew so jealous of his old college friend’s happiness, he put a plan into motion.

  First he separated the pair. Rose was with her friend Marlene Kensington and Mark, a rare moment away, was alone.

  Fletcher continued to take brandies off the ever passing tray and hand them to Mark. That night Lord Islay was feeling grand, as Rose had told him to expect a special late night with her after their party.

  Mark drank and laughed with his once Oxford friend until he found himself standing on his side balcony alone. Where had Fletcher gone? Mark wondered and sat for a few minutes, getting his head back on straight. It was dark, almost fall, and the air was heavy. Suddenly he smelled the most exotic perfume and looked around to see a beautiful young lady, early twenties, with raven black hair and dancing green eyes looking at him.

  “Lord Fletcher alleged you would be out here alone, but I doubted him. You’re never alone,” She hummed at him, coming closer.

  “Do I know you?” Mark asked, realizing he was swaying a bit.

  “Not yet,” the strange woman asked. “Do you want to know me?”

  Islay’s old behavior automatically kicked into gear filling in for the haziness of being drunk. Numerous times in his life, he had been pursued by women. He felt he had seen every approach, witnessed every suggestive stance, and heard all the flirting lines a woman used to attract a man. She was a little different. Fresher and younger than his past experiences with widows and bored wives.

  “I’m married,” Mark replied.

  “Oh we all know that and she’s beautiful too, but have you never wondered what you are missing, just limiting yourself to one?” she asked.

  Mark laughed.

  “No. I’m thirty and I’ve been with plenty of women and I know what I have.”

  “What about a test?” she whispered, touching his sleeves and rubbing her hands up his arms.

  “What kind of test?” Mark was foolish enough to ask, his reason impaired.

  “I kiss you and you see if it’s something you’re missing?”

  “It won’t be. I told you I love my wife.”

  “Of course you do, this has nothing to do with her. Just a test, a few seconds, and then you will prove that your heart is true. Here, let me,” she offered.

  Before he could think to step back or push her away, she stepped into his arms and started softly kissing his neck. It felt nice and Mark stood there, not believing this was happening. He had not touched another woman since the first night he had seen Rose. Some drunken excitement ran through him, as she continued to kiss his neck, his chin, and move up to his mouth.

  She was warm, soft, and smelled intriguing. Her touch was skilled and he wondered with half of his brain, if she was really a lady at all. She wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed into him and Mark realized he’d placed his arms around her, though he didn’t remember doing it.

  She purred like a panther and suddenly placed her hot tongue inside his mouth. For just one foolish moment, Mark used his tongue to kiss her back, feeling heat rising in him.

  Something alerted him, a small sound, a movement of air and Mark opened his eyes to see Rose standing in the doorway watching him. Her eyes were wet and tortured, her mouth was slightly open in shock. She looked at him in horror and he realized he was still kissing this clinging stranger, who was pressing into him stronger and not letting go.

  As he pushed the woman back, taking her arms and removing them from his waist, Rose turned and disappeared.

  Mark sobered immediately. He left the balcony with desperate speed, running into the drawing room, he did not see Rose anywhere. He raced up the stairway and burst into their bedchamber, but it was empty.

  “Rose,” he called. “Rose!”

  She was not there.

  He took a moment to run his hands down his face and taking his handkerchief out, he wiped the strange woman’s lingering kisses off his mouth.

  Mark felt growing terror. He closed his eyes and relived the minute Rose watched him kissing another lady in such a fashion, in their own home, the look in her eyes reflected disbelief and pain. All the trust and love gone, erased. Her perfect pewter gaze frozen.

  He stood on shaking legs and went back downstairs. He walked calmly on the outside, a show for their guests, ice running inside, and circled the entire residence. Not once seeing Rose.

  Mark approached Marlene Kensington, Rose’s truest friend.

  “Marlene, have you seen Rose lately?” Mark asked, noticing the thin thread of his voice.

  “Not after Lord Fletcher pulled her aside a
nd directed her to go to you on the balcony. He said her husband wanted to show her something amusing.”

  “Did he? Where is he now?” Mark asked, trying to control the boiling rage in his heart.

  “I saw him leave with that harlot he brought, black haired, personally I think she’s no lady at all, but his mistress,” Marlene revealed, not realizing the storm she was fueling.

  He looked at Marlene and realized the truth. He had been played for a joke, a jest that threatened to ruin his marriage and break his wife’s heart.

  Mark walked away from Marlene without another word and went outside to their mews. The worst of his fears was confirmed. Rose was not there, but her horse Snowflake was gone.

  In a panic he saddled his stallion and questioned the sleepy stable lads. One said he saw her ladyship mounting Snowflake bareback and riding towards Hyde Park.

  Mark had never turned a horse and ridden as fast as he did that evening, the slight wind humid, the sky dark with clouds. He raced to the park, now closed and deserted, but still ways open to enter, easy for skilled riders.

  Panic and terror raced inside him. Mark could not stand to live, if he lost Rose. She could hurt herself, fall riding bareback at night in damp grass. Bile rose in his throat and he felt his eyes tear. She would never trust him again.

  “Damn it!” Islay roared.

  What would she do? Where would she ride? He had an idea and rode as fast as he could in the dark, to the thick hedge on a slope, the first place he’d seen Rose ride several months ago. She had been jumping that dangerous hedge.

  Sweat mixed with tears on handsome Mark Islay’s cheeks, as he squinted to focus on a white figure ahead of him. Snowflake, the mare’s tail swooshing and her mane flying. Mounted on her was Rose, still in her ball gown. She was sitting astride with no saddle, her hem pulled up above her knees.