by Jane Goodger
“It’s more than that,” Rose said, swallowing thickly. “Yesterday, when we were walking, he . . . the duke . . . made improper advances.”
Her mother gave her a look of amused commiseration. “Oh, darling, you look so worried. A few stolen kisses between an engaged couple is nothing to fret about.” She turned to sit back down at her vanity, but then her gaze sharpened and she looked at Rose through the reflection. “He didn’t . . . You are still . . .” She let her voice trail off, but Rose knew what she’d meant.
Rose felt her cheeks redden. She longed to tell her mother the truth, but it was just so shameful. And what if her mother dismissed it as nothing? Or worse, blamed her for inciting his passions? She’d been taught for years that it was up to the woman to let a man know where the boundaries were, yet she hadn’t stopped him. She hadn’t struck him or really even tried to push him away once it had started.
“Nothing like that.” Somehow, it was worse, but she couldn’t bring herself to say it aloud, not to her mother, who trusted her, who was so very happy that the duke had offered his hand.
Her mother looked visibly relieved. “Then there’s nothing to worry about, Rose. Men sometimes have a difficult time controlling their baser feelings, and it is up to us women to keep them in check. If he tries to do more than steal a kiss, you are to tell him in no uncertain terms that it will have to wait until your wedding night. After you’re married, I’m afraid you will have to submit to his baser whims. But we’ll talk more about that on the eve of your wedding, shall we?”
Rose stood behind her mother, feeling ill. The picture her mother painted of marriage was nightmarish. He would do that and more when they were married. He would humiliate and hurt her and she could do nothing, say nothing? No wonder his first wife had always looked so pale.
She thought of her brother Adam and Georgette, so clearly in love, so happy together. She’d seen them kissing when they thought no one was watching and it had always seemed like such a lovely thing. So obviously not all marriages were frightening, nor were all men like the duke. Or maybe there was something wrong with her? Maybe she was supposed to have found pleasure in what he’d done? She shuddered at the thought.
“Who’s walking on your grave?” her mother said on a small laugh.
Rose forced a smile. “Do you think you could accompany us on our walk today, Mother?”
Her mother gave her a chastising look. “Rose, you must not be silly about this. He is your intended and has already expressed his distaste of chaperones and being treated like a schoolboy. We dare not upset him at this critical time. Besides, Lady Simmons is arriving shortly. Now, go get ready for your duke, dear, will you? And please stop fretting.”
Thirty minutes later Rose stood outside the formal parlor, listening to the sound of her mother and Weston talking to one another. She knew if she crossed that threshold, she would be sentencing herself to being alone with the duke. And she also knew if she didn’t, her mother would be angry and fetch her. She steeled herself and entered the parlor, unable to give the duke even a passing glance. She dreaded what she would see in his eyes.
“You have another lovely day for a walk,” her mother said pointedly.
Rose darted a look at the duke, who observed her with bland amusement. When she’d first met him, she’d thought him quite dashing. Now the sight of him made her physically ill. What was she going to do? How could she face a lifetime with a man she couldn’t bear to look at? “Mother, I’m quite tired from yesterday’s walk.”
“But you didn’t even reach the lake. Cook commented that you and His Grace never got as far as the lake. All that food wasted.”
“I ate when I returned,” Rose pointed out, not wishing to argue. “And we walked quite far enough even if we didn’t reach the lake.”
“I wish for a walk.” Both women turned to the duke as if they’d forgotten he was in the room. “Yesterday’s walk was so . . . bracing.”
Oh, God. Rose wanted to run from the room, wanted to scream out what His Grace had made her do, what he had said after he’d made her do the despicable act. Do not disappoint me, Rose. I do not want a timid wife. Perhaps it is not too late to call things off....
He knew what he’d been saying, what he was threatening. Please me or pay. Please me or I will ruin you by ending the engagement, by throwing you aside. He’d acted as if he were in his right to do what he did, that her reaction was childish and supremely distasteful. Was what he’d demanded something that was his right to demand? She was young and naive, and she had displeased him. And so, to her shame, she’d apologized, explained that she had never even been kissed, surely it was wrong for her to do something so . . . intimate without the benefit of marriage. He’d laughed and chucked her lightly under her chin as if she’d just spoken the most adorable nonsense.
She prayed he wouldn’t expect her to do it again. Rose looked at him and he had that same hooded gaze he’d had yesterday and a secret smile that told her he knew what she was thinking.
“Perhaps you would like to join us, Mother,” Rose repeated, trying not to let her voice show her desperation.
“I cannot, dear. As I told you, Lady Simmons is visiting this afternoon and I must attend her.”
“Let’s take our walk, shall we?” the duke said, rising and holding out his arm, indicating the door that led to the terrace.
Rose walked to him and tried to smile, for whose benefit she could not have said. When they reached the terrace, Rose looked up, praying for threatening clouds. Though the sky was not as bright as the previous day, the sun continued to shine through a milky layer of clouds that at the moment didn’t seem to have a drop of rain in them. In the distance, she could see a field of poppies, swaying cheerfully in the gentle breeze, but the sight of her favorite flower did nothing to lift her mood.
“This is a walk, not a death sentence. You annoy me with your missish behavior,” Weston said.
“I am a miss, sir, after all.”
He looked at her with annoyance. “You should learn early on, my dear, that you will not argue with me. You will obey me in all things—all things—and you shall do so without complaint or hesitation. We can have a pleasant life together if you resign yourself to those simple demands. I am not an ogre, Rose, but I am a powerful man who will not tolerate an incompliant wife. Do you understand?”
Rose stared straight ahead, her hands fisting. “I understand, Your Grace.”
She saw from the side of her eye that he was looking at her, probably gauging whether she told the truth.
“I would like for us to be happy,” he said, his voice gentler, causing Rose to look up at him. “I do believe we are well suited. I pay you a compliment, my dear, and I am giving you the greatest of honors by asking you to be my wife. Do you not think a dozen other young ladies would step forward if our engagement were broken?”
“I do not wish that, Your Grace,” Rose said. Oh, but she did, she did.
“Good. You have pleased me. And you shall please me even more momentarily, I am certain of it.” He held out his arm and she took it, looking for all the world like a woman without a care. As they walked toward the path that would lead to the lake, Rose looked to the stables and wondered whether Moonrise had foaled. Charlie hadn’t sent word, which worried her a bit. As if her thoughts conjured him, Charlie appeared at the large door and stood there, watching them, and Rose had the terrible urge to break away from the duke and run toward him. He lifted his head slightly, but she was too far away to see his expression. Then he nodded, once, and Rose smiled and looked back toward the path. Moonrise had had her foal, and for that small moment, she was filled with a bit of joy.
“Bucky, watch the foal. I’m going for a walk.”
Bucky, who was cleaning up the mess from the birthing, looked up, surprised. “You want me to watch her?”
“You’re ready. And I need a walk.”
“I’d think you’d need your bed more than a walk,” he said. “When’s the last time you slept?”<
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“I think I need a bath more than a bed,” Charlie said, looking down at his clothes. He’d washed the blood and fluids from his face and arms, but his clothing was still a sight. At the moment, though, he wouldn’t have cared if he were covered in blood from head to toe. He couldn’t stop thinking that something had happened yesterday, something between the duke and Lady Rose. If he was wrong, no harm. But if he was right, she would need him and he’d be damned if he didn’t try to protect her.
Charlie went out the back of the stables through a small paddock, walking quickly to the railing and leaping over the fence effortlessly. All night, the image of Lady Rose’s pale face had haunted him. Maybe he was a fool, maybe he was so much in love that he saw something where there was nothing, but his gut was telling him she should not be alone with the duke. The couple had been walking toward the path that led to the lake, and he was quite certain that’s where they’d been headed. He cut through the forest, keeping his eye on the path, seeing occasional flashes of color from Lady Rose’s yellow dress through the trees and brambles. He walked parallel to them, ignoring the prickers digging into ungloved hands and even through his thick pants. The brambles were a curse on this land, always making a stroll in the woods an uncomfortable affair.
He decided he would keep his distance until he was satisfied that she was safe. He had no business taking a stroll in the middle of the day, especially when a foal had just been born. The longer he followed them, the more foolish he felt. Clearly, they were only a couple taking a walk together. Was it real concern for Lady Rose that kept him going or his ridiculous jealousy? he wondered, trying to be honest with himself. The day was cool, but tramping through the woods without the benefit of a path was making him sweat from the exertion. The couple was, perhaps, a hundred yards from where he watched them, no doubt chatting about their upcoming nuptials. What the hell was he doing, following them? He was about to turn back to the stables in disgust, when they stopped in the path, then moved closer to the forest on the opposite side of the path from where Charlie stood, holding his breath, watching them. Then he recognized, even from that distance, the obvious movements of a man unbuttoning his pants. Holy God. And Lady Rose stood there, frozen. Terrified.
He’d kill the duke if he touched her.
In a matter of seconds, Charlie assessed the situation and weighed his options. He wanted her safe. He wanted the duke dead. But, of course, that could never happen. Charlie knew he would swing from the nearest gallows if he laid a hand on the duke. And so he did the next best thing—he started singing loudly and quite badly the first song he could think of.
“Mary had a little lamb, little lamb, little lamb. Mary had a little lamb whose fleece was white as snow—”
He stopped abruptly, as if shocked to find himself in the company of Lady Rose and His Grace, but wanted to whoop out in joy, for his ploy worked. The minute he started singing, the duke turned and made short work of buttoning his trousers and Lady Rose sagged with relief.
“I do beg your pardon, Lady Rose, Your Grace. I did not mean to offend your ears with my singing,” Charlie said good-naturedly.
“What the hell are you doing out here, boy?”
“Charlie is our head groom, Your Grace,” Lady Rose said, her voice shaking slightly, and Charlie used all his willpower not to make a fist.
“I don’t care who he is and I certainly don’t expect an introduction,” the duke said, his cheeks red, likely from anger or frustration. Charlie didn’t give a damn.
“I’m actually glad to have stumbled upon you, Lady Rose. You see, Moonrise had a foal early this morning. I sent word to the house but you had already left on your walk. She’s a lovely little filly. Would you like to see her?”
Lady Rose immediately looked to the duke as if asking permission, and Charlie tensed. If the duke denied her, what could he do? Join them on their walk? Insist that the lady return with him to the stable?
“I would so love to see her, Your Grace. Shall we?” And Lady Rose simply turned and began walking back to the stable, leaving the duke staring impotently at her back before glaring at Charlie and reluctantly following.
Charlie trailed behind, keeping a good distance between himself and the couple, but not so far as to let the duke believe they were alone. He stared at his back, wishing he could do more, wishing he could pummel the bastard within an inch of his life. Never in his life had he had such a strong urge to commit violence upon another man. He could picture himself smashing his fist into the duke’s face, putting his hand around his throat and squeezing until the life seeped out of him. But Charlie realized he valued his own neck far more than the duke’s. He whistled softly as they walked, his eyes never leaving Rose’s slim form, his heart breaking for her. She’d looked so damned scared standing there. What if he hadn’t followed them? What if he’d turned around? What would have happened?
As they neared the stable, Lady Rose picked up her pace, and Charlie jogged to catch up to the pair. He wanted to be there when she first set her eyes on the pretty little filly. She was nearly pure white, though she would certainly darken like her mother in a few months.
The three entered the stables, stopping momentarily to allow their eyes to adjust to the dimness of the interior. A tiny bit of orange fluff, one of five kittens from the latest litter, caught the corner of Charlie’s eye as it wiggled its little bum, ready to pounce on its prey—His Grace’s boot. The kitten pounced, and the duke looked down, annoyed.
“How sweet,” Lady Rose said, just before the duke shook the animal off him rather roughly.
Charlie scooped the kitten up and smiled reassuringly at Lady Rose, holding the creature against his chest before leading the couple toward the new foal, who was nursing enthusiastically and making small sucking sounds. Bucky stood outside the stall watching, and Charlie motioned his head, silently telling the younger man that he could leave.
“What a good mum she is,” Lady Rose said softly, her eyes filling with tears. “Such a pretty baby.” She turned to Charlie and smiled at him just as the duke stepped between them, blocking Charlie’s view of Lady Rose.
“Charming,” the duke drawled. “Is this her first foal?”
“Yes,” Lady Rose said. “It’s so wondrous, isn’t it? How the foal knows just what to do and how Moonrise is so accepting of her. It’s miraculous, really.”
The duke chuckled. “Hardly a miracle. Shall we return to the house?”
“I did wish to stay here and watch the foal for a bit more,” she said.
Charlie hung back, watching the couple, feeling uneasy and tense. It was strange to see her with a man, and stranger still to see her so subdued. This was not the woman he knew, the one who dashed in and out of the stable, who would take up a brush and begin grooming the nearest horse simply because she wanted to.
“But I wish to return to the house,” the duke said, his tone biting. “This outing has been less than pleasant and I certainly don’t want to spend my day standing in filth and staring at a horse.”
“Of course, Your Grace.”
The duke turned to leave and spied Charlie standing there, staring at him with clear dislike. “You, boy, don’t you have duties to attend to?”
“The foal is my duty, Your Grace.”
The duke let out a beleaguered sigh. “The foal, the foal. No doubt if I don’t let you stay, you will sulk. You may stay, Lady Rose, but I do expect to see you at luncheon. Surely you do not plan to eat out here.”
Lady Rose gave a small curtsy. “Of course, Your Grace. Thank you. I will see you for luncheon.”
Something snapped inside Charlie at that moment, though anyone looking at him wouldn’t have known. It was as if a glass vial containing a black emotion he’d never before experienced shattered, allowing that dark poison to surge through his veins. Hatred, hot and dangerous. If Lady Rose hadn’t been standing there, he was not certain he could have kept from launching himself at the duke and thrashing him within an inch of his life. As if sensing his th
oughts, Weston gave Charlie a hard stare before leaving and Charlie stared right back.
“Count yourself fortunate that you are not in my employ, boy.”
“I do, sir, thank you.”
The duke’s nostrils flared at the insult, but he left without another word.
After the duke left, Charlie carefully placed the kitten back on the ground and stood beside Lady Rose as she watched the foal. She was a sweet little filly, already sturdy on her skinny legs.
“Moonrise did well,” he said into the silence.
When Lady Rose didn’t respond, he looked at her, dying a bit inside when he saw a tear trailing down one cheek. He’d never felt so helpless in his life.
“Charlie.” She turned her head to him, her hands still clutching the stall, pain so clear in her eyes it hurt. She shook her head and looked back at the foal.
“Is there something you wanted to say, my lady?”
Her breath hitched and she shook her head again, swallowing fiercely, as if trying valiantly not to cry. God, he wanted to draw her into his arms, to take her pain away, to tell her she would be all right. For a moment, it appeared she couldn’t breathe at all, and then, in one swift movement, she launched herself against him, clutching at his shirt, her forehead pressed against his chest. “Oh, Charlie,” she cried, and began sobbing wetly against him as he stood there, arms akimbo, completely unsure what he should do.
“I can’t, I can’t,” she said over and over, until Charlie couldn’t take it anymore. He put his hands on her shoulders, closing his eyes when he felt her slim body shaking with her cries.
“Shhh,” he said, not knowing what else he could say. He didn’t know precisely why she was crying, but he had a feeling it had something to do with the ass she was expected to marry.
She pulled back slightly, her eyes and nose red from crying, and looked up at him, and it was all he could do not to bend his head and kiss away her tears. “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice thick.
“It’s perfectly fine, my lady. I’m often called upon to comfort ladies who break into tears.”
