Defiant Rose (39 page)

Clara nodded. “All right, then. But no coaching from the audience. I work in my own way. And Rose is my assistant. I don’t care to work with some rich lackey.”

“Fine.” Alice gave in to all the demands while Melissa stood by, horrified. “Friday, then. That will give me time to invite everyone. I am so looking forward to it.” Bending down, she gave Rosemary a fond kiss, then patted her hand. “It has been so good to meet you, my dear. I knew you would bring us luck as soon as I heard your name. Rosemary Carney, I believe?”

“Wharton,” Catherine answered easily. “Rosemary Wharton.”

It was late when Michael finally arrived home. Rosemary heard the sound of the carriage wheels, then the quiet hush of the door as he entered the house. He didn’t come upstairs to his room, nor did he ring for the butler. She could hear him moving around downstairs, then a silence as if he had settled into one of the rooms.

Curious, Rosemary donned a robe, blushing as she covered the yellow silk nightdress that Michael had bought for her from one of the women’s shops downtown. It seemed sinful to wear something so slippery and delightfully sensual against her bare skin, but he had assured her that such luxuries were common. Women’s clothes had some advantages, Rosemary thought with a grin as she moved quietly down the stairs.

There was light emanating from the parlor. Everything else was dark and quiet, the household obviously asleep. When she peeked inside, Michael was seated before the fire, his papers spread before him, his head bent characteristically, intent on his work.

For a moment Rosemary watched him, a feeling of pride running through her. He was so handsome, the way he tilted his head to one side as he examined a document, his expression focused and serious. Her heart swelled within her as she thought of the effort he’d made on her behalf to make her feel comfortable here and accepted. She’d put him through so much, fought him every step of the way, but Michael remained undaunted. Even if it was just for the sake of the child, it said something for him, something she would never have believed just a few months ago.

Yet she noticed the tiredness around his eyes, the drawn tightness of his mouth. He seemed paler than usual, and he stifled a yawn, drawing out another ream of papers, which apparently had to be finished by morning. His shoulders slumped from fatigue, and he turned up the light, preparing to work.

What was happening to them? In spite of her achievement in winning Catherine over, Rosemary was not happy here, yet she was determined not to show it. Surely she would learn to derive pleasure from the same things that these women took for granted. It would just take some time. Yet she hadn’t expected the change in Michael to be so profound, once back in his own surroundings. By no means was he returning to his miserly ways, but he was far from the carefree circus manager she had known.

Forcing a smile, she entered the room, gratified to see his look of surprise change to pleasure as he saw her. Putting aside the papers, he indicated a space on the sofa beside him.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t wake you, did I? I came in the back way.”

Rosemary shook her head, then sat next to him on the sofa. Gesturing to the papers, she frowned. “What’s all this?”

“Work.” Running a hand through his hair, Michael shrugged in resignation. “I’ve got a lot to do. Most of my responsibilities were not kept current while I was away. It’s one of the pitfalls of this business.”

Rosemary picked up the data sheets, then looked at the long scrolling columns of figures. “Is it always like this, or is it just because you were away?”

“Truthfully, it was always overwhelming,” Michael confided as he undid his cravat and opened the top of his shirt. Reaching for a glass of brandy, he smiled, but even that seemed an effort. “I never really noticed it before, but there’s always been too much to do and not enough time. You get lulled into thinking you’ve made some progress, then something else happens. I think it’s one of the things you just accept about the career.”

“It doesn’t sound like much of a life, Michael Wharton.” Rosemary smiled, slipping her hands onto his shoulders and massaging the tension from his back. “I think you were better off chasing lions.”

Michael laughed, pulling her closer to him. “I’ve missed you,” he admitted, gathering her into his arms. “And you look beautiful. Be patient with me for a while. I promise I’ll have this under control by the time the baby’s born.”

Rosemary smiled, wanting to believe him, but knowing better. It would never change. It had only taken a few days back in the city for the business to take hold of him. And from what she’d heard from Catherine, this was far from uncommon. There would always be another deal, another problem, another panic or financial windfall. The ache inside of her deepened. If this was what Michael really wanted, would she stop him? Could she?

She reached out to him, touching the lines of tension on his face, smoothing them away with her fingers. She saw his surprise, then a shudder passed through him as her hands did their magic, slowly taking the tightness from his muscles. Her fingers were strong, callused, and work-roughened, but they were Rosemary’s hands, and nothing had ever felt so good.

Slipping his arms around her waist, he pulled her closer, looking into those magical green eyes that for once were not laughing. Instead, they looked enchanting, filled with a love light that made her seem angelic, passionate, and real. There was nothing of a clown about her as she lifted her chin and gazed at him with all the heartfelt love she’d buried deep within her. Thunder seemed to echo in his ears, and his blood rushed through his veins.

“Rose?” It was a question, one he didn’t dare pose. Yet she didn’t pull away from him, nor did she fight him or giggle mischievously. Instead, she let her fingers slide to his neck, massaging his shoulders, her mouth curving into a soft, sweet smile.

“You wanted me to try, Michael. I’m going to, if the offer is still good. I can’t sew needlepoint to save my life, I can’t make scrapbooks, I don’t want to learn piano, but if you really think you can stand a clown for a wife, then I will try.”

“Rosemary…” Michael buried his hands in her hair, pulling her mouth closer to his. “Do you mean I’ve won? I’ve really got you back?”

She nodded, her eyes brimming with tears. “It isn’t the love potion, Michael. I looked it up in Clara’s book, and she made the wrong one. I should have iron-rich blood as a result, but not love. You did that. You made me love you.”

“God help you if you don’t mean it,” he said fiercely, his lips touching her throat, her mouth, her face. “Because I’ll never let you go, never. Rosemary, you’ve brought something to my life, something I can’t do without. I know you’re not happy here, but please—”

“Don’t.” She placed a finger to his lips. “I’ll stay as long as I make you happy. But you know, Michael, I have a good deal of experience in that area. As a clown, I know how to make people happy. If I can just do it for you—”

“Always.” He took her mouth in a hard, possessive kiss that said it all. Books forgotten, ledgers shoved to the floor, quills aside, they tumbled onto the sofa like two children, newly discovering their love. Michael laughed, overwhelmed with joy, and Rosemary giggled like a little girl. Clothing became a barrier, and they removed it in a frenzied need, wanting to touch, to be touched, to reach out to each other with the uninhibited emotions that at last could not be denied.

It was tender, passionate, funny, and fierce. The odd Victorian furniture did not make the most comfortable place for love-making, but nothing could stop them now. Rosemary’s eyes misted with tears as he slid his hand down the silk of her breasts, touching the soft coral tips and watching them spring into life, then to her belly, warming the child within.

“Do you know how wonderful you are? Rosemary, don’t ever leave me.”

She smiled through her tears and pulled his face to hers, this proud, passionate man who would never have revealed such a desire just a few short months ago. “Never.” With all the womanly emotion she possessed, Rosemary kissed him back, letting her tongue softly touch his, shyly at first, then with deepening desire. She shuddered at his powerful response, for he kissed fiercely, longingly, freeing every restraint and every misgiving that he’d ever possessed. It seemed the most natural thing in the world when he began to caress her, refusing her shyness, and delighting in the beauty of her naked body and her innocent response.

“The door,” Rosemary whispered. “Someone might come in.”

“I’d kill anyone who did,” Michael responded, kissing her again, but in deference to her feelings he rose and locked the parlor door, then returned to her quickly. Wrapping her shivering body in his embrace, he made her feel safe and secure, aroused and happy, passionate and brimming with love.

She began to return his caresses with a growing fever, but he stopped her, lowering her to the couch. “No, let me love you tonight. I want to know that I really have you, that you’re all mine.” His mouth left hers, trailing burning kisses down to her breast, taking a nipple into his mouth.

The sound of his sucking was powerfully erotic and even more exciting in the sedate setting. Rosemary sighed, knowing she should stop this, that they should retire upstairs, but she was too far along to do anything of the sort. The horsehair fabric chafed her back, igniting nerve endings that were already overly sensitive. Then he was lifting her, his mouth trailing lower, to the surprising roundness of her belly. He kissed her there, lovingly, almost as if kissing their child, and she shuddered in pure emotion, letting it overwhelm her like a cup filled with rainwater.

Seated on the floor beside her, he pulled her to the edge of the sofa, his mouth teasing the silken firmness of her thighs, the softness of her calves, the muscular surety of her knees. Rosemary gasped and cried out softly as he began tracing ardent kisses down and then up, to the inside of her thighs, then higher.

My God, she’d never thought it could be like this, not with her prim and proper banker. But in the privacy of his parlor, he nuzzled the most feminine part of her with his mouth, then buried his tongue deep within her, making her cry out in pure, uninhibited pleasure.

Rosemary sobbed, holding onto his head, wanting everything he could give her. Raised without any ladylike notions of propriety, she openly enjoyed the unbelievable pleasure he was giving her. Her body, young and responsive, opened to his eager lips and she held him even more tightly as she reached her climax. Wave after wave of pure, unadulterated pleasure flooded through her and she clung to him gratefully, suffused with emotion, filled with a love and longing that only this man could ever fill.

She couldn’t have left him if she tried. When he rose from the floor, his mouth seeking hers, she gave herself to him with all the passion her body could hold. Her face lifted from his, and she looked at him innocently, her eyes filled with wonder and joy, then like a child asking for another sweet, she whispered softly,

“I want you inside me now. Do you mind?”

Michael grinned, pulling her down on top of him, wanting this very special woman with an urgency that was at once exciting as it was embarrassing. She made him feel sixteen years old again. Much as he wanted to go slowly, both for her sake and that of the child, her uninhibited question drove any such thought from his mind. Together they reached a plateau that spoke of all of the emotion that they’d kept hidden all this time. The months of longing, of waiting, of fear and laughter all culminated into this single moment of real expression. It wasn’t until he was finally drained that Rosemary clung to him, knowing what it was to be a woman at last.

“Now, do ye have everything memorized?” Clara tugged at the back of Rosemary’s corset while the young woman nodded, struggling to get the laces lined up correctly.

“Yes. You want me to fill in for the voices when necessary, distract anyone who appears to be interfering, and assist you in contacting the spirits.” Rosemary shifted the corset again, then tugged at the whalebone lining. “It’s just a shame Catherine can’t come.”

“’Tis just as well,” Clara said wisely. “She does not believe. It’s nae good to have too many naysayers in the room.”

Rosemary nodded. While Catherine supported what they were doing, she really wasn’t a spiritualist, and that could prove distracting. Recalling Clara’s card reading the previous time, she grinned. “How did you know about Alice’s young love?”

“Bah!” Clara snorted, waving the air. “All these old dowagers have a young man tucked away somewhere. That’s why they’re old dowagers. Alice Caldwalder is no different from any other woman, no matter how much money she has. I just looked to the cards, and there he was.”

“Her niece is very pretty,” Rose said thoughtfully, gazing into the mirror. The corset still didn’t fit right, and her green eyes squinted as she tried to fix the clothes. “She had an interest in Michael, I think.”

Clara stared at Rosemary with a shrewd look on her face. “She don’t hold a candle to you, dearie. Don’t be worrying about the likes of Miss Coldwater.”

“Caldwalder.” Rosemary grinned. “But she does look the part, Clara, you have to admit. Her clothes and hair are perfect.” Glancing doubtfully at the gypsy costume Clara displayed, Rosemary sighed. “Do you really think it’s appropriate?”

“You’ll look grand, as always.” Clara helped her slip the black and silver dress over her head and clucked reassuringly. “It’s nae your fault you know aught about clothes and fancy women’s things. Your mother left when you were too young, that besom, and you spent all your time working like a man. What do you expect?”