Rose in Bloom (4 page)

Eloise was a young widow who lived on the Lybrook land. Cameron had bedded her a few times, as had many other men. She was pretty and clean, and all she asked in return was a few kind words and a chore or two around the house. Cameron had money this time, though. He wouldn’t have to stay and make small talk while he cleaned her barn or milked her spotted cow.

He saddled his stallion, Apollo, and trotted to the Warren cottage. Eloise sat on the porch, stitching a sampler, her bare feet visible beneath her apron and skirt. Her blond hair was light, lighter than Rose’s honey locks, and it was plaited into a long braid hanging down her back. Though not as tall as Rose, whose above average height seemed to fit Cameron’s lean build perfectly, Eloise was well-figured and pleasing to the eye. A smattering of freckles veiled her nose, giving her a fresh look.

“Afternoon, Cam!”

He dismounted Apollo and bowed to her politely.

“What brings you this way today?”

As if she didn’t know. When had Cameron come to call for any reason other than a tumble in bed? “Just out and about. I was hoping you might have some…time before dinner?” His neck warmed.

“For you, of course. Come on in.”

Eloise stood and entered her small dwelling. Cameron followed.

“I’ve been hoping you would come by to see me.”

“You have?”

“Yes. I think you’re the most attractive of all the single men around here. I’ve been yearning for you ever since you beat the duke in the archery challenge on May Day.”

“Oh?”

“The way you stared down your arrow. You had so much concentration and focus. It was
powerful
, that’s what it was.”

“I don’t know that anyone has ever described archery that way, Mrs. Warren.”

“Cam, call me Eloise. We don’t stand on ceremony here.”

“Of course, Eloise.”

She moved toward him, loosening the strings on her peasant blouse. She wore no corset, and soon her round breasts were tumbling free. She took his hands and cupped them around her bosom, as she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him to her. Her lips were soft and wet, and she knew how to kiss. She plunged her tongue into Cameron’s mouth. Her mouth felt different than Rose’s. Eloise was fresh cotton where Rose was silk. He turned away from her and lowered his mouth to her neck, nuzzling her soft flesh. She smelled of soap, where Rose had smelled of strawberries. Slowly he lowered his head farther, to kiss and suck her breasts. Her nipples were paler than Rose’s, and the circles not as large. He brought one into his mouth, tugging gently.

“Oh yes, Cam, that’s the way,” Eloise sighed. “No one sucks my titties like you do.” She lowered her voice. “No one eats my cunny like you, either.”

He stiffened at her words, lusty words that Rose, a lady of the peerage, would never say to him. He tugged on her nipple, moved to the other, biting, sucking.

“God, yes, Cam. I can’t wait to have your cock in my wet pussy again.” She lifted her skirts. “I’m slick as warm honey for you. Care to take a taste?”

He let her nipple go with a soft pop. Rose had been slick as warm honey. Ambrosia, he’d called it. Ambrosia she’d made only for him. While Eloise’s heat might ease the physical ache, it wouldn’t take away his yearning for Rose.

Rose.

He wanted Rose. No substitute would suffice. He raised his head and looked into Eloise’s fresh pretty face as he tucked her breasts back into her blouse and tied it. “I’m sorry, Eloise. I don’t want to do this after all.”

“What’s the matter, Cam? Did I do something wrong?”

“No, no. You did nothing wrong.” He pulled a one pound note out of his pocket and handed it to her. “I want you to take this. It will cover your expenses for a few weeks.”

“I couldn’t.”

“Yes, please take it,” Cameron said. “And, Eloise, I would consider it a favor if you would not tell anyone I was here today.”

“Of course I won’t, Cam. My word’s as good as gospel. You know that. I do miss you, though. Are you sure you don’t want—”

“I’m sure.” Cameron strode toward the door, but then turned back toward her. “You don’t have to do this, you know. You deserve more.”

“Oh, Cam, this is my life. I’ve resigned myself to it.” She smiled weakly.

“You could marry again.”

“Who would marry me? I’m damaged goods.”

“There’s someone out there for you, Eloise. There’s someone out there for everyone.”

“I had my time, Cam. Lionel is dead. We could have had a good life. We were on our way, but he died young, leaving me without provisions. With my parents both dead and no brothers and sisters, what more is there for me?”

“I know life dealt you a bad hand. But there are options. Think about it, will you?”

“Sure, Cam.” Then, “I do wish you would stay.”

“I can’t. I’m sorry.” Cameron strode out the door, untied Apollo, mounted him, and started toward home. The May breeze blew through his hair as he thought about Rose. Sweet, beautiful Rose. He could never have her. Thank God she had stopped him last night. He was treading water in an ocean with no lifeboat. If he pursued her, he would surely drown. He still had most of the money left from his commission for
Lily’s Waltz
. He would leave the majority of it with his mother and sisters, and he would go to London and try to make a living doing what he loved most, composing music. He had two published songs to his credit, and even though neither had enjoyed a wide distribution, it was at least a start. He would pack up and leave on the morrow.

As he neared his cottage, he was surprised to see an ornate carriage out in front. He didn’t recognize the crest, but the horses hitched to it were beautiful, a perfectly matched pair of chestnut Morgans. Cameron stopped Apollo for a few moments to admire the horseflesh, and then rode to the stables and put him in his stall. He walked into the house from the back.

Mrs. Clementine Price sat on the sofa, but Cameron couldn’t see the visitor who was sitting in one of the chairs by the window of the small parlor. Cameron strode in nonchalantly, making deliberate noise.

His mother looked toward him. “Oh, here he is now, my lord.” Then, “Cam, you have a visitor.”

Cameron followed his mother’s gaze to the large man sitting opposite her. He sighed heavily. It was none other than Lord Evan Xavier.

Chapter Three

“Good God,” Cameron said under his breath. Xavier must have found out about his tryst with Rose. He had no desire to be pummeled by this mountainous man. He looked up. “My lord?”

“Mr. Price, good afternoon,” Evan said. “I’m sorry to barge in unannounced, but I’m leaving for my estate and wanted to speak to you as soon as possible.”

“About what?” Cameron asked, a bit rudely.

“I have…er…a business proposition for you.”

Mrs. Price rose. “I have work in the kitchen, so I’ll leave you two gentlemen to your discussion.”

Evan stood up gallantly. “Of course, Mrs. Price. It was delightful to meet you.”

“The pleasure was mine, my lord.” She made a quick exit.

“What can I help you with, my lord?” Cameron asked.

“Well,” Evan began, “you know that I’m courting Lady Rose Jameson.”

“Yes,” Cameron said dryly.

“She is a great admirer of your music.”

“She is?”

“Of course, didn’t you know that? I was under the impression that you worked closely with her on the waltz for the duchess.”

“Yes, we worked together,” Cameron said, thankful that Xavier hadn’t come to throttle him. “She never mentioned any particular taste for my music.”

“Well, she has mentioned it to me.”

“I’m flattered. But what do you want from me?”

“I’d like to commission a song for Rose. Not a waltz necessarily. Perhaps a ballad.”

“I don’t write lyrics, my lord,” he said, although for Rose, he probably could.

“You don’t? Well, that’s not a problem. I’m more interested in the music. I think it would mean a great deal to her. I…I’m planning to propose marriage to her, and I would like to serenade her with a piece of your music.”

An invisible knife stabbed Cameron in the heart. “You’re proposing?”

“Yes. Not right away. I want to have the song first.”

Cameron sighed. He could write a song for Rose. He could write a whole symphony or opera about her. About only one part of her. He could compose an entire piece on her lips alone, or her sapphire eyes, or her peachy satin skin. It would be the easiest commission ever. He could do it in his sleep.

But he would not. Not if it was to be a gift from another man. He couldn’t.

“I’m sorry, my lord, but I’m leaving for London on the morrow.”

“When will you be back?

“I won’t. I’m moving there permanently.”

“You could still write the piece, could you not?”

“I’m afraid not, my lord. I’m taking a job that won’t allow me the time for private commissions.”

“Could you postpone your departure? I assure you that you will be handsomely compensated.”

Cameron sighed again. He had no job lined up in London, and he needed money. “How much are you offering?”

“What is your going rate?”

“Two hundred pounds.”

Cameron expected Xavier to laugh at him. To say there was no way in hell he was going to pay such an exorbitant amount to some amateur composer. But he didn’t.

“Two hundred it is, then,” Evan said. “Surely you could see fit to postpone your departure for that sum.”

Two hundred pounds was a ridiculous amount of money. The duke had paid it, but he was one of the richest men in England. Xavier was the second son of the Earl of Brighton. He would never come into a title of his own. His father must provide him with a generous allowance.

With another two hundred pounds, Cameron wouldn’t have to worry about his mother and sisters for a year, or even two or three. He could go to London and make a name for himself in the musical world, knowing his loved ones were cared for. But to write a song for Rose, for another man to give to her? He’d sooner scoop out his heart with a pitchfork.

But Rose was only a dream. His family was reality, and the money would mean they could live better lives.

“You’ve convinced me, my lord,” he said. “I’ll require at least a quarter in advance.”

“Of course.”

“I assume time is of the essence?”

“Yes, I’d like it done by the solstice.”

“That’s little more than three weeks, my lord.”

“I know. Is it possible?”

“I suppose, but I can’t do a full orchestration in that amount of time. I can only arrange it for the pianoforte.”

“That’s perfect,” Evan said. “Rose loves the pianoforte, as you most likely know.”

“Yes,” he said dryly, “I know.”

“Very well then, Price.” Evan rose and held out his hand.

Cameron shook it, his large long-fingered hand dwarfed by Evan’s ham-sized one.

“I’ll see myself out.”

“Good day, my lord.” Cameron sank down onto the sofa, running his fingers over the worn satin brocade.
What the hell have I done to myself?

* * * *

The next day Rose went riding. Although her two mares were still in Hampshire, the duke had a stable full of beauties, including Begonia, a mare he’d bought for Lily. When Begonia was saddled, Rose mounted and took off down the southern trail.

Rose kept Begonia to a trot for a bit to warm her up, moved her into a canter, and then a full-blown gallop. She diverged a little from the trail to check out the duke’s jumping course. Rose adored jumping, but she hadn’t tried this particular course before. She looked over it carefully, decided she could handle it, and proceeded. The jumps got progressively harder, but Rose managed them expertly, the pins falling from her hair as she and Begonia leaped into the air again and again. By the time she had completed the course, her hair was falling over her shoulders and neck. She laughed aloud and patted Begonia’s black mane.

Finding the trail once again, Rose and Begonia trotted past the fairy garden, where she and Evan had shared their first kiss—Rose’s first kiss ever. Dear Evan. He had kissed her and asked if he could court her. Giddiness had consumed her that day. Evan was a good man, a man who would take care of her always. She considered herself lucky. Perhaps they would never have the passion or the ease with each other that Lily and Daniel shared, but that type of relationship was rare.

Rose continued riding, enjoying the lush green of the countryside in spring. She breathed in the fresh air. When she came to a small stream, she stopped so Begonia could drink. Rose pinned up her riding habit and looked around while Begonia quenched her thirst. She didn’t recognize the scenery and hoped she could find her way back to the main house. Deciding to let Begonia rest for a while, Rose sat under a tree and closed her eyes. Her thoughts hammered in her head, as she recalled her first kiss with Evan in the fairy garden.

Evan led Rose through a small winding path, picking blooms and handing them to her until she had a small bouquet, and then placed one behind her ear. “There,” he said. “You look just like a fairy princess.”

Rose laughed. “A fairy princess in a brown riding habit.”

“My lady, you would be devastating in anything.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

“Won’t you use my Christian name?” Evan asked. “It would mean a great deal to me.”

“I’m afraid it’s not proper, my lord.”

“Lybrook and your sister use each other’s names. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever seen Lybrook quite so animated as he has been today with her.”

“My lord, they’re just…good friends. Neither His Grace nor my sister are interested in courtship.”

“Are you, my lady?”

“I don’t know…”

“Let me see if I can convince you.”

He leaned toward her, touching her face with both hands. His lips brushed hers lightly, sending a delicious tingle through her whole body.

“Would it be acceptable to you if I asked your father for permission to court you…Rose?” He stroked her cheeks gently with his thumbs.

Rose closed her eyes, his smooth fingers tantalizing her skin. “I would be…honored…Evan.”

He brushed his lips against hers again, coaxing them open. His tongue entered her mouth slowly, softly, taking only the smallest taste. Oh yes, Lily was right. Kissing was heavenly. Then she couldn’t think at all, as Evan found her tongue and swirled his own around it. She sighed into him, dropping her small bouquet of flowers as he led her arms around his neck.

Rose had nearly swooned at Evan’s first kiss. It had been unlike anything she had imagined. But though cared for him deeply, she didn’t love him. When she slept at night, Evan didn’t hold her in her dreams. When she woke in the morning, Evan’s face wasn’t stamped in her mind. It was Cameron who haunted her thoughts. Cameron, with his thick black hair, his calloused hands, his soft full lips. He had consumed Rose’s thoughts since she first saw him. Her skin tingled, her heart thumped, her belly fluttered every time his image appeared in her mind. Working with him on the waltz had nearly unnerved her. He had treated her with disdain for the most part, seeming to resent her and who she was. But one time, his guard had come down and they had connected.

Rose and Cameron sat together at the grand piano in the Lybrook conservatory. The waltz for Lily was about half complete, and Cameron had brought the sheet music to Rose so she could begin preparing it for the wedding. As her fingers lightly touched the ivory keys, the hair on the back of her neck rose slightly. Cameron was watching her. She couldn’t see him, but his steely grey gaze burned into her. She was used to stammering and making mistakes in his presence because he unnerved her so, but this time, she swallowed and summoned all the power within her. She turned and looked at him, staring into his silver eyes as she continued to play.

“You play beautifully, my lady,” he said.

“Thank you, Mr. Price. I do appreciate the compliment.” She finished the piece.

“Don’t stop,” Cameron said. “I could listen to you play all day.”

“I’ve played through all that you have completed,” Rose said. “It’s brilliant. I wouldn’t change a thing.”

“Actually, I’m thinking of making a few minor changes. A key change here, perhaps.” He reached over her arm and pointed to the music. “Perhaps to D minor? What do you think?”

Rose began playing again and transposed to D minor where Cameron had indicated. “Yes, I like that. It gives the waltz a more melancholy feel there.”

“The duke wants a joyful tune,” Cameron said, “but I think it will still be gleeful even with the change. You see, love isn’t always wine and roses. The key change represents the anguish of love.”

“The anguish of love?”

“Yes.”

“Whatever do you mean by that?”

Cameron stared straight into Rose’s eyes. “I mean that love—real honest to goodness true love—is as much anguish as it is joy. It hurts to love that much.”

“How on earth can it hurt to love?” Rose asked. “Love is wonderful.”

“Because, my lady, the more you love someone, the more you have to lose. And that creates fear. And if the loss comes, sorrow.”

Tears welled in Rose’s eyes, but she blinked them away and cleared her throat. “How do you know so much about love, Mr. Price? Have you ever been in love?”

“No.” Cameron looked away from her. “But I’ve seen the anguish of love. When my father died, for example. It was unexpected, and my mother still pines for him after seven years.”

“But the duke loves Lily beyond reason,” Rose said. “There’s no anguish there.”

“But there is.” His gaze penetrated hers again. “There is always a little bit of torment in love. When they are separated, they will pine for each other. And even when they aren’t separated, there is always that fear in the back of the mind that someday the person you love will be taken from you. That is what this part of the music represents. It’s only a few measures, and then we go back to the original key.”

Rose nodded, understanding perfectly, and wondering how Cameron could have such a keen knowledge of love. “It’s a brilliant change, Mr. Price. It makes all the difference in the piece.”

“Thank you, my lady. Could you play the entire piece again, including the change?”

“Of course.”

Rose began, the burning sensation of Cameron’s gaze on her again. She made several errors and her neck heated. Relief swam through her when she played the final note.

“It’s beautiful,” she said. “I’m afraid I didn’t do it justice that time.”

“You were wonderful. You play with such emotion. Would you play something else for me?”

“Well, I—”

“Surely you have a repertoire. Any musician as talented as you would.”

“I suppose I could play something. Do you have any preference?”

“Mozart. He’s my favorite.”

“He’s Lily’s favorite too, and one of mine.” Rose played one of Mozart’s sonatas.

She continued, as Cameron gave her his rapt attention, and played through more of her repertoire. She had played for over an hour before she noted the time.

“Mr. Price,” she said. “I should really get back to—”

“Yes, of course.”

He touched her arm lightly, sending chills to her core. Slowly he whisked one finger back and forth in a light caress. It was the first time he had touched her deliberately.