The Viscount's Rose (The Farthingale Series Book 5) (9 page)

Valentina let out a throaty chuckle. “Chatham, don’t be cruel. Lord Braswell only means to be kind to me.”

“A little too kind for my liking.” He frowned at Braswell, wondering what this man’s interest was in Valentina. Was he truly enthralled by her? Or did he believe she was a rich widow and he could to get his hands on her wealth? The latter, he supposed, for the man struck him as a disreputable sort. Julian knew for a fact that Braswell often lost at the gaming tables and his viscount father had severely cut back his allowance.

The dissolute was not particularly good-looking either, and even less so now that he was sweating from the heat of the ballroom. He reeked of whiskey and had likely shown up at the Winthrop townhouse already in his cups. If Valentina tolerated him, it was because she thought she could recruit him to work for Napoleon.

He shook himself back to attention. The music had started up and he resumed his role as besotted lover, placing his hand at the small of Valentina’s back to whirl her around the floor in time to the waltz. She closed her eyes and began to sway seductively against him. He went through the motions of subtly responding to her overtures, but his gaze was directed to the wallflower corner and the honey blonde seated beside Nicola.

He had to stop thinking of Rose Farthingale.

But how could he when her smile was as beautiful as a sunrise over a tropical ocean and her eyes were an incandescent blue?

The girl was to join the Emory clan at Darnley Cottage for the upcoming week. He’d promised her mother he’d watch over her.

That wasn’t the problem.

He’d watch her all right.

And think of her in the early hours before dawn as he lay achingly alone in his bed.

And dream of holding her warm, naked body in his arms as she lay curled beside him. That was the prim and proper version of his fantasy. The real fantasy involved him exploring and teasing her glorious body until she was wild and writhing and screaming his name while he brought her to ecstasy.

How was he to keep his mind—and hands—off her next week?

ON THE FRIDAY
after the Winthrop musicale, three carriages clattered out of London in the early morning hours on their way to Darnley Cottage. Rose rode in the first carriage with Nicola, the jovial Earl Darnley, and his delightful wife, Lady Bess. Nicola’s sisters and their governesses were in the second, while Lord Emory rode in the third with the two “little savages” also known as his brothers.

Rose tried not to make more of her upcoming week in the country than was warranted, but the thought of spending all that time in Lord Emory’s presence had her heart hopelessly aflutter. She chided herself for thinking of him and turned her attention to the scenery.

The roads were dry and not particularly crowded, so they made good progress. The charming inn they stopped at in late morning to rest and water the horses was not crowded either, although she knew from travels with her family that it would begin to fill up soon as the mealtime hour was approaching. They had stopped early, around eleven o’clock. “Just in time for elevenses,” the earl said, chortling as he lumbered down from his carriage and rubbed his rotund stomach.

Lord Emory purchased ale for the men, lemonade for the children, and tea for the ladies. He then requested the staff deliver these libations and the simple fare he’d also ordered to the outdoor tables that were set up under one of the shade trees in the inn’s expansive garden.

Rose drew up alongside him as she and the Emory family strolled along the grassy path toward the tables. “An excellent idea to dine outdoors, my lord.”

He smiled his usual gorgeous smile and slowed his pace so that they fell back from the others. “It’s merely a matter of self-preservation on my part. I shudder to think what my brothers would do to me and my shiny new carriage were I to force them to sit still any longer. How are you managing, Rose?”

“Very well.” She closed her eyes momentarily and tipped her head upward, allowing the sun to warm her cheeks. She breathed in the scent of grass and lilac that carried on the breeze and mingled with Lord Emory’s clean lather and spice scent. She opened her eyes and returned his smile, wanting to nestle in his arms and just breathe him in, but it was a ridiculous notion and she dismissed it immediately. “I love the countryside. In truth, I feel much more at home out here than in London.”

His gaze turned thoughtful. “Do you not like town or the entertainments of the season?”

“Alas, I do not.” She shrugged as they ambled down the garden walk, trying not to sigh or quiver with delight each time her shoulder grazed his arm, for the walk was narrow and his shoulders were quite broad. “The town is splendid, I will admit. I love the museums and shops and all the structures of historical importance, but the townspeople are the problem.”

His brow was now furrowed, as though he was listening with interest and her feelings mattered. “How so?”

“Everyone’s so worried about impressing the ‘right sort’ that they forget who they really are on the inside.” She pointed to her heart. “And yet I try not to judge others, for I’ve been blessed with a wonderful family and have never lacked for anything. I don’t know what sort of person I’d be if my circumstances were dire and my family impoverished. I’d fight for them, but I don’t know to what lengths I’d go. My courage has never been tested like yours has.”

“Rose, I beg to differ.”

She hadn’t meant to engage him in a more serious conversation, but he didn’t appear to mind. Indeed, he seemed to quite enjoy it. While the children ran around the grounds, celebrating their freedom from confinement in the carriages, she and Lord Emory continued to walk around the grounds and chat. Nicola was playing with the children, squealing and giggling along with the noisy brood, and the Earl of Darnley and his wife had taken seats in the shade.

“Your courage has been tested and you’ve shown your bravery.” He watched his younger siblings chase each other around a circle of raised flowerbeds.

She shook her head, confused. “When?”

“From the moment you acted upon your dreams to pursue your art knowing the odds were against you in competing against men. In your determination not to be stopped by Sir Aubrey’s ruffian tactics. You never once wilted or cowered in fear.” He arched an eyebrow and laughed. “However, do not take my comment as permission to go after him on your own. I’ve dealt with him and he won’t be bothering you again unless he’s an utter idiot with a death wish.”

“He is one.” She pursed her lips in mild displeasure at the thought of her pottery rival. “It’s only a question as to the degree of his idiocy.”

Their conversation was interrupted by Lord Emory’s eight- and ten-year-old sisters, Emily and Kendra. They squealed and leaped into his arms when he bent down to tickle them.

Rose sighed. Was there ever a more heartwarming sight?

Robert and Callum, the younger boys, then joined them, demanding equal time with the older brother they obviously adored. Robert was twelve and Callum fourteen. To Rose’s surprise, Lord Emory allowed his siblings to drag him into their games and he was soon chasing the boys and giving the girls piggyback rides.

Rose and Nicola joined in too, but in the less frantic sports, for Rose knew that her ankle was still delicate and had no desire to risk twisting it again. The countryside would be a perfect place for walking. She wanted to take full advantage, not be hobbled again and forced to remain indoors while everyone else was out in the sunshine having fun.

To include her in one of their games, Lord Emory contrived a silly race in which they were all to walk fast instead of running around the perimeter of the garden. “You, too?” The thought of him wriggling and waddling speedily along the path brought a giggle out of her.

“Heavens, no.” He cast her a look of mock horror and stood with his arms outstretched and his chin elegantly tipped upward. “I shall act as the imposing finish line.”

Callum won the silly walking contest while Nicola and Robert elbowed each other all the way to the end for second place. Lord Emory wisely declared it a draw. “Upon my honor,” he declared, “not even a whisker separated the pair of you. You crossed at the exact same moment.”

Kendra came next. “Does that mean I’m in third place?”

“No,” Robert grumbled. “You’re fourth. I should have been second all on my own, but Julian’s distracted by—”

“Have you learned nothing about good sportsmanship?” Lord Emory intoned, cutting off whatever his brother intended to say.

Rose ought to have come in alongside Nicola and Robert, but she had taken pity on little Emily, who had tripped and fallen. She remained behind to soothe the girl and brush blades of grass off her gown and the palms of her little hands. Once Emily was no longer crying, Rose encouraged her to finish the race even though only the two of them remained.

Rose finished last, of course. She wasn’t about to allow little Emily’s pride to be crushed even further by having her lose the race. Lord Emory met them at the finish line and bent down to hug his little sister, who had wiped away her tears by then and was once more in good humor.

As the others took off to join the Earl of Darnley and his wife by the tables, Lord Emory held Rose back a moment. “What you did just now for my sister,” he said in a husky murmur, “thank you. You were splendid.”

She regarded him mirthfully. “I have younger sisters, too. I know this game is a little thing to us, but it means so much to the younger ones. Emily was crushed that she couldn’t keep up.” She sighed and shook her head. “Her sorrow simply tugged at my heart. I’d gladly lose to her any time if it would help to bolster her spirits.”

He said nothing, just stared at her for the longest moment.

She had the oddest feeling that he wanted to kiss her.

The carriages drew
up to Darnley Cottage in the evening while the sun was still shining, although Rose knew that within the hour it would emit its last gasping glow. But at this moment, she was enchanted by the vibrant play of light upon the cottage and beautiful front garden, for the dazzling sun had blanketed them in warm shades of russet, gold, and amber.

She peered out the carriage window, eager to descend and begin to put the idyllic scene down on paper, glad she’d thought to bring along her sketchbook and coloring pencils for just such an occasion. The cottage and its surroundings were so beautiful she expected to be drawing madly every day, catching the sunrise over the pond or watching cardinals frolic in the birdbath in the center of the garden.

Nicola and her sisters had purchased new straw bonnets just last week. Rose imagined them sporting those bonnets while picnicking under a shady elm or chestnut tree in the distant meadow and couldn’t wait to capture that scene as well in her sketchbook.

She also looked forward to drawing portraits of the entire Emory clan as a gift to the earl and his wife in appreciation for allowing her to join them. Lord Emory’s siblings would be easy to bring to life in her sketches for they were all so vibrant and expressive. The littlest ones had bright pixie green eyes, copper hair, and freckles. She would have so much fun depicting them as sprites or woodlands faeries.

Lost in her thoughts, her gaze was on her surroundings and not on that tricky first step as she climbed down from the carriage. “Crumpets!” She suddenly realized her foot had hit air instead of that solid first step and she felt herself begin to tumble forward. In that same moment, the family’s plans to abduct Lord Emory flashed before her eyes and she despaired of ever keeping him out of the clutches of the predatory countess, their well-planned trap ruined because she was hobbled by her clumsiness.

Would Nicola ever forgive her?

She pitched forward with arms flailing, but was surprised to find Lord Emory standing beside the door in time to catch her. “Rose, look out!”

She landed bosom first in his waiting arms. In the next moment, he groaned lightly as her breasts squashed against his hard chest and her hands grasped his solidly muscled shoulders. He made certain she was unharmed and then laughed lightly, surprising her by wrapping his arms more securely about her unsteady body. “You’re a clumsy little thing, aren’t you?”

She blushed and began to sputter. “I… y-you see… not usually, I assure you.” She was never clumsy or distracted except around him.

That she was close enough to breathe in his glorious scent of spice and lather added to her distress. How did he manage to smell so good after a long day’s travel and those midday games? It took great effort to refrain from resting her head against his shoulder and impolitely sniffing him.

He took pity on her when she became obviously flustered. “Are you certain you’re all right, Rose?”

She nodded, sincerely grateful for his timely presence. He must have leaped out of his own conveyance before the wheels had stopped rolling, eager to escape from the little savages he called brothers. It was fortunate for her; otherwise she would have landed face first on the ground, giving herself a broken nose and knocking out a good number of teeth. “I’m so sorry. You must think me an utter ninny.”