The Viscount's Rose (The Farthingale Series Book 5) (26 page)

Julian had little
trouble finding the body of Rose’s assailant. It was situated in a thicket off the main road into Birdslip exactly as John had described. A hot breeze already carried the smell of death, and all three men had only to follow their noses through the hedgerows and underbrush to reach the grim spot.

Sir Hubert, a portly, gray-haired man of equal age and vigor as Julian’s uncle, took a step back and pressed a handkerchief to his nose to ward off the odor. “Damned hot weather. The man’s insides will soon turn to pudding.”

Julian held his breath and knelt beside the body.

His uncle hesitated a moment and then approached to stand over him. “Do you notice anything worthwhile about this villain?”

“Other than his deplorable bathing habits?” Julian nodded. “The expression frozen on his face is one of surprise, which means he and his accomplice weren’t mere cohorts. They were friends and this murdered man trusted him.” Julian carefully leaned over the body for a closer inspection. “Sir Hubert, do you recognize him?”

The magistrate shook his head with vehemence. “No, my lord. He isn’t from these parts, that’s for certain. But I’ll ask around at the local inns and taverns. He might have given a name or spilled some useful information while having a pint. Perhaps he stayed the night and—”

“No, if he isn’t a local, then he must have followed us from London today.” Julian carefully searched through the man’s pockets but found no clue as to his identity. More important, no clue as to the identity of his slayer.

Sir Hubert nodded. “The maggots will have at his body soon. He’ll have to be buried quickly. I wonder if he has family? Anyone who might miss him?”

Julian’s mouth tightened in a grim line as he handed the magistrate a few silver coins. “I’ll leave it to you to take care of the burial arrangements.”

The magistrate stared at the coins Julian had deposited into his palm. “What shall I do? Have him buried in a pauper’s grave?”

Julian nodded. “Make note of where you’ve put him and let me know if anyone comes around asking for him. I doubt it will be a grieving family member, if anyone at all. Men such as he never leave loved ones behind to weep.”

He turned the last of the man’s pockets inside out. Empty. Someone had rifled through them beforehand, no doubt his companion to ensure no trace of his identity would remain. His clothes were of good quality but worn and faded. They might have belonged to a gentleman at one time and then been given away to a seaman’s charity. The man had a weathered look to his sun-bronzed face that indicated long hours in the sun.

In truth, he could have worked on a farm, but there was a sallowness to his features that indicated scurvy, a common ailment for those at sea for extended periods. This man was likely hired at the docks by one of Valentina’s cohorts.

Bloody nuisance.
Another futile lead, for he’d get no reliable answers from the scum who frequented the dockside taverns. Any wharf rat who might be inclined to talk for a reward of a few coins would understand he’d be risking his life to do so. Knowing one’s throat would be slit if ever he was found out tended to keep a man quiet no matter how much gold or silver was dangled before him. “Sir Hubert, I’ll be returning to London on the morrow along with Lord and Lady Darnley and my family. I’d appreciate your conducting a discreet investigation and dispatching your report to my London residence as soon as possible.”

“I will, my lord.” He nodded emphatically.

Julian rose and stepped away from the body. “If anyone did notice this man and his companion, make certain you get a thorough description of his companion and forward it to me immediately.”

“You may rely on me,” Sir Hubert assured him, his words muffled by the handkerchief pasted to his mouth and nose.

Within the hour, the lifeless assailant was taken to the local mortuary, the magistrate’s clerks were dispatched to the local stables, inns, and taverns in search of information, and Julian and his uncle were on their way back to Darnley Cottage.

The women, who were waiting for them in the salon, leapt to their feet in anxious expectation as he and his uncle strode in. Was it merely afternoon? He’d ridden from London on a hot, damp day that seemed to stretch into eternity, except for the moment he’d been shot, which had passed in a lightning blur.

The only thing that cheered him was Rose’s beautiful face with the welcoming smile on her lips. He wanted to take her into his arms and kiss her into said eternity, but he’d been around a dead body for the better part of an hour and didn’t think she’d appreciate his getting too close.

“Nothing to report,” he said with a shake of his head and then excused himself to wash up. He returned to the salon soon thereafter and was surprised to find Rose seated with her sketchbook and pencil in hand, drawing something for his uncle. “What are you doing?”

She smiled up at him again with one of those light-up-the-room smiles that he had grown quite fond of in the short time he’d known her. “Being useful, I hope. Lord Darnley is providing me with a description of the villain you found murdered. I’m trying to draw his likeness.”

He strode to her side and sat next to her on the sofa to inspect her work. It was excellent, as he knew it would be. “If the Runyon Pottery Mill doesn’t want you, I’ll snatch you up and put you to work for our war effort.” He’d meant it in jest, but her eyes rounded and filled with hope, for the girl had no sense regarding a woman’s place in the home or other twaddle taught to young women in preparation for their debut. He didn’t know whether Rose had been taught differently, but he suspected that she had been. Her parents must have nurtured her talent.

Her love of art transcended all.

He liked that she didn’t restrict her dreams to what society deemed proper and was not surprised that she’d won the Runyon contract. Her talent would lead her in unusual directions, and it would be her choice as to which paths she’d follow. She couldn’t have expected that her ability would land her in the middle of a military operation, but her sketch of the man was quite useful to him. “You managed this on a mere description provided by my uncle?”

She shook her head. “It’s merely a rough drawing.”

“Can you make about a dozen more just like it?” He took the sketch and perused it.

“Of course. The original is the hardest. After that it’s simply a matter of copying the lines.”

He eased back in his seat and chuckled. “Sir Hubert is searching for someone who’s seen the companion. Hopefully, he’ll find him before we leave for London. If so, I’ll have you draw that scoundrel as well.”

She turned to face him, her eyes aglow with starlight sparkles once more. “I’d love to be of help. I feel awful for meddling in what was obviously a matter of the highest importance to every English citizen. We ought to have trusted you. I’d feel so much better if I were able to make it up to you in some important way.”

She was referring to the sketch in her hand.

He nodded, but he had other ideas for how she might make it up to him, none that he could propose without getting his face roundly slapped. Nonetheless, he would follow up on a few of those ideas once his business for the Crown was completed.

He wanted Rose.

He admired her for her generous heart and artistic talent.

But he’d practically ruptured his eyeballs in excitement when he’d stripped her out of her camisole that night at the hunting lodge and seen her naked by firelight, her golden hair tumbling wildly down her back and blue eyes aglow with passionate wonder.

She was the Lorelei who sent men crashing against the tidal rocks in frenzied and fiery spasms of lust.

Yes, he
wanted
that.

“IT’S SO GOOD
to have you home, Rose!” Laurel cried, rushing through the gate as soon as Lord Darnley’s carriage pulled up to the Farthingale residence on Chipping Way. Rose hardly had time to step inside and take off her bonnet before Daisy and the twins stampeded down the stairs, the three of them chattering and squealing as they swallowed her in hugs.

“It’s good to be home.” One would think she’d been gone ten years instead of a mere ten days.

Within moments, she was taken into the arms of her parents and given more hugs. Her aunts and uncles soon joined them, her Uncle George laughingly ruffling her hair and then ordering their butler to bring out tea and cakes. “Pruitt, this calls for a celebration. Lily bring down your harp—”

“No!” everyone shouted at once and burst into laughter, including Lily, who detested that instrument even more than the family detested having to listen to her play it.

“Only jesting,” Uncle George assured her, tossing Rose a wink. He then turned to greet Julian, who had stepped down from the carriage along with her in order to escort her inside.

Her father also stepped forward to welcome him into their home. “My lord, thank you for returning my daughter to us. Or should I express relief that you managed to survive her visit?”

Julian arched an eyebrow as he glanced at her. “Suffice it to say that I survived, although barely.” He spoke lightly, but Rose knew that her father would be aghast to learn what had truly transpired. “I hope to chat at length with you soon, Mr. Farthingale. I have some important work to finish over the next few days and would like to stop by once I’m done, if that is agreeable to you.”

Rose heard her mother’s soft gasp. No doubt she believed Julian was about to offer for her hand in marriage. If only her parents understood his true purpose, they wouldn’t be nearly so amenable. He was going to tell them about the attempt on her life, which was bad enough, but what if he insisted on telling them about the night they’d spent together in the hunting lodge?

No, he wouldn’t be so foolish.

He’d have no choice but to marry her then.

She wanted to marry him, but only if he offered of his own accord. He ought to want her because he loved her, not because he’d bedded her… although they hadn’t done anything on the bed. No, it had all taken place on the kitchen table.

The mere thought of it brought heat to her cheeks.

Julian grinned and arched an eyebrow as though understanding her thoughts. Was she that transparent? He seemed to know her mind as well as she did.

As the footmen brought in her trunks, Pruitt quickly set up tea and cakes for the family in the salon. “You and your family are most welcome to join us, my lord,” her mother offered.

“Very kind of you, Mrs. Farthingale, but Lord and Lady Darnley are quite spent. I’ll be dropping them off next.” He bowed over her mother’s hand and looked exceedingly handsome with his boyish smile as he once again promised to return at his first opportunity. “But I must take my leave of you now.”

While the rest of the family ambled into the salon, Rose walked him to the door. “Thank you, Julian. Especially for not saying anything to my parents about… well, everything.”

His expression turned serious. “I’ll have to tell them about the attempt on your life.”

“But nothing more, I hope.” She blushed. How could he possibly say anything about the hunting lodge? There was nothing to be gained and all to lose by revealing that little secret.

“Let me give it thought, Rose.” He glanced behind her to the demi-lune table beside the front door. “Runyon.”

“What?” She followed his gaze and saw the brown envelope that could only be her pottery design contract. “They’ve sent it!” She smiled up at him, feeling as though her heart might burst with happiness.

He gave her the tenderest of smiles. “Go on, I know you want to open it.”

“I do.” She grabbed it off the table and excitedly ripped open the seal. “I’ll ask Father and Uncle Rupert to look it over. They’re brilliant negotiators and—”

She suddenly found herself struggling for breath.

“What’s wrong?” Julian frowned, obviously noticing that her effervescent joy had crumbled and turned to agony before his very eyes because she hadn’t the ability to hide her feelings, especially from him.

“This must be a mistake.” What she held in her shaking hands was no contract but a rescission letter. The Runyons didn’t want her to design for them.

“Rose?”

She clasped the letter to her chest, not wanting him to see the full extent of her distress. Her dreams were shattered. What could she do? She forced herself to smile back even though her eyes were misting. “Nothing serious. You mustn’t worry about me.” She didn’t want him distracted by her petty problems when he was about to save England.

She took another moment to catch her breath and then shook her head as she tossed him an even brighter smile. It didn’t work. He took the letter from her hand. “Give it back, Julian. Truly, it’s nothing.” She cast him an imploring look.

“Rose, I can almost hear your heart ripping to shreds. Do you expect me to shrug my shoulders and walk away?” He held the letter out of her grasp when she tried to snatch it back and then turned away to quickly read it. Once done, he set it down and turned back to her, his expression exquisitely tender. “I see.”

“I’ll get over it.”

He caressed her cheek. “You will, because you have a beautiful, fighting spirit. I’m sorry, Rose. I know how much this meant to you. These men are cowards. Your work is brilliant.”