The Viscount's Rose (The Farthingale Series Book 5) (28 page)

“I almost had him,” John said, drawing up a chair beside her and sinking into it. “He managed to elude me when a fight broke out at the tavern I’d tracked him to along the London road. I thought I’d picked up his trail again, but it grew cold and I fear I’ve wasted days on the hunt. I got a good look at him though.”

Rose’s eyes widened in trepidation. “I’ll do my best, but why here and now? You could have called on me earlier at my home.”

Julian’s shoulder grazed hers as he leaned over her to open the sketchbook, but she had only a moment to enjoy the warmth of his body against hers before he stepped back and withdrew a small tin of pencils from his breast pocket. “We were busy until now.”

Of course, how stupid of her. She was responding to him like a besotted ninny, her heart pounding and skin tingling, while he was saving the civilized world… and he smelled divine while doing it, his enticing mix of musk and maleness now causing every pulse in her body to throb. Who knew there were so many?
Eep!

“Valentina narrowly escaped,” he continued, mistaking her silence for concentration on the vital purpose at hand, “but we managed to catch everyone else on our list… all, that is, except for the elusive accomplice and the even more elusive inner circle traitor.” He knelt beside her and she couldn’t help but notice the lines of fatigue etched into his handsome face. “I know you’ll do a wonderful job for us, Rose. If it weren’t for the danger to you, I’d eagerly enlist you as the newest weapon in our arsenal.”

He thought enough of her to want her in his organization? The man certainly knew how to breach the walls of her heart, not that they were ever very high or insurmountable when it came to Julian. No, they simply crumbled whenever he was near, so that he had merely to stroll in and claim her heart. His rugged good looks and the smoldering heat of his stare had nothing to do with it. Well, only partly to do with it. Most important, he valued her for her mind and talent as well.

How could she not love him?

“Shall we begin?” She winced at the sound of her voice, so tight and squeaky.

Julian mistook it as his cue to move away, although she supposed it was for the best. She’d never be able to concentrate while he remained close, his warm breath tickling the curls at the nape of her neck. Oh, she was getting distracted again.

She withdrew one of the pencils from the tin.

John began to describe the man. “Dark hair… prominent brow… a little jowly… yes, that’s it. Heavy eyelids… nose seems to have been broken.”

She made several sketches, trying her best to set the man’s description down on paper. In one, his eyes were a little narrower and nose broader. In another, his chin was slightly more prominent and earlobes a little longer. She drew as fast as she could, for both men seemed to have their eyes on the clock, wanting her to finish before the music stopped to mark the end of the set. John would have to return her to the ballroom and have her back under the watchful eye of Lady Eloise before the gossips took notice of her absence.

“Are any of these drawings accurate?” Julian asked, now beginning to pace.

John nodded. “This one is it. Excellent job, Rose.”

As he pointed to the last one she’d completed, the door latch gave a little click and the door groaned open. Rose held her breath, simply gaping open-mouthed toward it, for her body was too frozen in surprise to move.

John and Julian responded in quite the opposite manner, silently leaping into action so that John now stood beside the door, ready to disarm the unknown intruder, while Julian positioned himself between her and said intruder, pistol trained at the man’s heart. Or was this person a female? “Dr. Farthingale,” Julian said with obvious relief, lowering his arm and relaxing his stance upon recognizing her uncle.

John stepped out of the shadows and made himself known, giving her usually unflappable uncle a start. “Sorry, didn’t mean to alarm you,” John muttered, closing the door and leaving the four of them to stare at each other, her uncle obviously eager for an explanation.

Rose jumped to her feet. “Uncle George, this isn’t at all what it appears. Although I can’t tell you what I’m doing in here, for it might be construed as treason. Not that I’m doing anything treasonous. Quite the opposite. But I dare say no more. My lips are sealed.”

He rolled his eyes. “I can’t even begin to make sense of what you just said, Rose. What’s going on? Why are you in here with these two gentlemen? And I use the term loosely, for they ought to know better than to allow you to remain with them without a proper chaperone, no matter how honorable their intentions. Had someone other than me walked in and seen you, you’d be ruined.”

She knew he was right, but still couldn’t muster any contrition. She loved that Julian had thought enough of her ability to trust her with this important task. “But no one did.”

He scowled at all of them. “That’s beside the point.”

Julian stepped forward. “I can explain.”

Her uncle folded his arms across his chest and scowled. “You had better. Pray, do a better job of it than my niece just did.”

Julian quickly brought him up to the present without revealing anything about the earlier attempt on her life or their night in the hunting lodge. In truth, he disclosed as little as he could about his royal assignment. Rose was surprised that he’d revealed any of his mission, but she supposed there was no harm in doing so now. The operation was nearing its end and everyone knew her uncle could be trusted. Julian probably saw no harm in providing general bits of information. “That’s why I need more drawings of this man before I leave.”

Her uncle was one of the smartest men alive, so Rose wasn’t surprised when, to Julian’s obvious dismay, he began to put the rest of it together. “Of course, it all makes sense now. You were courting Countess Deschanel because she was the only connection to this well-heeled, inner circle traitor. Bloody hell, you had us all convinced you were besotted with her.”

“No need to keep up the pretense now.” He held up the sketch Rose had completed moments ago. “I need your niece to copy this exact sketch another six times and quickly.”

“I’ll do it right now.” She resumed drawing while the men continued to talk.

George unfolded his arms and eased his stance, but remained standing in the center of the room. “So the man in the sketch is quite significant.”

“Unlike his dead companion, I think he took his orders straight from the traitor and will lead us to him.” Julian sighed. “At least, I hope so. We have no more leads now that the countess has fled. We’ve rounded up all her known contacts, none of whom have ever dealt with anyone but the countess. We’ve searched her London townhouse and the small manor house left to her by her unfortunate husband. We have nothing left to go on.”

John sank into the chair beside Rose once again and spoke to her uncle while he watched her at work. “We’ve had all the lords in Prinny’s inner circle followed, but to no avail. Their contact with the countess was at all times purely social, as far as we could detect. Some had no contact with her whatsoever, not even when at the same social function.”

Rose glanced up as she was about to start on her third copy. “Don’t you find that telling?”

All three gentleman regarded her quizzically. “How so?” Julian asked.

She resumed sketching. “Well, when a young lady likes a particular gentleman, she’s so afraid to let on—at least, until she knows his own thoughts about her—that she responds with the opposite of what she wishes to do. She’ll be delightful and cheerful with everyone else, but won’t look at the gentleman or ever engage him.”

“How is this relevant to Countess Deschanel and the traitor in Prinny’s circle?” John asked. “This isn’t about coy debutantes and matchmaking.”

“Well, it’s a question of hiding one’s feelings… or in this situation, whatever nefarious deed they’re up to. If the scoundrels fear they’re being watched, then wouldn’t they be safest never approaching each other? Then their looks could never betray them.” She turned to Julian. “You said so yourself when refusing for the longest time to tell me what was going on. You were worried what might happen if I knew, that a mere glance or slipped word would betray your entire operation. So why wouldn’t it be the same for the countess and her inner circle traitor? If it were up to me, I’d start with those who’ve had
no
contact with the countess.”

Julian stared at her for the longest time. “Rose, that’s an excellent suggestion. I could kiss you.”

George cleared his throat and stepped between them. “But you’re not going to,” he warned.

Julian glanced at Rose, grinning when he noticed her disappointment. “Guess not.”

He turned to John and motioned to the drawings Rose was still copying, apparently not nearly as disappointed as she was that there would be no kiss. Not that it would have been much of a kiss with everyone watching. Still, she would have liked to feel the warmth of his lips against her cheek.

“John, we’ll start with the two ministers who’ve had no contact with the countess,” Julian said, his manner serious and his thoughts clearly not on her, “but he isn’t to be arrested once discovered. Come back to me when you have your proof. If one of them is the man we’ve been seeking, we may have better use for him if he believes he’s gotten away with his crimes.”

Rose glanced up. “Why would you allow him to remain free? Isn’t the point of all this to capture him?”

Julian nodded. “We’ll take him in due course, but we can do a lot more damage to Napoleon’s cause by feeding him bits of false information through his most trusted source. We may not be able to keep it up for very long, but it’s worth a try.”

Julian took her sketches as soon as they were completed and started for the double doors that led into Lord Carlisle’s garden. Rose stood up and called out to him. “Where are you going? Must you leave the party immediately?” She then shook her head and groaned lightly, realizing she was acting like a ninny, for he had more important matters to attend to than remaining here to dance with her. Why would he remember that he’d promised to do so once her ankle had healed? “Of course, you must go. I’m sorry I stopped you.”

His features softened as he regarded her. “Rose, I owe you a dance. I haven’t forgotten. I look forward to it.”

THE AFTERNOON SUN
shone a perfect yellow against the deep blue sky, and a gentle breeze wafted in through the open windows of the Farthingale parlor. Rose sat with Laurel, Daisy, and assorted family members awaiting the guests that would soon arrive for her mother’s tea party.

Where were the twins?

Oh, never mind.

They’d turn up eventually.

Rose took a deep breath to calm herself, but she couldn’t manage it. She fidgeted with her gown, a simple but elegant muted bronze that brought out the dark honey tones of her hair. Would Julian notice? Would he care? She hadn’t seen or heard from him since Lord Carlisle’s ball three days ago.

Laurel and Daisy approached and sat beside her. Daisy reached out and patted her hand. “Rose, you’ll make yourself ill. He’ll be here. Didn’t he tell you that he looked forward to claiming a dance?”

She nodded. “But this is an afternoon tea. There’s no music. And if he’s so besotted with me, then shouldn’t he be more ardent? Anyone can look forward to a dance, for it’s the polite thing to say.” She let out a shaky breath. “What if he only means to let me down gently? Oh, dear! What if he plans to do it today?”

Pruitt, ever poised and perfectly attired, announced the arrival of the Earl and Countess of Darnley. Laurel grabbed her hand. “Come on, Nicola and her family have arrived.”

As though in confirmation, Pruitt announced Nicola next.

Rose and her sisters ran to the entry hall to greet her, showing none of the refined grace and restraint they’d been taught in preparation for their debuts.

Where was Julian? Pruitt had yet to announce him.

Rose quickly scanned the entry hall in search of him, but he was nowhere to be seen.

“Have John and Lady Bainbridge arrived yet?” Nicola was obviously eager to see John again, but her expression was a mix of excitement and fear that she tried to hide with an overly bright smile.

Rose gave her a hug of encouragement. “No. Where’s your brother?”

“I don’t know. He hasn’t been around at all these past few days. Has he sent you any word?”

“Nothing.”

“Oh dear.” Nicola began to nibble her lip. “I really hate this marriage mart business, Rolf. Everything’s so much harder when one’s heart is at risk. How can one make pleasant conversation when merely crossing a room feels like walking across a bed of hot coals? Oh, look! There’s John. He’s just arrived with Lady Bainbridge. Do you think he’ll acknowledge me?”

“Why wouldn’t he?” Laurel asked, eager to speak to him as well.

“Because he thinks I’m a sharp-tongued shrew and he would have nothing to do with me if not for the fact that I’m his best friend’s sister and it would be unpardonably rude of him to avoid me,” she said with a groan. “I don’t think he likes me at all.”

Daisy cast her a pitying look. “I’m sure things aren’t quite as bad between you as you seem to think.”

More guests arrived. Tea and cakes were brought out. After greeting John and learning nothing other than that Julian was busy and probably wouldn’t attend her tea, Rose spent most of the afternoon chatting with Lady Bainbridge and showing her the items of pottery and decorative glassware she had made which were on display throughout the house. “And did you draw these? They’re charming,” the kindly dowager remarked, pointing to the drawings she’d made of herself and her sisters that hung on the walls of the entry hall. “Rose, you are truly talented.”

She blushed. “Thank you.”

“Well, my girl. You’ve won yourself a commission. John wasn’t exaggerating when he said you were extraordinary.”

The tea ended several hours later. The twins, who were missing much of the time, were finally discovered in the garden, hiding amid the branches of the large oak that stood beside their bedroom window. They’d stolen an entire ginger cake and a bowl of strawberries and were eating them as they spied on their guests. To amuse themselves, they’d pretended to be squirrels and dropped acorns on the heads of friends and family, which earned them the punishment of a week’s confinement in their room.