The Viscount's Rose (The Farthingale Series Book 5) (3 page)

“You all have floral names except for Dillie,” he noted, nodding as Rose offered him more tea. He really was being quite attentive and polite, not at all impatient as Nicola had described him.

“Her real name is Daffodil, but she’s not very fond of being called that. Yes, we’re all named after flowers although our parents sometimes think they ought to have named us Nettle, or Thorn, or Bramblebush. We vex them at times.”

He was smiling at her again in a charmingly seductive way that tempted her to rethink her decision to hobble into the house on her own. Why was it so important? Couldn’t she pretend to be a delicate female in distress and feign endless gratitude when he lifted her into his manly arms and carried her inside?

The wind began to pick up and the white clouds suddenly turned gray, obscuring the sun. Lord Emory glanced up. The wind ruffled his blond locks, brushing them back to accentuate the strong angles of his cheekbones and firm jaw. “Looks like our run of good weather has come to an end. Miss Farthingale, let me help you into your home before the rain pours down and turns the dirt on our clothes to mud.”

Pruitt must have also noticed the sudden change in the weather. He hurried out with two footmen to clear away the tea and linens. “May I help you, Miss Rose?”

Lord Emory moved possessively close. “I’ll take care of her, Pruitt. See to the tables.”

Rose regarded him curiously. Nicola wished for a match between them and had never been subtle in her desire, but Lord Emory’s name was already linked to a recently widowed countess, a renowned beauty who traveled in his elegant circle. He reportedly was infatuated with her, if one were to believe the gossip rags, although he didn’t seem to be the sort to be led about by the nose by any woman.

But what did she know about men? Or love?

Nothing, obviously. Her senses were still addled, for Lord Emory appeared to be interested in her beyond a casual concern for her injured ankle even though she knew it couldn’t be so.

Shaking her head, Rose stood and carefully tested her injury by putting delicate weight on her foot. “Crumpets!” She winced as a lightning bolt of pain tore upward from her swollen toes and straight into her temples. “Very well, I’d be grateful for your help. I’ll never make it into the house on my own without falling flat on my face.” Her ankle was already throbbing and she had yet to take a single step.

He seemed relieved that she made no protest, but at the same time, his body tensed the moment he lifted her into his arms. Had she said or done something to displease him?

Was she too heavy?

Those ginger cakes were awfully good.

“Where should I set you down?” he asked, striding into the house with her nestled in his arms as though she were no burden at all. Apparently she was not too heavy for him and he seemed quite capable of holding her in his arms for hours.

She pretended to think about the question, for she was in no hurry to respond. She liked the solid feel of his arms and had an artist’s admiration for the firm, masculine contours of his body. “The salon, I think. On one of the stools beside the fireplace.”

“On a stool?” He frowned.

“Our clothes,” she reminded him. “I’d hate to ruin my mother’s new furniture. She took ever so long to find just the right shades of blue silks and brocades for the seat cushions and drapes.”

Instead of doing as she suggested, he called to Pruitt to have one of the maids fetch an old sheet and spread it over the sofa.

“At once, m’lord,” he replied without so much as batting an eyelash. Pruitt had been with the Farthingale family long enough never to be surprised by anything that happened in the household.

Rose remained in Lord Emory’s arms until the task was accomplished, all the while itching to run her hands along the breadth of his chest and shoulders. She didn’t think he’d understand the artistic purpose to her touch, but he also had an interesting face and well-formed limbs that merited further study.

She liked the shape of his mouth, but he would mistake her intentions if she lightly ran her finger across it.

He settled her on the sofa and then took a seat beside her because his clothes were as soot-covered as hers were and he couldn’t sit anywhere else without dirtying the expensive fabrics. “Your shirt and jacket are likely beyond repair. Please allow me to pay for any damage.”

His eyes widened. “No, Miss Farthingale. It isn’t necessary.”

“But—”

“Consider it my punishment for not coming to visit you sooner.”

Her smile faltered. “Punishment? You were avoiding me? And now I’ve bored you to tears. Of course I have. Maybe that’s your punishment.”

Nicola leaped to her defense. “Rolf, you are delightful as always. Pay no attention to my beast of a brother.”

He let out a soft groan that ended in a seductive growl. Despite her embarrassment, a tingle shot through her as her body responded to that very male, very animal sound.

“I didn’t mean…” He ran a hand through his hair again. “I had a perfectly acceptable time with you, Miss Farthingale. The visit is not a punishment at all. Indeed, I plan to call on you tomorrow if you will allow it.”

Nicola’s eyes rounded in surprise and Rose could see that her friend was almost squealing with joy. She would have been excited too, but his meaning was obvious. He took no pleasure in seeing her. He only meant to stop by to ensure that his medical attention had done the trick and perhaps to report that the pouch Lily had just brought down was now safely returned to the regimental headquarters. “Lord Emory, you and your sister are always welcome here. But it isn’t necessary. As I mentioned, my uncle is one of the most capable doctors in London. I’ll receive the best care possible.”

He nodded. “Then that settles it.”

Rose nibbled her lower lip to stem her disappointment.
Fool! He offered to visit and you rebuffed him!

What was wrong with her? She’d enjoyed his company and now he would never call on her again. Perhaps it was for the best. She liked him.

Probably more than was wise.

She felt the graze of his fingers against her forehead as he brushed back several locks that had fallen out of place. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Miss Farthingale.”

She glanced up, confused. “You will?”

He nodded. “There’s a saboteur on the loose. I’ll be staying close to you until we find him.”

“THERE HE IS,”
Rose whispered excitedly the moment she noticed Lord Emory enter the Farthingale parlor and make his way toward her with a casual ease. She tried not to fuss with the lilac ribbon wound through her hair or her new gown of delicate lilac silk, but it was hard to appear calm when her heart was pounding through her chest.

“Crumpets! Is that Nicola’s brother?” Laurel asked, craning her head to steal a better look at him while he stopped to pay his respects to their parents and the other elegant visitors who’d stopped by today. Although the Farthingale family was new to Mayfair, her father and uncles had extensive connections among London society so there had been a constant flow of friends and family through the townhouse since their arrival a few months ago.

Daisy grinned at her. “The twins weren’t exaggerating. He’s very handsome. Quite the Corinthian.”

Rose shook her head and sighed. “He’s also taken, if Nicola is to be believed. Apparently Lord Emory is often in the company of Countess Valentina Deschanel, and I hear she’s sophisticated and stunningly beautiful. Even her name sounds beautiful. Valentina.” Hers was just plain Rose, or worse, her friends insisted on calling her Rolf, which wasn’t even a proper girl’s name, but one better fitting for a dog.

“Nicola disapproves of her,” Laurel pointed out with a look of determination that caused Rose to chuckle. She loved her sisters and was particularly close to Laurel since they’d shared a bedchamber for all of their lives. For this reason, she understood Laurel well. If Laurel were a knight, she’d already be tossing down her gauntlet and challenging the countess on her behalf.

Still grinning, Rose shook her head again. “It signifies nothing. He won’t listen to his sister and he’ll probably offer for the countess before the season is over.”

“All the more reason to do something about it before it’s too late,” Laurel insisted.

“No. It’s none of our business.” Her grin slipped a little. “I know you mean well, but I can fight my own battles. Lord Emory is exceptionally handsome, I will admit. But he isn’t the only bachelor in town.”

Daisy gave her a pitying look and placed a hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry, Rose. I can see that you like him.”

“Nonsense, I don’t even know him.” But the sudden heat to her cheeks probably gave her away.

“Ooh, he’s coming our way!” Daisy jumped up and grabbed Laurel’s arm. “Quick, let’s go help Mama. I’m sure she needs us for something important.”

Her sisters giggled and darted away just as Lord Emory reached her side. Could they be more obvious? He took a step back to avoid being run over and then arched his eyebrow and cast her a knowing grin.

She winced. “I apologize for my sisters, Lord Emory. They seem to have developed a shocking lack of manners.”

“I have sisters, too. Two besides Nicola.” He shook his head and laughed, a deep, resonant rumble that felt like a caress against her skin. “As well as two younger brothers who have made it their life’s ambition to irritate me whenever possible.” But he spoke the last with such affection she knew he loved his siblings.

He shifted closer. “How is your ankle?”

“Still swollen and not a pretty sight at the moment, but Uncle George assures me the yellowish-purple bruising is a sign that it is on the mend.”

He nodded. “Well, the rest of you looks passable… more than passable.” He leaned close enough for her to catch the scent of lather and sandalwood along his jaw, a subtle male scent that caused her already pounding heart to beat even faster. “Are those violet flecks in your eyes?”

“What?” Goodness, why was he looking at her eyes? “No, they’re just blue.”

“Violet, too,” he insisted. “Indeed, most unusual. And there… a hint of silver gray, as well.”

“Are you an artist? No one’s ever commented on the color of my eyes before, but you seem to notice everything.”

The corners of his eyes crinkled and in the next moment, he smiled. “Not an artist’s eye, but a soldier’s eye. One is trained to remain alert when surrounded by enemies and cannonballs are flying all around you.”

Rose inhaled lightly. “Forgive me, I get so caught up in my own world of colors and textures that I forget the very real dangers that exist before us. How stupid of me—”

“Not at all,” he said, his smile fading as he leaned toward her, his nearness making her tingle. “Like your father, I do my best to protect my family from the ills of the world. Joy and innocence are what keep us from descending into despair, especially after one sees the senseless destruction that war brings. Never underestimate the importance of goodness or gentleness.”

“Thank you, Lord Emory.” She wanted to reach out and put her arms around him in that moment, but couldn’t in the crowded parlor. Even if no one were around, it wasn’t the sort of thing one did with a stranger. Even if one ached to do so. “And now I shall make it my life’s ambition to be gentle, because I’m not sure I can promise to be good. My sisters and I do try to be on our best behavior, but something unexpected always seems to happen.”

“Like yesterday’s incident?”

She nodded. “I’ve given it considerable thought, and I’m sure I know who’s behind that nasty bit of work.” She curled her hands into fists. “And if that weasel thinks he’ll get away with it or that I’ll back down, he has a surprise coming to him.”

“Rose…er, Miss Farthingale.” Lord Emory shifted uncomfortably as he frowned at her. “You can’t take on a dangerous scoundrel like that all by yourself. Who is this man anyway? I’ll have a talk with him and—”

“You? How is it any of your concern?” Her eyes rounded in surprise when he tossed her a stubborn look similar to the one Laurel had tossed her moments ago. In truth, he had the look of a handsome knight in shining armor and she felt a thousand butterflies fluttering in her belly at the thought that he might throw down his gauntlet to defend her.

“I rescued you. That means I’m now responsible for you.” He shifted even closer as though to emphasize his point.

A young lady with less sense might grow giddy at the notion.

Not her.

No indeed.

However, the parlor suddenly felt too warm. She began to fidget with the delicate silk of her gown, smoothing it and then picking at a nonexistent speck of dust. “Nonsense, I’m the one who’s indebted to you, my lord.”

He gave her a charming smile. “Julian.”

“What?” She placed a hand on her stomach to stem her flutters.

“Call me Julian. And I shall call you Rose.”

“But—”

He arched a golden eyebrow. “Must I insist? Or point out that we’ve reached a certain intimacy in the few hours of our acquaintance—”

“We have not.” Rose gritted her teeth. She wasn’t one of his fast lady friends, and by the subtle glances he was casting at her bosom, she understood the intimacy of which he spoke. “Tending to me as I had trouble breathing is not at all the same as… as…” She frowned as he smirked at her. Had she truly thought him charming a moment ago? “As being intimate with the likes of you.”

“Rose,” he said quietly, but with unmistakable authority, “you mistake my meaning. I’ve expressed myself badly, but rest assured that I am not making untoward advances.”

“You’re not?” She schooled her features so as not to reveal her disappointment.

“But I fully intend to stay close to you until this villain is apprehended. If you wish to be rid of me,” he said, frowning lightly, “as you clearly appear to be, then tell me all you know about him.”

She nibbled her lip in consternation, uncertain whether or not to encourage him. She liked the notion of spending more time with Nicola’s brother, but feared it would only serve to break her heart. Oh, she hardly knew him, but he was handsome and poised and utterly overwhelming. “Lord Emory, I can deal with him myself.”