The Viscount's Rose (The Farthingale Series Book 5) (31 page)

Of course, Rupert was all business and not the sort to bring along a “companion” on his travels. In any event, Desmond ought to have realized she was a Farthingale from the first, for she had those beautiful Farthingale blue eyes as well as a refreshing innocence about her. That his body’s response was base and primal was of no moment. He was entirely to blame for that.

Adelaide cast him another hesitant smile.

His body turned molten.

No! I’m not about to turn three mistakes into four!

His response was a momentary lapse, that’s all. He’d been too busy dashing from one end of England to the other on business these past few months, too preoccupied to think of the more pleasurable comforts. Adelaide was merely a reminder of the needs he’d neglected lately.

Desmond recovered a thread of control and nodded in response, his expression revealing none of the turmoil brewing within. “A pleasure, Miss Farthingale.”

She sat upright on the padded, black leather bench across from him, dimples forming in her cheeks as her lovely smile broadened. “Indeed, my lord. I’ve heard so much about you from my cousins.”

“None of it good, I assume.” He tried not to fix his gaze on her beautifully shaped lips. Of course, he failed miserably, for they were perfect lips that were meant to be kissed often and thoroughly.

But not by him!

She shook her head and laughed gently. “Perhaps they did not think highly of you at first, but for the longest time now they’ve written only nice things about you. The impression I have from their letters is that you’re awfully serious for a man in your position. Too serious, truth be told… and a bit of a curmudgeon.”

Rupert shifted uncomfortably against the squabs and cleared his throat. “Adelaide, I believe it is a little more information than the marquis desires.”

Her eyes widened in dismay. “My sincere apologies, my lord. I’m sure they’ve described me as completely lacking in social polish or sense. Assuming they spoke of me at all, which I doubt. Although we correspond, I haven’t seen my cousins in years.” She glanced at Rupert, and although she managed another smile, Desmond couldn’t help but notice the glint of pain that sprang into her eyes.

Rupert gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “You’ll be surrounded by dozens of family members in a few days… and your father has promised to join us this year too.”

She tucked a wayward gold curl behind her ear and began to fidget with it, for the mention of her father had obviously ruffled her very pretty feathers. She spared him a glance. “My father and his wife are to meet us in London after they visit his wife’s family.”

Desmond wasn’t going to touch that conversation. Obviously the second wife did not want Adelaide in the household. She turned away, pretending to stare out the window, but he’d seen that same glint of hurt in his own sister’s eyes after their parents had died and they’d been forced to live under their grandfather’s domineering care.

Adelaide’s fragile glance had revealed all of her desire to please and her constant failing at it. What she did not yet seem to understand is that she would never succeed in pleasing her father’s wife because the woman wanted to be rid of her. He didn’t need to meet the harridan to know that she viewed Adelaide as competition.

To her credit, Adelaide did not appear to be sullen or resentful.

“You’re shivering, Miss Farthingale. Here, tuck this blanket around you.” He handed her the Scottish tartan he’d received as a gift from his cousin Ewan. It had been folded on the seat beside him, unused.

She looked to her uncle, as though afraid to accept it without his approval. Rupert arched an eyebrow and frowned. “Take it, Adelaide. You’re obviously cold.” He then turned to Desmond. “Thank you, Blackfell. Seems the sisters at the abbey have taught Adelaide the virtues of deference and obedience a little too well.”

Desmond grinned. “She’s a Farthingale. Never fear, Rupert. She’ll lose those virtues within a week of arriving in London.” He turned to Adelaide, his tone gentling when her eyes widened in horror. “I meant it as a compliment,” he assured her, realizing that his guess had been accurate. The second wife had wasted no time in expelling the unwanted stepdaughter from her home. The girl had been banished to some northern abbey and been living there for years, no doubt.

“Oh.” She blushed, but there was a sparkle to her eyes that hadn’t been there a moment ago, and he felt foolishly proud to be the one to elicit that gentle glow.

Hell’s bells, yet again.

He refused to be drawn in by the girl. He crossed his arms over his chest and closed his eyes, pretending to nap for the short distance. It didn’t work. He felt her soft presence and suddenly caught the fresh scent of lavender on her skin when his carriage passed too fast over a particularly rough patch of road and the girl came flying onto his lap. “Forgive me, Lord Blackfell!”

He might have tossed a jest in response had the girl not appeared genuinely aghast. Any other young woman would have been gloating or scheming to make something more of tumbling onto him. Not Adelaide. He folded his arms around her before she could scramble off his lap. “Not your fault, Miss Farthingale. My driver’s a little too determined to get us to the inn before nightfall. Are you all right?”

She nodded as she wriggled out of his loose grasp and hastily settled once more in her seat.

Too bad. She’d felt good in his arms. That was bad too. He refused to feel anything for the girl other than polite interest, but his body was not cooperating. No indeed. His response was anything but polite.

She was responding to him as well. There was no mistaking the confusion in her expression, for she was as easy to read as an open book and had yet to learn to hide her feelings. He liked that innocence about her.

Liked it, but had no intention of doing anything about it.

No, he wasn’t going to pursue the girl and intended to ignore her as much as possible without being overtly rude. He understood the danger in befriending Adelaide. There already existed a compelling bond between the Camerons and the Farthingales. His sister, Evangeline, had fallen in love with and married George Farthingale. And his cousin Ewan, a stubborn Scot who detested all things English, fell in love with and married English bluestocking Lily Farthingale.

Of course, it signified nothing. Desmond was his own man and competent to make his own decisions. He was a marquis and heir to a dukedom, so he understood that he would have to marry eventually in order to carry on the Cameron bloodline. He wasn’t ready yet. In any event, he wasn’t going to choose a Farthingale.

His wealth and title allowed him to aim far higher.

Why am I thinking of marriage anyway?

He shook his head to rid himself of those wayward thoughts and silently rejoiced when Adelaide broke the silence, further distracting him from the dangerous path his mind appeared to be taking.

“What a lovely view,” she said, still gazing out the window and studying the hills surrounding them as they rolled along the moors. “There’s so much life hidden beneath the browns and ochers and pale purple shrubs along the countryside. I was told the moors were desolate, but it doesn’t seem so at all. You can sense vitality across this rugged terrain.”

“It’s beautiful,” he admitted. “A man can hear himself think out here.”

She nodded. “The abbey where I was raised overlooks the sea and is also beautiful and isolated. But I spent too much time listening to myself think and am now eager to be swept into the din and bustle of London.”

“Where is the abbey?” Desmond asked, feeling a little tug at his heart as he filled in the facts. The girl must have been sent away shortly after her father’s remarriage.

“At St. Brigid’s near Berwick. I’ve been there almost ten years. At first, the sisters hoped I’d join their order.” She shook her head and grimaced. “But I talk too much and ask too many questions. I don’t take instruction well either, so they’ve long since given up and left me on my own to wander about the abbey lands with their sheep and chickens for company.”

Desmond chuckled. “I’m sure your animal friends are better companions than most of the elegant ladies and gentlemen you’ll meet in London.”

She graced him with that vulnerable smile again. “I don’t think I’m fit yet to go about in society. I haven’t learned the art of witty conversation and don’t know the latest dances.”

Rupert patted her hand again. “Your cousins will take care of you. They’ll treat you as their little doll, dressing you up and teaching you all that a gently bred young lady ought to know. In short, they’ll hound you with attention morning, noon, and night.”

“I think I’ll love that,” she said in a breathy whisper.

Desmond stifled another groan. The girl seemed to know just how to pierce his heart. “My sister will join in. She’s become just as meddlesome as any Farthingale since marrying Rupert’s brother.”

Adelaide’s eyes brightened. “I can’t wait to meet Evangeline. I’ve heard all about how Uncle George fell in love with her. She must be someone quite special.”

“She is.” Over the years, Desmond had learned to shield his heart and those thick barriers remained securely in place to this day. But Evie had never learned to guard herself from disappointment. Quite the opposite, she wore her heart on her sleeve, just as Adelaide obviously did. Desmond had done his best to protect his sister, but it was George who had truly saved Evie. She was happier now than she’d ever been.

And now that she was so well settled, Evie intended the same fate for him.

Lord help him!

“Adelaide will be staying with us for Christmas and hopefully through the winter unless… well, she’ll always be welcome whatever happens.”

Desmond frowned. “Are you to be sent back to St. Brigid’s?”

She blushed. “No… well, I don’t think so… not yet. You see, Mr. Postings is—Ack!” Adelaide tumbled onto his lap again, her soft body hopelessly pressed atop him as the carriage drew to a sharp halt.

Once again, he wrapped her in his arms to steady her, the instinctive response feeling too exquisitely natural for comfort. “We’ve arrived at the inn. I’ll help you down.”

She splayed her hands across his chest as though to push herself away but made no move to ease off him. Instead, she seemed frozen in place, her fingers curling on his cloak as she edged closer.
Mercy!
He could feel the rampant beat of her heart despite the thick layers of wool between them… lots of layers… his vest, jacket, and cloak… her gown, pelisse, and cloak.

How is it still not enough?

Their mouths were almost upon each other, separated only by the wisps of vapor that escaped their lips as they breathed—so close he even felt the shiver of delight that coursed through her body. He had to put distance between them before he did something extremely foolish, something that involved his mouth locking upon her tempting lips. That would be his monumentally foolish mistake number four. “Still cold?”

“Not at all.” She tipped her head upward to meet his gaze, her expression dewy-eyed. In the next moment, she gasped and drew herself up. “I mean,
yes
. Quite chilled to the bone. Goodness what a bumpy ride!”

She mentioned Mr. Postings again and scrambled out of the carriage before the coachman had fully opened the door, practically knocking the portly man to the ground as she barreled over him to run inside the inn.

He stared at Rupert.

Rupert merely shrugged his shoulders and grinned. “After you, Blackfell.”

He nodded. “Who the hell is Mr. Postings?”

Learn More Here

Thank you for reading
The Viscount’s Rose
. If you thought the course of Rose and Julian’s courtship would run smoothly, you were mistaken. Their first meeting is explosive, literally, and when the two of them are abducted Julian blames himself for putting Rose in danger and vows to do all in his power to keep her safe until they are rescued or can escape. But Rose isn’t as innocent in this abduction scheme as he believes and can’t risk Julian finding out. I hope you enjoyed meeting Rose and Julian as they followed their bumpy path to love.

Read on for a sneak peek at Adelaide Farthingale’s story,
If You Loved Me
, book 6 in the Farthingale Series. She’s a Farthingale cousin you have yet to meet, but you have met bad boy Desmond Cameron, who was not quite so likeable in
My Fair Lily
. He understands Adelaide better than anyone else and can’t help wanting to protect her from certain heartbreak, for she’s determined to marry the man her parents have selected for her, a man who is completely wrong for her.

Or try another of the Farthingale stories, such as
A Midsummer’s Kiss
, which is Laurel Farthingale’s story. Sometimes love happens at the most unexpected times and in the most unexpected places. Sometimes it quietly sneaks up on you and sometimes it knocks you over on a London street, just as it happened to Graelem Dayne when meeting Laurel Farthingale in a most unusual way. Laurel’s horse ran him over and broke his leg. Add the pressure of Graelem having to find the perfect wife in a mere thirty days or lose a large inheritance, and you have Laurel and Graelem’s story. To Graelem, finding the right bride seems an impossible task until he sets his fuzzy gaze on Laurel. But Laurel has other plans and isn’t so eager to give her heart to this handsome stranger. Farthingales marry for love and Laurel will settle for no less. Only by treasuring Laurel’s heart above a baronial fortune will Graelem stand any chance of gaining it all.

The Viscount’s Rose
and
A Midsummer’s Kiss
are prequels to
Rules For Reforming a Rake
,
The Duke I’m Going To Marry
, and
My Fair Lily
. Yes, I’m finding that I think best backwards, especially with this Farthingale Series. The sisters have decided the order of these books and I am helpless to do anything but obey. However, each book is a stand-alone love story, so don’t hesitate to start with any one of them!

Interested in learning more about the Farthingale sisters?
Join me on Facebook
at Author Meara Platt! Additionally, we’ll be giving away lots of Farthingale swag and prizes during the launches. If you would like to join the fun, you can
subscribe to my newsletter
and also
connect with me on Twitter
. You can find links to do all of this at my website:
mearaplatt.com
.