The Viscount's Rose (The Farthingale Series Book 5) (34 page)

“Not if you continue to irritate me. Go to bed, Rose. Take whatever you need to make yourself comfortable and then barricade your door.”

“Against you?”

A muscle twitched in his jaw.

She shrugged. “Very well, but there will be no barricades between us, Julian. My door and my heart shall always be open to you.”

Rose was a
snoop, and Julian knew she was going to interfere in these last few weeks of his investigation unless he dealt with her now and stopped her misguided attempt. He had two choices. The first was to tell her the truth and swear her to secrecy, which wasn’t a choice at all since he didn’t have the authority to disclose the details of the investigation or even reveal that one was being conducted.

Even if Prinny gave him the right to disclose certain details to Rose, what assurance did he have that she wouldn’t tell her large and intrusive family? Or, heaven forbid, his?

The second choice was to push her away, to dash all hope of there ever being something between the two of them. It was the only sensible solution, but could he feign disinterest when every thrumming part of him ached to have her? This wasn’t merely a passing fancy, but a throbbing, pulsing ache that spanned universes and would not be restrained by the boundaries of time.

Bloody nuisance.

This was Rose, his annoying sister’s best friend. A young innocent who had yet to complete her first London season and had never been kissed by any man except him. He suppressed the surge of possessive pride that swelled within his chest at the mere thought.

No, he refused to give the girl any power over him.

Love was an impossible complication. How hard could it be
not
to fall in love? He’d endured severe hardships on the battlefield. He could manage this.

“The girl’s a bloody nuisance,” he muttered under his breath, watching Rose gather her blankets and the dry gown that was still neatly folded inside the window seat that served as a storage chest.

She must have heard his grumble and glanced up at him. “Did you say something to me?”

His heart tugged at the hopeful look she cast him. “No.” Now he was just being surly. In his own defense, the less he said to her the better. He had very little resolve when it came to Rose, especially now that she was regarding him with a forlorn look in her big blue eyes.
Damn it.
They were glistening with unshed tears.

Had he been too gruff with her?

He could apologize and sweep her into his arms, kiss her soundly on the lips.

No! What was wrong with him? He was about to botch a yearlong investigation because of this innocent.

“Good night, Julian.”

He sighed. The bundles in her arms were almost as big as she was. “Let me help you with those.”

She drew away. “I can manage on my own. They aren’t heavy.”

“I know.” But they were bulky and awkward. He took the blankets and gown out of her arms. “I’ll set them on the bed and then take my leave of you. Simple enough.”

“I suppose that’s how you want your life to be, nice and simple,” she retorted, obviously still stinging from his words. “You’ll never have it if you marry the countess.”

“Message received, Rose. You needn’t repeat the warning.” They entered the spare room containing the cot and he dumped the blankets on it. Taking more care with her gown since it was the only decent change of clothes she had, he set it neatly over the back of the one chair in the small room. “Go to sleep. Stop meddling.”

“I’m sorry. You’re right, of course.” She turned to face him as she hastily shrugged out of his jacket. “Here, you’ve given me all the blankets so take this back for yourself.”

“I’ll be fine, Rose. I don’t need it.”

She continued to hold it out to him. He caught her sweet scent on the fabric, the scent of sunshine and warm breezes and meadow flowers. “Then take one of the blankets,” she said, noting his hesitation although she couldn’t have understood the reason for it. She was a torment to him. He’d never have a peaceful night’s rest while the scent of her clung to him. “You must have something to keep you warm.”

He did—the fiery heat of his desire.

He grabbed his jacket out of her outstretched hand and strode out of the chamber, slamming the door behind him in his haste to leave. He needed to be out of there before he was overcome by the temptation to remain. Rose had an inviting way of looking at him that drove him wild.

He tossed his jacket onto the table and went in search of the whiskey bottle he’d noticed tucked away on one of the pantry shelves. He grabbed a glass and the bottle and set both down on the table. He then knelt beside the hearth to stoke the fire once more.

The room was now hot and dry.

Rose was safely abed and knew better than to come out again.

Alone with his turmoil, he unbuttoned his shirt and rolled up the sleeves, deciding against taking it off completely on the chance Rose came out of her room for whatever reason. He poured himself a whiskey and leaned his shoulder against the mantel while he sipped his drink and lost himself in thought. The glass was empty before he knew it so he poured himself another.

The liquid was an opalescent amber under the fire’s glow and glistened as he absently twirled it in his hand. The gem-like beauty of the whiskey was illuminated by the flames and somehow reminded him of Rose’s beauty, for there was an exquisite, shimmering quality to her features, her hair a luminescent gold, her lips as red as rubies, her eyes as dazzling as sapphires.
Blast!
He was no better than a mewling boy spouting odes to Rose’s beauty.

Women did not affect him like this. Never. Why now?

Why Rose? He’d asked the question of himself before and each time ended up scratching his head, for the answer was elusive. He simply felt the way he did because his heart willed it. Not that he was ever in the practice of following his heart. Quite the opposite, he was a creature of reason and logic, save matters concerning Rose.

She wasn’t a classic beauty in any sense. Beautiful, to be sure, but in a warm, embracing way that made him want to reach out and hug her. He usually reserved that affection for his family, especially his youngest sisters who were growing up without the attentive care of a doting mother and father.

Rose was naturally welcoming and expressive. A chuckle quietly burst from him as he thought of the girl’s attempts at seductive glances, so adorably inept. It was obvious that she’d never known a man’s touch, had never felt passion before. She’d tried to look sultry, but instead looked like she’d stepped on a worm. Yet her paltry attempts had done the job, arousing him to fiery heights, only she didn’t realize it.

He poured a third drink and then stuffed the cork back in the bottle because the effects of the drug had not completely worked through his system. He’d already passed out once today and had no intention of doing so again.

“Julian?”

He groaned. “I thought you were asleep. You ought to be by now.” He dared not look at her in his weakened condition. Lusting and drunk was never a good combination.

Thunder once more rumbled in the distance, a harbinger of the next wave of rain and lightning from the tempest that seemed to be swirling overhead with no intention of abating or moving on. It matched the torment now swirling within his chest and causing his heart to pound in a rampant, tumultuous beat.

“I meant to sleep, but you’re right. I ought to have changed out of my damp clothes. They didn’t feel quite so bad while I was up and moving about, but the dampness crept into my bones and left me cold once I settled between the sheets. Not even the blankets were enough to warm me.” She walked to his side. “I can’t reach these last buttons. Will you help me? Here, I’ll move my hair out of the way.”

He groaned again. “You let down your hair?”

She quirked her head in confusion. “Yes, isn’t it obvious?”

Of course it was. His fingers itched to wrap themselves in those long, silken waves. He longed to caress the vibrant curls and watch them spring back softly against her perfect shoulders.

“I couldn’t sleep with the pins in it. I would have braided it, but I needed my brush and it’s at the bottom of the window chest. Um, I knew you didn’t want me to come out of my chamber, so I didn’t think there would be any harm in leaving it loose. I intended to fix it in the morning. Then I grew cold and nothing seemed to warm me up. I had to ask for your assistance.” He could feel her soft breaths against his shoulder as she rattled on in explanation, obviously feeling as uncomfortable in his presence as he was in hers.

“Um,” she said again, sighing, “I’ll fetch it now.”

“Don’t bother. It can wait until morning.” He closed his eyes a moment and swallowed hard. “Here, turn your back to me.” He set down his empty glass on the mantel. It had been full a moment ago. He shouldn’t have drained it so fast.

Drunk.

Lusting.

Soft woman who sparkled like a gemstone standing before him.

With her gown unfastened.

Begging for him to finish the job.

His body heated with such intensity it felt as though the flames crackling in the hearth had leaped out and engulfed him. They hadn’t, of course. The heat came from within him, kindled by his own fiery desire.

This will not end well.

Rose made the mistake of turning to face him once he’d accomplished the simple task. He was amazed that he’d managed it, for his hands began to shake the moment his knuckles brushed across her soft flesh and had yet to stop shaking. He was worse than a ten-year-old lad peeking into one of London’s pleasure houses. “Thank you.” She made the further mistake of smiling up at him.

The gown was loose and falling off her creamy shoulders. Her hair was wild and tumbling down her back in golden waves.

The front of her gown slipped lower, exposing the tops of her breasts. Most women of fashion wore their gowns cut that low, but this was Rose. She had the most beautiful breasts he’d ever seen, and he’d seen many in his wild younger days. Rose’s weren’t your average sort of beautiful breasts, but the Holy Grail of breasts. Men went on odysseys to search for such perfection, and here she stood before him.

His for the taking.

He took a deep breath. “Good night, Rose. I’ll see you in the morning.”

That might have been the end of it if the tempest overhead hadn’t chosen that moment to unleash its fury. Lightning cracked and thunder boomed almost simultaneously, the strike coming so close it shook the rafters. Rose let out a startled cry and jumped into his open arms, which shouldn’t have been open, but somehow were. He’d reached for her the moment the roof had swayed, ready to protect her with his body.

Now she was crushed up against him, the gown slipping even lower as she let go of it to throw her arms around him. They were now skin to skin, hearts pounding and entwined in each other’s arms.

As the storm broke loose and wild, so did their passion.

He wasn’t so far gone that a simple no would have stopped him. Instead, Rose was whispering yes and “don’t you dare stop,” so he didn’t. He slid the gown off her, leaving her clad only in her camisole, which was sheer and damp. He realized she was tugging at his shirt, so he tossed it off as well and in the same motion lifted her by the waist to balance her on the table while he positioned her legs around his hips and bent his head to sample the Holy Grail.

He hadn’t stripped her of the camisole, intending for that flimsy fabric to act as a protective barrier between them, but it was too easily nudged aside by the tug of his finger so that the sleeves fell off her shoulders. A second tug brought the rest of the delicate bodice down with it around her waist. His knuckle grazed over one of her exposed nipples, causing it to pucker into a hard bud. His heartbeat came to a crushing halt. “Sweetheart, you’re so beautiful.”

She seemed surprised. “Thank you.”

He loved how unaffected she was about her striking good looks. “Polite, too,” he said with a grin, lowering his head to trail light kisses down the curve of her throat.

Her skin felt satin soft and tasted lightly salty. He moved lower, taking one nipple between his teeth and gently scraping across it, then letting his tongue and lips take over, suckling and swirling over one and then the other until she was hot and writhing and her pink peaks were as hard and erect as he was. “Julian, oh my! Oh, ooh…”

Overhead, thunder and lightning continued to shatter the evening quiet with pounding intensity, but he didn’t care and Rose didn’t seem to either. Her eyes were closed and mouth slightly parted as she took in each sensation with avid delight. He watched her, drank her in, worked his lips and fingers over her incredibly responsive body and wanted more because he couldn’t get enough of her and knew he’d never have his fill of this perfect beauty. She was his.

She had to be his, for all the days of their lives.

His.

No other man’s Rose.

His Rose.

His fingers stroked between her thighs. She was already slick and aroused, near to slipping over the edge. So was he, but he wanted her to experience this womanly pleasure, to be guided by his touch, his and only his ever after.