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‘Did you learn that at school?’ The orphanage had taught her to read uplifting sermons and her bible, and how to do sums, but most of her education had been about making herself useful to people with money. Plying a needle, making tallow candles and soap. Sometimes one of the guardians had loaned her other things to read, Gothic tales and such, but the matron had stopped it, said it had given her ideas above her station. Improving texts were best for the likes of her.
But those glimpses into other realms had made her realise that if she wanted to get on in the world she needed to improve herself. She’d emulated the speech of the grand ladies who sometimes came to do charity work among the orphans and read everything she could get her hands on whenever she had a spare moment.
‘Actually,’ the Duke was saying, ‘my family estate has acres of trees of all different sorts. We learned about trees almost the way we learned to walk.’
‘We?’
His expression darkened. ‘My brother and I.’
‘You have a brother.’
‘Had. He died.’
While he had done his best to sound nonchalant, she heard pain in his voice and when she risked a glance at his face, saw it in his eyes. ‘I am sorry.’
He grimaced. ‘I also have a sister.’
‘She lives with you?’
‘She is a...widow. She and her daughter reside mostly in the country.’
‘Your parents?’ she said tentatively, then winced. He wouldn’t be a duke, would he, if his father was alive? There seemed to be a great deal of death in his family. One always imagined the nobs to be immune from such disasters. ‘I’m sorry, I do not mean to pry.’
He stopped and gazed down at her with a question on his face.
Blast. Of course, anyone moving in his circles would know these things. Breath held, throat dry, heart thudding in her chest, she waited for his denunciation.
Instead, he once more held out his arm and they continued walking. ‘My mother died when my sister was born. My father, little more than six months ago.’
While he sounded calm enough, tension radiated through him as if the words were hard to say. She had the urge to wrap an arm about his waist and give him a hug. Goodness, he’d probably take a fit if she did any such thing. Still, she patted his arm in silent sympathy and his amazingly blue eyes when he glanced down held a smile. ‘My grandmother lives with me. A feisty old lady she is, too. Always trying to boss me about.’
She chuckled, because she sensed that was what he wanted—no, needed—and also because the idea of anyone bossing such a fiercely commanding man about was laughable. ‘And what is it that she wants you to do?’
His face became inscrutable. ‘Marry. Produce the heir.’
‘And you do not want to?’
‘I’ll do my duty.’
He stopped at a flowering shrub. ‘This is gentian.’
A deliberate change of subject. She might not be educated, but she wasn’t stupid. ‘How pretty.’
‘And this is a rose bush.’
‘Hah. Very funny.’ The blossoms were perfect and a lovely pale yellow.
He dropped her hand and removed his fob from his pocket. He detached a small knife and cut off the stem of a blossom a day or so past the bud stage, but not yet in full bloom. With his little knife he cut off the thorns and handed it to her with a bow. ‘While not as fair as you, I hope you will accept it as a token of my esteem.’
She giggled.
He cocked a brow. ‘You find me amusing, Madame?’
Oh, dear, had she insulted him again? ‘I find such flowery nonsense amusing. It does not sound like you at all.’
Again the strange questioning look. ‘So it is honesty your prefer.’
She knew she was plain, but did she want him to say it? Better he said what he thought instead of puffing her up only to let her fall. After all, by the light of the candle, in that gown and the mask, he would not have been able to make out her features. Perhaps that accounted for his reserve. He was disappointed.
‘I do prefer it.’
The smile he gave her was so sweet, so endearing, it almost took her breath away.
‘Then honesty compels me to say I have never in my life met a woman like you.’
Ouch. Clearly her attempt to be ladylike was failing badly. To hide her embarrassment, she brought the rose to her face and inhaled deeply. The delicate scent brought a smile to her lips. ‘And I have never smelled a rose so sweet.’
He opened his mouth to say something, then gave a swift shake of his head as if he thought better of it.
‘Tell me about you,’ he said, beginning to walk again.
She tucked her hand under his arm. ‘There is not much to tell.’ Not much of interest to him in any case.
‘You have siblings?’
Siblings. Another unfamiliar word. But they had been talking of families. He must be asking about members of hers. She made a stab at the meaning.
‘I have no brothers or sisters.’ That she knew of. ‘My parents are also dead.’ Dead to her, for they’d never come to claim their bastard daughter. ‘I live with distant relatives.’ Liar. But what else could she say? That she lived in London’s rookeries? That would certainly spoil his image of her as a lady. Anyway, what difference did another white lie make, when nothing about her was real.
They had come to a wall. The end of the garden, she assumed. She turned back and was surprised to see only the chimneys of the house were visible, through the trees. ‘I suppose we must go back.’
‘I wanted to show you something.’
The girls had been very free with their advice as they helped her dress. Flo’s last warning rang in her ears. ‘If he says he wants to show you something, watch out. He might want to show you more than you want to see.’
‘Such as what?’ she had asked.
The girls had collapsed in laughter. But when they realised she was serious, they had looked worried. ‘How did such an innocent come to work in a place like this?’ one of them grumbled.
‘He might want to show off his manly bits,’ one of the others said. She pointed below her waist.
‘Not if he’s a gentleman,’ Flo said severely. ‘Not the first time. Still, be careful.’
Rose blushed at the memory.
‘I really should go back.’
‘Rose,’ he said, shaking his head at her. ‘It is nothing to fear.’
‘The archbishop said to the actress,’ Rose mumbled under her breath.
He laughed outright. ‘I heard that, you little minx. Where on earth did you hear such a thing? From one of the servants, no doubt. I advise you not to use it in company.’ He swept back a tangle of shrub that trailed down to the ground, honeysuckle, she thought, to reveal a swing hanging from the limb of a large tree.
‘Oh.’ She felt extremely foolish.
‘Sit. I will give you a push.’ He glanced up at the sky, ‘And then you probably should go, before dusk draws in.’
He was right, the sky above was a much deeper blue now and the sky to the west was turning golden and pink.
He held the wooden seat steady by the ropes while she sat. The thing wobbled beneath her bum. She gave a little shriek.
‘It is all right. I won’t let you fall.’ He frowned. ‘Hold on to the rope above the knots.’
Right. Of course. She’d seen pictures of this. She could do it.
‘Relax.’ His grin was infectious and, yes, there was a little dimple in each cheek she hadn’t noticed before. Her stomach gave an odd little hop. With a swallow, she eased her death grip on the rope.
He pushed the seat and it swung forward a foot and back a foot. She gasped. He pushed again on the backward swing. This time she went farther and her feet were far off the ground. She felt as if she’d left her stomach somewhere behind her. It caught up to her the moment she started going backwards.
She shut her eyes tight.
He pushed again.
She opened her eyes as the air rushed against her face and tugged at her hair as the ground fell away. This must be how birds felt when they flew.
‘Tell me if it’s too high,’ he said the next time he caught the wooden seat and pushed off again.
Her body relaxed. It wasn’t too high. It was wonderful. She laughed, throwing her head back, gazing up into the tree. The rushing air forced the bonnet from her head, the ribbons caught, then let go and it flew away. A strange sense of joy filled her. She couldn’t help it. A feeling of...freedom. She smothered the urge to laugh until she was breathless.
Gently, carefully, as if she was precious, he brought the swing to a stop. He came around to face her a smile on his lips, gazing down at her with such a look in his eyes, she felt seared to her very soul. A feeling something like the one when she had when they danced in the Green Room.
Slowly he dipped his head.
She lifted her face to meet his searching gaze, a sense of wonder filling her heart. A feeling so powerful, it felt as if it would burst out of her chest.
Their lips met.
The magic of his kiss swamped her, so light and tender, a brush of his lips, a touch of his tongue that made her insides tighten and her breath leave her lungs in a rush.
His arm went around her, bringing her to her feet, her body flush with his. She twined her arms around his neck, floating on a cloud of hot sensation, her breasts feeling heavy and full, her heart pounding against her ribs, her whole body melting into his.
One large hand cradled her face, warm, strong. When had he removed his gloves? Why did she care? Feeling his skin warm against hers, his strength held under control yet supporting her with a sureness that made her feel weak, was heavenly.
He nipped at her bottom lip, teased with his tongue until on a sigh she opened her mouth and let him taste.
A Florentine Kiss. She’d always thought it sounded nasty, but this was lovely. It created hot shivers across her skin, wicked pulses low in her abdomen, an expanding sensation of joy that made her heart feel too large for her chest.
A groan rumbled up from his throat and his fingers speared into her hair.
One of her hands had, of its own volition, settled on his chest. It trembled in time to the beat of his heart. The sensation seemed to travel all the way from her fingertips until it took up residence deep inside her stomach.
Her head spun with the onslaught of heat and cold and lightning seemingly happening all at once.
His free hand cupped her hip, pulling her close to his lovely lithe body, so firm against hers. The ridge of his arousal pressed against her belly. Her dazed mind sounded a warning. She pushed at his chest, felt resistance, then, to her relief, he eased away, their lips continuing to cling for a fraction longer. He stepped back.
He was breathing hard.
As was she.
What must he think?
Wanton. Just like your mother.
She covered her mouth with her hand before she said something stupid. Like, thank you. Or, again, please.
With horror she realised her hair had come down and was now a mess of lopsided curls. ‘I should go.’ She looked around for the bonnet. It wasn’t hers to lose.
‘Rose.’ He held out a hand to her, a careful smile on his lips. ‘Sweetheart.’
The sound of the endearment made her want to weep. Couldn’t he see, she could never be his sweetheart? She wanted a home. A family. A husband. If she didn’t leave now, that dream would be over.
While he had been kind and very sweet, that kiss meant he knew she was no lady. Knew she was not his equal in any respect and he had as good as said he would be marrying soon. A lady. A woman of his own class.
There was no sign of the bonnet. Darnation, she would buy Diana a new one. ‘I’m sorry. I cannot do this.’ She picked up her skirts and ran.
The crunch of his feet on the gravel followed. Got closer.
She spun around. Backed into the gate. Hands pressed flat against rough wood behind her. ‘Don’t.’
His expression was puzzled. Perhaps a shade angry. And he had her bonnet dangling from his fingers.
She put up a hand to halt him. ‘Please. Let me go. This was a mistake. I’m sorry.’
He froze, his body rigid. ‘I beg your pardon, Rose.’ He bowed.
The hurt in his eyes stopped her breath. The urge to stay wrenched at her heart, perhaps even her soul, she felt such a pang. Staying would make things worse. If he knew what she was, then it would ruin everything. Spoil the memories.
She whirled around. In seconds she was out of the gate and running. At the end of the alley, she collided full tilt with someone. She let out a shriek.
‘Rose!’ Flo’s voice.
She had waited, despite Rose telling her not to. She almost collapsed with relief.
Flo held her by the upper arms, her eyes blazing as they search her face. ‘The bastard. Wot did he do?’
‘No, no. He didn’t do anything. It was me.’
Flo’s gaze went back up the alley. ‘Blasted toffs.’
