The Viscount's Rose (The Farthingale Series Book 5) Page 4

  Rose was about to offer more words of comfort when she heard Lord Emory’s voice in the entry hall. It seemed odd that she should be so aware of him when she hardly knew him, but there was something about the quiet assurance and authority in his manner that set her body tingling the moment she sensed his presence. “Hush, Nicola. We’ll speak of your problem later. Your brother has returned to pick you up.”

  “Rose,” she said in an anguished whisper. “I’m desperate. Please think of something to keep him from that woman’s talons.”

  Rose tried to feign disinterest, but found herself smoothing her gown and sitting up a little straighter. She couldn’t resist patting her curls to make certain they were all in place.

  Nicola noticed the subtle change in her demeanor and inhaled lightly. “You are falling in love with him. I knew it!”

  “Don’t be a goose.”

  Her friend remained persistent. “Please, Rose. Do fall in love with him or my entire family is doomed. He’ll marry that harpy and then she’ll force him to disown us and we’ll all be cast out into the streets and miserable for the rest of our lives. You’re my family’s only hope.”

  Rose sighed as she stared at Nicola’s brother, who still stood in the entry hall having a few words with her father, no doubt about Sir Aubrey and his band of pottery ruffians now that the rest of Lily’s explosives had been safely returned to the regimental headquarters. “And just how do I go about luring him away from Countess Deschanel? I’m no temptress. I wouldn’t know how to go about seducing him. In any event, he sees me only as your best friend.”

  “You can’t abandon me!”

  She hated the despair in Nicola’s voice. “I won’t, but are you certain she’s as bad as you claim?”

  Nicola collapsed back in her chair, placed one hand over her brow, and clutched her heart with her other in a display of dramatic arts to rival the best-known actresses on the theatrical stage. “She’s ever so much worse.”

  “Very well, I’ll offer my help in stealing him from the clutches of the evil countess.” Still, it seemed odd that a man who appeared so intelligent in every other way should be such an idiot in matters of love. Then again, the expression “besotted fool” had to spring from somewhere.

  Nicola’s eyes lit up with joy. “Thank you. My entire family is eternally grateful to you. Now, how shall we go about saving him?”

  Rose shook her head and sighed. “You’ll have to trust me unquestioningly.”

  Nicola crossed her heart. “I promise. My brothers and sisters will do the same. My aunt and uncle, too.”

  “Good, because we’re about to wage war on your brother and his countess.” She smoothed her gown again. “Quick and devastating surprise attacks. Shh, not another word. He mustn’t suspect.” She smiled sweetly at Lord Emory as he joined them.

  Nicola was utterly beaming.

  Rose maintained her smile but was in silent panic. She hadn’t a clue what to do and had only acted as though she had a plan in order to soothe her friend. Fortunately, she had clever sisters, and if ever a situation called for a meeting with Laurel, Daisy, and the twins, this was it. She’d confide in them tonight. But for now, she needed to appear serene and assured for Nicola’s sake. “Is the pouch safely returned, Lord Emory?”

  She blinked at him coquettishly.

  He folded his arms across his chest and nodded slowly. “All safe.” He studied her for an uncomfortably long moment before groaning lightly. “What have you two been plotting in my absence?”

  Oh, dear! Was this her first tactical mistake? Weren’t men supposed to like a mild flirtation? Perhaps she had blinked too hard. Or not hard enough. Though her gaze was trained on him and not Nicola, she felt a sudden quiet by her side, as though all breath had been sucked out of Nicola. Honestly, did the girl have no guile in her at all? “Nothing, Julian. Oh, ha, ha, ha. What could we possibly have to plot about?”

  He was still frowning and his arms were still crossed over his broad chest as he ignored his sister’s fidgets and giggles and continued to stare at Rose as though certain she was the nefarious mastermind. So what if she was? It wasn’t very nice of him to think the worst of her. “Indeed, Lord Emory, what possible plot?”

  His gorgeous green eyes darkened with concern. “That’s what I’d like to know.”

  CHAPTER 3

  JULIAN KNEW HIS sister well enough to realize immediately that she and Rose were up to no good. But what were they planning to do? Confront Sir Aubrey on their own? Good heavens! They couldn’t possibly be thinking to blow up his kiln in retaliation, could they? No, Nicola was never that bloodthirsty. But he didn’t know Rose very well. Would she behave so foolishly?

  “Oh, ha, ha, ha.” Nicola was still tittering inanely and protesting their innocence too vehemently for his liking.

  Rose was spirited and a bit eccentric, but Nicola wouldn’t adore her if she were malicious. In any event, Rose was still hobbled by her sprained ankle and couldn’t move stealthily if her life depended on it.

  He cleared his throat, continued to train his gaze on Rose, and spoke in imitation of one of his haughty Oxford professors, his tone sarcastic and imposing. “Since my sister is going on like a demented cockatoo, perhaps you’d like to confess your misguided scheme.”

  That imposing professorial tone often worked to instill fear in the more timid schoolboys in his classes, but he’d never been a particularly timid lad and that haughty condescension had never worked on him.

  Apparently, it didn’t work on Rose either.

  He stifled a laugh when the girl stopped feverishly blinking at him and now stared at him with eyes wide and innocent. Her lush lips were slightly parted and rounded in a kissable O that revealed her consternation. Although her middle name was Lorelei, she obviously had none of the seductive talents one would associate with that name.

  Surprisingly, it made him hunger for her all the more.

  Really hunger for her.

  Bloody nuisance.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, my lord,” she said, her smile achingly sweet as she slid her hand into Nicola’s to subtly calm his sister.

  Did she think he wouldn’t notice the gesture?

  He arched an eyebrow and shot her a stern glower, although inside he was struggling to restrain his hearty laughter. Rose was not to be underestimated. She had a nimble brain and a soft heart, as evidenced by her affection for Nicola. Unlike Nicola, she had a fighting spirit, for any other young lady would have been in tears and still trembling over yesterday’s incident.

  But not Rose.

  She ran her thumb comfortingly over his sister’s hand and was subtly signaling to his sister to keep quiet. They were definitely plotting something. “You aren’t thinking of dealing with Sir Aubrey on your own, are you? I’ve already spoken to your father about him and will take care of the matter this very afternoon.”

  She puckered her lips in concern. “Do be careful, Lord Emory. He’s a blackguard and quite dangerous. The competition is cutthroat in this business, and he’s still enraged that I won the Runyon Pottery Mill contract away from him.” She tipped her nose into the air and gave a little sniff. “But my cobalt blue glazes are so much finer than his. So are my burnished copper glazes and gold leaf—”

  “Fascinating, Rose.” Obviously, she’d decided to leave the matter of Sir Aubrey to him. So who was their doomed target? Poor chap!

  “And even if Sir Aubrey got the colors right, which he never will,” Rose continued, her pert nose still pointed upward in disdain, “he has no sense of artistry. He doesn’t understand the magic in every creation, the enchantment in just the right tilt of a swan’s wing in the design of a soup tureen or the drape of a leaf or petal in the floral design of a teacup. The man is an oaf. I very much appreciate your assistance in dealing with him, but if he ever attempts to blow up my kiln again, I’ll—”

  “You had better not take matters into your own hands,” he said with a growl. “Not ever. I forbid it.”
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br />   She opened her mouth to protest but must have thought better of contradicting him, for she snapped it shut again. Or so he thought. In the next moment, she furrowed her brow and glowered at him. “Lord Emory, you are in no position to forbid me to do anything. You’re not my father and you’re certainly not my husband.”

  “The name’s Julian. I do wish you’d stop scowling at me.” He rolled his eyes and sighed. “I have the distinct impression that you’d never obey your husband anyway.”

  A light pink blush stained her lovely cheeks. “I’d try my best to honor his wishes… when they made sense.”

  He considered Sir Aubrey fortunate that he, and not Rose, intended to confront him. Indeed, he was glad that he and Rose were allied. She would make a formidable opponent were they ever to find themselves on opposite sides of a battle.

  He unfolded his arms and set his hands on either side of her chair. Leaning close, he took another moment to study her expression. Lord, the girl took his breath away. “You’re staying home these next few days, right?”

  Her eyes were once again wide and innocent. “Yes, my lord.”

  “And you’re not going after Sir Aubrey, right? You’re leaving him to me. I want your promise.”

  She nodded. “You have it. I promise.”

  Rose spoke the last with such genuine sincerity that he took it for the truth. In any event, Nicola was no fool and she couldn’t abide liars. His sister and Rose would never be friends if his sister couldn’t trust her.

  But they were definitely plotting something. What in blazes was it? No matter, he’d get it out of Nicola on the carriage ride home. He had his own important mission to accomplish and didn’t need to be worrying about these girls.

  He took another moment to discuss the matter of Sir Aubrey with John Farthingale and then left with Nicola.

  After helping his sister into the carriage, he settled opposite her against the soft, black leather bench. “Start talking,” he said, noting the way she stared out the window of his sleek conveyance and purposely avoided his gaze as they rolled down Chipping Way.

  “I don’t know what you mean, Julian.” His sister was now staring up at the ceiling. He continued to question her, but to his surprise, she didn’t break and spill all their plans. Not that he tried very hard to intimidate her. No, not at all. Ever since the sudden deaths of their parents in a boating accident, he’d taken special care to be gentle and supportive of his younger siblings. Two brothers and three sisters.

  He’d been at a loss as to how to properly raise them and was greatly relieved when his uncle had come to his rescue. He couldn’t have managed Nicola’s introduction into society without the assistance of the Earl of Darnley and his countess. That all his siblings now resided with them was also a great burden off his shoulders, for he’d been in the middle of an investigation for the Crown when his parents’ accident happened and it was still ongoing. In truth, it was so close to the end he couldn’t risk letting anything interfere with it now.

  He dropped Nicola off with his aunt and uncle, spent a few moments catching up with his other siblings, then took himself off to his bachelor residence to prepare for the Duke of Wrexham’s ball. Later, he would make the rounds of the gaming hells with Valentina and her dissolute companions. He’d been cultivating their friendships for the past year, particularly playing the besotted fool for Valentina.

  Convincing Valentina of his infatuation hadn’t been difficult. The countess thought quite highly of herself and naturally expected men to yearn for her. That she’d chosen him above all others had been the break he and his fellow agents in the Prince Regent’s elite circle of royal spies had been hoping for. The woman’s wealth did not come from the generosity of her dearly departed husband, but from Napoleon himself in regular monthly payments, to be precise.

  Julian had quietly nurtured their affair, taking almost six months to earn her trust and another six months to work up the pyramid of her English connections to discover the identity of most of the traitors working in her organization. None had been taken into custody yet, for it was to England’s advantage to feed them misleading bits of information to send off to Napoleon.

  These traitors were mere minnows in a vast ocean and could be caught in the royal net at any time. But the Prince Regent needed the name of the powerful nobleman who stood at the tip of that pyramid—someone within the highest echelons—and relayed England’s most sensitive war plans to Napoleon through the countess.

  Julian was so close to finding him now.

  “Don’t wait up for me, Buckley. I may not come home tonight,” he muttered to his valet as the man fussed with his formal evening wear, adjusting the bow on his silk tie and brushing lint off his stiff black jacket.

  “Very good, my lord.”

  Although Buckley was careful not to show his displeasure, he’d been with the Emory family for almost thirty years, attending to Julian for the past ten years, so Julian understood the subtle nuances of his valet’s expression. “You disapprove.”

  Buckley stepped back and gave a curt nod. “It isn’t my place to judge, my lord.”

  “Good, because the lady may be my viscountess some day.” The hell she would, but it was important for Valentina to think he was considering marriage. This was the bait needed to gain her complete confidence and get the name of her contact within the Prince Regent’s closest circle of friends.

  He called for his carriage and picked up Valentina on his way to Wrexham’s ball, playing his part as the devoted and attentive suitor throughout the evening. After the ball, he ought to have played his part as her ardent lover, but the image of Rose kept coming into his mind at the most inconvenient times and he knew that an entire year’s work would be ruined if he mistakenly called out the girl’s name while he was supposedly in the throes of ecstasy with Valentina.

  “I’ve had this damned, blistering headache all day. Can’t seem to shake it,” he muttered when the ball ended and he and Valentina were once more in his carriage on their way to meet her friends at one of the more elegant gaming hells.

  She ran her gloved hand along his cheek and leaned in close so that he felt her breasts against his arm. “My poor darling. Come upstairs into one of the private rooms with me and I’ll make it all better.” She slid her hand downward and rested it on the bulge between his thighs. “I want you tonight.”

  “I always want you, my love. But I can’t this evening. I’ll make it up to you tomorrow, and the day after that… and perhaps…” He purposely paused, allowing the hint of a permanent commitment to linger heavily in the air. “Let me go home, Valentina. Now my stomach’s acting up.”

  She pursed her lips in a practiced pout. “Very well, but I’m staying here. I wish to gamble. Lord Braswell will take me home. He’s madly in love with me, you know. Are you jealous?”

  “Desperately so. You are ever in my thoughts, my love. I’ll call Brassy out if he dares to touch you.”

  She shook her head and laughed. “He’s merely a boy and you’re a man. You needn’t worry about him.”

  “It isn’t only him.” He feigned a worried look. “Promise me there’s no one but me who holds your heart. Promise me, my love. You know I would do anything for you.”

  The coachman stepped down to open the carriage door at that moment, interrupting Valentina’s response, which would have been insincere anyway. She smirked and took the man’s offered hand. “Julian,” she said, turning to face him as he walked her to the door of the gaming hell, “do regain your strength.”

  He smiled and this time feigned a cough that had her drawing away before he could kiss her. “Good night, Valentina. Dream of me.” He coughed again for good measure and continued to play his part until she finally joined her friends inside.

  He climbed back into his carriage and eased his frame against the leather squabs. “Edred, get me out of here.” He’d done enough work for the night, dropping hints among their friends about his intention to propose to the dark-haired, gray-eyed diamon
d of the first water.

  But he had a big problem.

  His thoughts were on Rose, the stubborn and irritating chit who was the true diamond among the faux gems paraded before him each season.

  Bloody nuisance.

  Why couldn’t he stop thinking of Nicola’s best friend?

  “I’ll sit beside you at Lady Winthrop’s musicale tomorrow evening,” Nicola said, bounding into the Farthingale parlor two days later and dropping into the seat beside Rose while Pruitt rolled in the tea cart laden with cakes and an appealing assortment of scones. The Farthingale parlor was crowded today with more family and friends stopping by to pay a visit.

  Rose’s mother and her spinster aunt Hortensia were busy dashing in and out to greet their guests. Aunt Julia had also joined them, although she was rather subdued now that her husband had gone off to battle Napoleon. In truth, all the family elders were subdued now that Harrison had gone to fight.

  Rose worried about him as well, for he was the youngest of her uncles and the most adventurous. Her father, John, was the eldest, then came Rupert, then George, and finally Harrison. Hortensia was actually their aunt, but not much older than her nephews so they treated her as more of a sister than a family elder. “Oh, dear! Will you go?” Nicola asked, interrupting her thoughts.

  “To the musicale?” Rose smiled at Pruitt as he set down the teapot and sugar cone beside her. “I don’t know.” She poured a cup for Nicola, trying not to be distracted by the teacup and pot, for they were of the finest bone china from a lovely set of Staffordshire floral design that her mother had recently purchased. The colors were magnificent and the graceful cascading sweep of—

  “Ugh! Rose, stop counting the flowers on your teacup and talk to me. Will you come with me to Lady Winthrop’s?”