As they sat down to supper, Charles was acutely aware of the woman sitting across from him. Although he mostly spoke to Mr. Lawson, his eyes often strayed to Rose, intrigued with the slight tremble that shook her small hands. Her eyes focused on the plate before her, she, on the other hand, strictly avoided looking at him, her gaze only meeting her father’s before she averted them once more.
“I, myself, have not been out in society much these past few years,” Mr. Lawson admitted. “I cannot say I care for it much, and frankly, there was no need before Rose came of age.”
“I see.” As his eyes darted across the table, Charles noticed a tinge of red colouring her cheeks. Did she mind that the topic of conversation had shifted to her? “I, too, prefer the company of like-minded friends to the deafening roar of a crowded ballroom.”
Nodding, Mr. Lawson reached for his wineglass. “I hear you have spent the past few years travelling the world. What made you decide to return now?”
Sighing, Charles shrugged. “In truth, I had no intention of returning, and I probably wouldn’t have if it hadn’t been for my brother’s wedding.”
“Then we, too, are most fortunate that your brother found himself a beautiful wife,” Mr. Lawson declared, raising his glass. “To the happy couple.”
“To the happy couple,” Charles and Rose echoed, and for a moment, their eyes met across the table.
Instantly, the breath caught in Charles’s throat, and for a second, he forgot to take a sip with the others. Clearing his throat, he chuckled. “Yes, it was indeed most fortunate,” again, his eyes travelled across the table, “for I cannot think of a place I’d rather be right now.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” Mr. Lawson said. “However, I must say that I was surprised to hear that your brother and his wife went on such an extended journey. Although we were not well-acquainted when he left, I believed him to be rather attached to his home.”
Charles nodded, feeling a strange sense of detachedness at hearing himself spoken about in such a way. “He was. However, I suppose seeing each other again after two years, we both experienced a change with regard to what our hearts truly desired.” Glancing at Rose, he caught her eye, and a shiver went over her. Holding his gaze for a moment, she swallowed before once more averting her eyes.
Returning his attention to Mr. Lawson, Charles rejoiced at her reaction, feeling its echo within his own heart.
“Yes, a change in perspective often helps to clear one’s mind and allows one to see things more clearly,” Mr. Lawson agreed before an amused chuckle escaped him. “It is as though you each took up the life of the other.”
Stunned, Charles froze, his fork stopping half-way to his mouth. Then he glanced at Mr. Lawson and to his utmost relief found no suspicion in the older man’s clever eyes. “Yes, it would seem so indeed,” Charles agreed, his voice sounding strained to his own ears.
Looking across the table, he found Rose’s eyes resting on him, her brows slightly drawn into a puzzled frown as she regarded him with interest.
Charles swallowed.
“I have to admit a part of me would very much like to see the many places from which my artefacts originated,” Mr. Lawson said with a wistful smile on his face.
“As would I,” Charles agreed without thinking.
Immediately, two pairs of eyes narrowed as they regarded him with surprise.
“I mean there are still so many places that I haven’t seen yet,” Charles hurried to explain, hoping that his voice did not shake as much as his hands did under the table. “A lifetime would not be enough to see them all.”
Mr. Lawson nodded. “That is indeed true.”
After supper, they returned to the drawing room, and while Charles and Mr. Lawson animatedly discussed the other’s work on various artefacts, Rose sat on the settee, hardly a word leaving her lips. Few men would probably consider her behaviour strange considering that most women would not be able to participate in such a conversation. Charles, however, knew Rose’s clever wit and couldn’t help but wonder what went on in her mind as she watched them with rapt attention.
“Yes, I must admit that the Rosetta Stone is by far the most intriguing artefact,” Mr. Lawson said, eagerness shining in his eyes. “I may not have the resources Mr. Young has, but I enjoy the insights it’s granted me so far.”
Charles nodded, remembering that Mr. Young was the foreign secretary of the Royal Society currently working on deciphering the Egyptian hieroglyphs that made up one third of the stone’s inscriptions. “That is indeed most exciting.”
“Would you care to see them?” Mr. Lawson offered before he slightly cocked his head and regarded Charles through narrowed eyes. “And please, do be honest. At present, you seem like a man very much interested in archaeology. However, from what I remember of you, I suppose I am justified to have doubts.”
Charles chuckled. “I would like to see them very much. You are most kind to offer.”
Nodding his head, Mr. Lawson headed towards the door. However, before he had taken more than a few steps, he turned back around. “Please, remain seated,” he said to Charles, whose eyebrows rose in astonishment. “I shall retrieve my research from my study and return shortly.” His eyes shifted to his daughter. “I trust that Rose will keep you good company.”
Then he turned and left, closing the door behind him.
***
Staring at the closed door, Rose took a deep breath, confused about her father’s reasons to force her into this situation; for she knew him too well to not have noticed the conspiratorial twinkle in his eyes when he had demanded Lord Norwood remain in her company. Had her father not promised that she would be safe? That his presence would dissuade Lord Norwood from doing anything untoward?
Clearing her throat, Rose focused her eyes on the pianoforte in the corner, unwilling to test her own resolve and meet Lord Norwood’s eyes.
“I am surprised he is leaving us alone together.”
Rose drew in a deep breath. “As am I.” Then she rose from the settee and went to stand by the window, gazing out at the darkened street, which lay almost abandoned at this hour.
Behind her, Lord Norwood rose as well, and she heard his footsteps sounding on the parquet floor as he came to stand behind her. Feeling a shiver run down her back, Rose straightened her shoulders, determined not to allow his proximity to confuse her.
“I’ve enjoyed this evening very much,” he said, his voice smooth and beckoning. “Your father is a great man. You are fortunate to have him.”
Feeling her resolve waver, Rose remained quiet.
“Are you determined not to speak to me?” he asked, and a hint of disappointment rang in his voice. “Rose, please.”
A shiver went down her back at the sound of her name, a shiver that made her breath catch in her throat and her knees go weak. Closing her eyes, Rose took a deep breath. “What do you want me to say?”
A relieved sigh left his lips, and he took a step closer, his breath tickling the back of her neck. “Whatever you will.”
Straightening, Rose turned to face him, her hands balled into fists at her side. “It was not my idea to invite you here tonight.”
“I know.” Looking down at her, his eyes searched hers. “Do you mind that I came?”
“Yes.” Dropping her gaze, Rose glanced past him toward the door that remained closed. Where was her father? What was taking him so long?
“That is a lie,” Lord Norwood stated, and her head jerked back. “I can see it in your eyes.”
Rose swallowed for she knew his words to be true, and yet, what was she to do? He was the man who had ruined her cousin’s life, and he did not even have the courtesy to show remorse. “It does not matter,” she said, holding his gaze. “My mind is set.”
A hint of sadness in his eyes, he nodded. “I can see that, too, and yet, I cannot bring myself to abandon hope.”
“Hope?”
“That one day you might accept me after all.”
As anger surged thr
ough Rose, her eyes narrowed. “How dare you speak to me like this? Your reputation is widely known. Do you truly believe you can fool me?”
In answer to her words, his jaw clenched, and he swallowed, a hint of anger in his eyes. “Tell me, Rose, have I ever treated you disrespectfully?”
“I wish you would not address me so informally, my lord,” she snapped, disconcerted by the loss of composure so evident in his eyes. “We hardly know each other.”
He took another step closer, and his breath caressed her cheek as his eyes held hers. “It is not I who presumes to know the other,” he forced out through gritted teeth. “However, you’ve judged me without cause.”
“Without cause?” Rose’s eyes snapped open, and she shook her head.
“What have I done that is so despicable to you?” he asked, his eyes drilling into hers.
Rose scoffed, “I do not know which is worse, the deed itself or that you do not even seem to recall it. Do you truly walk through life, completely ignorant of other people’s feelings?”
For a moment, he remained quiet, his eyes searching hers in a rather intimate fashion that brought goose bumps to Rose’s skin. Then he opened his mouth and said, “I am aware of yours.”
As her hands began to tremble, her heart quickened. “Mine?”
His gaze dipped lower and touched her lips before recapturing her eyes. “Yours,” he whispered as his hands gently settled on her waist.
Rose drew in a sharp breath. Unable to avert her eyes, she waited; however, he did not step closer or draw her to him. He merely stood before her, his hands resting on her waist as though they belonged there while his eyes held hers captive, daring her to accept him.
Once more, his gaze travelled down to her lips before he leaned in for a kiss. A breath’s distance away, though, he stopped, his eyes darting up to her own, asking permission.
Feeling suddenly lightheaded, Rose licked her lips. She knew she ought to stop him, and yet, she could not for her heart urged her on, longing for the feel of his lips on her own.
An eternity passed before his hands came around her more firmly, and he bent his head further down toward hers. Had she nodded her head or otherwise indicated her agreement? Rose didn’t know; it did not matter anyway. The only thing that mattered were the millions of butterflies surging through her middle.
When his mouth gently brushed against hers, Rose closed her eyes and abandoned all thought.
Her lips began to tingle with pleasure, and a fire broke out somewhere deep down, its flames surging through her body, awakening a desire firmly held in check. Reaching up, her hands curled around the hem of his jacket, pulling herself closer to him.
In answer, the hands on her back tightened before his left came up to cup the side of her face, his thumb gently stroking her cheek. Then he deepened the kiss, and his hand travelled farther back to the small of her neck to hold her even closer.
Excitement coursed through her veins, and Rose forgot everything around her until he pulled back, his lips brushing against hers once more, and whispered, “I love you, dear Rose.”
As though slapped, her eyes flew open and she stared at him in shock, barely aware of the stunned expression on his face as she drew back, pushing his hands off her. Breathing heavily, Rose brushed down her dress, smoothing non-existent wrinkles. “Do not take me for a fool, my lord,” she gasped, unable to meet his eyes. “I am well aware of your reputation and will not allow myself to be used in such a fashion.”
When he remained quiet, Rose dared to raise her eyes off the floor and meet his.
Lips pressed into a thin line, he swallowed, his gaze regarding her with open disappointment. “If that is truly your opinion of me, I apologise for taking such liberties. I assure you my intentions were honourable.” Then he formally bowed to her and offered a curt “Good night” before striding out the door.
As the world began to spin, Rose lifted a hand to steady herself against the wall. Unable to believe what had just happened, she focused her thoughts away from the turmoil in her heart and concentrated on drawing one deep breath after another into her lungs, lest she pass out.
In that moment, her father returned, a questioning look in his eyes as his gaze slid over her. “I take it our guest has left.”
“Father, where have you been?” Rose demanded, anger momentarily suppressing the sorrow that began to well up in her chest. “How could you leave us alone?”
“Oh, let’s not stand too much on ceremony,” her father snorted, waving her concerns away. “It has been such a delightful night.”
“A delightful night?” Rose echoed, her mind sluggish as though she had just been roused from a deep sleep. “Where have you been?”
“Oh, you know me,” he chuckled. “I found a book on Egyptian hieroglyphs on my shelf that I forgot I had and got lost, flipping through it, trying to find the section−”
“A book? All this time, you’ve been in your study going through a book?”
“I guess so,” her father admitted, a smirk on his face. “I suppose it was incredibly rude of me not to see our guest out, but I trust that you made my apologies.” Smiling at her, he squeezed her hand, then turned to the door. “Good night, Dear.”
“Good night, Father,” Rose mumbled, staring after him until he had disappeared from her view.
Chapter Nine − A Brother's Return
On the carriage ride back to his townhouse, Charles raked his brain, trying to think of a way to convince Rose of the sincerity of his intentions. The evening had gone so well. The way she had looked at him, her watchful eyes ever observant, trying to determine his character, had given him hope. More than once, he had felt as though she had just looked into his soul and seen him for who he truly was.
His lips tingled at the memory of their kiss. Like the fool he was, in that moment, he had believed her to have changed her mind, that somehow her feelings for him had overcome whatever atrocities his brother might have committed against her cousin. However, they had not. Had she truly believed him to seduce her in her father’s house with him in the next room?
Shaking his head, Charles wondered why Mr. Lawson had left them alone. Such an action was rather uncharacteristic of a doting father.
When the carriage pulled up to the townhouse, Charles stepped out and climbed the front steps to where his butler waited. “Good evening, Milton.”
“Good evening, my lord,” the white-haired man whispered in his usual monotonous voice. “Your brother and his wife are awaiting your return in your study.”
Charles’ head snapped up. “My brother is here?”
“Yes, my lord.”
Instantly, all fatigue fell from his limbs, and Charles rushed through the dark house and threw open the door to his study. Never before had he felt so relieved to see his brother home, and in that moment, Charles realised how desperately he wanted to talk to him about what had been going on in his absence.
“Little Brother,” Robert greeted him, drawing him into a tight embrace. “I would love to tell you that you’ve never looked better,” he said, then step back and eyed Charles carefully, “however, you’d know I’d be lying.”
“Robert!” Standing by the armchairs in the corner, Isabella shook her head at her husband, a slightly exasperated, and yet, amused expression on her kind features.
“It’s good to see you, too, Brother,” Charles chuckled before he turned to Isabella. As he held open his arms, she stepped into his embrace, and the warmth that swept through him reminded Charles of how much he wished they had never left.
“We came as soon as we received your letter,” she said as Robert came to stand beside her. “You look worried. Has something happened?”
Shaking his head, Charles tried to sort through the mess in his head. “No, not that I know of.”
“Have you been able to find out more?” Robert asked. “What is her surname? To tell you the truth, I cannot recall a woman named Rose.” A grin came to his face. “At least not one of a more intimate
acquaintance.”
“Robert!” Rolling her eyes, Isabella shook her head. “No wonder you have acquired such a scandalous reputation. However, I have to wonder if even half of it is true, considering that the way you express yourself would surely be enough to cast a bad light on you.”
Laughing, Charles looked at his brother. Despite a more formal attire and cropped hairstyle, he still stuck out like a sore thumb. It was not only his open collar or the fact that his sleeves were rolled up, but a general air of indifference and lack of interest that hung about him.
Try as he might, Charles knew he would never be able to feign that.
“I apologise, my lady,” Robert said, bowing low to his wife, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “I promise I will make amends later,” he promised, a devilish grin on his face.
Ignoring the slight flush that came to her cheeks, Isabella turned back to Charles. “So?”
“Her name is Rose Lawson,” Charles explained. “However, by now, I do not believe that she reacted to my name−or rather yours−due to a personal experience of her own but rather because of that of her cousin, a Mrs. Diana Reignold. Do you recall her?”
Squinting his eyes, Robert seemed to think hard before he finally shook his head. “I’m afraid I do not. Her name does not sound familiar, neither does Rose Lawson.”
“Maybe you would remember her if you saw her,” Isabella suggested, a hint of a challenge in her voice as she regarded her husband through narrowed eyes.
While Robert grinned at his wife, Charles nodded. “That’s a good idea. Lord Fenton’s ball is in two days. That should present a perfect opportunity for you to return to society.”
Rolling his eyes, Robert moaned. “All right, dear Brother,” he finally relented. “I admit we cannot ignore this possible threat to our secret. However, once it is taken care of, I swear, I will never again set foot in a ballroom full of pretentious people.” Smiling at his wife, he shrugged. “Why would I? After all, I am happily married.”