He hadn’t been aware of staring, but when her questioning gaze locked with his, Grey felt as though he’d been smacked upside the head by the open palm of idiocy.
“Is something troubling you, Grey?”
He loved the sound of his name on her tongue, and hated that he loved it. She made him weak and stupid. One sweet glance from her and he was ready to drop to his knees.
It wasn’t love. It wasn’t even infatuation. It was pure unmitigated lust. He could admit that. Hell, he embraced it. Lust could be managed. Lust could be mastered. And lust would eventually fade once she was out of his care and out of his life. That was the cold, hard, blessed truth of it.
“I was wondering if you were eagerly anticipating Lady Shrewsbury’s ball tomorrow evening?” How easily the lie rolled off his tongue as he lifted a bite of poached salmon to his mouth.
She smiled softly, obviously looking forward to it very much. “I am. Thank you.”
Camilla shared her daughter’s pleasure judging from her coy grin. “Rose has renewed her acquaintance with the honorable Kellan Maxwell. He requested that she save the first waltz of the evening for him.”
The fish caught in Grey’s throat. He took a drink of wine to force it down. “The same Kellan Maxwell who courted you during your first season?”
Rose’s smile faded a little. No doubt she heard the censure in his tone, his disapproval. “The same,” she replied with an edge of defensiveness.
The same idiot who abandoned his pursuit of Rose when Charles lost everything and scandal erupted. The little prick who hadn’t loved her enough to continue his courtship regardless of her situation.
“Mm,” was what he said out loud.
Rose scowled at him. “We had no understanding. We were not engaged, and Mr. Maxwell behaved as any other young man with responsibilities would have.”
“You defend him.” It was difficult to keep his disappointment from showing. He never thought her to be the kind of woman who would forgive disloyalty when she was so very loyal herself.
She tilted her head. “I appreciate your concern, but I’m no debutante, Grey. If I’m to find a husband this season I shouldn’t show prejudice.”
Common sense coming out of anyone else. Coming out of her it was shite. “You deserve better.”
She smiled a Mona Lisa smile. “We do not always get what we deserve, or even what we desire.”
She knew. Christ in a frock coat, she knew.
Her smile faded. “If we did, Papa would be here with us, and Mama and I wouldn’t be your responsibility.”
She didn’t know. Damn, what a relief. “The two of you are not a responsibility. You are a joy.”
For some reason that only made her look sadder, but Camilla smiled through happy tears. She thanked him profusely, but Grey had a hard time hearing what she was saying-he was too intent on Rose, who had turned her attention to her plate and was pushing food around with little interest.
He could bear this no longer. He didn’t know what was wrong with her, or why she seemed so strange with him. And he couldn’t stand that he cared.
“Ladies, I’m afraid I must beg your pardon and take leave of you.”
Rose glanced up. “So soon?”
He pushed his chair back from the table. “Yes. But I will see you at breakfast in the morning.”
She turned back to her dinner.
Grey bid farewell to Camilla and then strode from the room as quickly as he could. If he survived the Season it would be a miracle.
There’s just one thing I don’t understand,” she remarked, setting the periodical aside for a moment.
“And that is?”
She tucked her skirts around her legs, denying him further glimpses of her ankles. “Would you by chance know what gamahuching is?”
Grey would have thought himself far beyond the age of blushing, but the heat in his cheeks was unmistakable. “Good lord, Rose.” His voice was little more than a rasp. “That is hardly something a young woman brings up in casual conversation.”
Oh, but he could show her what gamahuching was. He’d be all too happy to crawl between those trim ankles and climb upward until he found the slit in her drawers…
Rose shrugged. “I suppose it might be offensive to someone of your age, but women aren’t as sheltered as they once were, Grey. If you won’t provide a definition, I’m sure Mr. Maxwell will when I see him tonight.” And with that threat tossed out between them, the little baggage returned her attention to her naughty reading.
His age? What did she think he was, an ancient? Or was she merely trying to bait him? Tease him? Well, two could play at that game.
And he refused to think of Kellan Maxwell, the bastard, educating her on such matters.
“I believe you’ve mistaken me if you think I find gamahuching offensive,” he replied smoothly, easing himself down onto the blanket beside her. “I have quite the opposite view.”
Beneath the high collar of her day gown, Rose’s throat worked as she swallowed. “Oh?”
“Yes.” He braced one hand flat against the blanket near her hip, leaning closer as though they were co-conspirators. “But I’m afraid the notion might seem distasteful to a lady of your inexperience and sheltered upbringing.”
Doe eyes narrowed. “If I am not appalled by the practice of frigging, why would anything else done between two adults in the course of making love offend me?”
Christ, she had the sexual vocabulary of a whore and the naivete of a virgin. There were so many things that people could do to each other that very well could offend her-hell, some even offended him. As for frigging, that just made him think of his fingers deep inside her wet heat, her own delicate hand around his cock, which of course was rearing its head like an attention-seeking puppy.
He forced a casual shrug. Let her think he wasn’t the least bit affected by the conversation. Hopefully she wouldn’t look at his crotch. “Gamahuching is the act of giving pleasure to a woman with one’s mouth and tongue.”
Finally his beautiful innocent seductress blushed. She glanced down at the magazine in her hands, obviously reimagining some of what she had read. “Oh.” Then, her gaze came back to his. “Thank you.”
Thank God she hadn’t asked if it was pleasurable because Grey wasn’t sure his control could have withstood that. Still, glutton for punishment that he was, he held her gaze. “Anything else you would like to ask me?”
Rose shifted on the blanket. Embarrassed or aroused? “No, I think that’s all I wanted to know.”
“Be careful, Rose,” he advised as he slowly rose to his feet once more. He had to keep his hands in front of him to disguise the hardness in his trousers. Damn thing didn’t show any sign of standing down either. “Such reading may lead to further curiosity, which can lead to rash behavior. I would hate to see you compromise yourself, or give your affection to the wrong man.”
She met his gaze evenly, with a strange light in her eyes that unsettled him. “Have you stopped to consider Grey, that I may have done that already?”
And since that remark rendered him so completely speechless, he turned on his heel and walked away.
And what is the popular color for gowns this Season?” he asked with a smile when it became necessary to announce himself.
She gave a little start, and when she raised her face to look up at him, her cheeks were pink, her eyes wide. She looked, for lack of a better comparison, like a child caught doing something she oughtn’t.
“Oh! Hello, Grey.” She glanced away. “Um, blue seems to be very favorable this year.”
Arching a brow, he nodded at the periodical in her hand. “Beg pardon. I thought you were reading a ladies’ magazine.”
“I am,” she replied with a coy smile. “But fashion is not one of its main areas of interest.”
With an expression like hers-very much like the Cheshire cat in that book by Lewis Carroll-he doubted it was an article on housekeeping that put such becoming color in her cheeks.
“May I?” he asked, holding out his hand.
Her grip on the magazine tightened, reluctant to give it up. “Only if you promise not to tell Mama you saw me reading it.”
Oh, this was trouble. Still, it was none of his business what a grown woman of three and twenty read. He was curious, that was all. “I promise.”
She hesitated, then put the pages into his hand.
Placing his fingers between the thin sheaves to mark her spot, Grey flipped to the cover. Christ on a pony!
The magazine looked fairly harmless-the sketch on the front showed a demure young lady in a stylish gown and hat, sitting on a park bench. Only upon closer inspection could one notice that the object of her attention-and rapturous smile-was the young man bathing in the lake just on the edge of the page. He was bare-chested-quite possibly bare everywhere, but that key part of anatomy was carefully hidden with a line of text that read, “Ten ways to keep a gentleman at home-and in bed.”
He didn’t want to see what she was reading. He had heard of this magazine before. Voluptuous was a racy publication for women, filled with erotic stories, advice, and articles about sexual relationships, how to conduct oneself to avoid scandal, etc.
He could take her to task for reading it, but what would be the point? No doubt the information in it would serve her wisely someday. He gave the magazine back to her. “I have to confess, I’m a little surprised to find you reading such…material.”
She shrugged. “I was curious. My parents were so happy in their marriage, so very much the opposite of most of what I’ve heard. If I’m to make a match as good as theirs, I need to know as much as I can about how to have a satisfying marriage.”
Grey almost groaned. The image of Rose “satisfying” herself filled his mind with such clarity it was difficult to remember he’d never actually seen such a delightful sight. His body stiffened at the delectable images his mind conjured, and he had to fold his hands in front of him to hide his growing arousal.
By the by, will you be attending the Shewsbury ball Friday evening?”
“I shall, yes.” It would be her first. “Will you?”
His smile turned flirtatious. “I plan to now.”
Rose blushed like a young girl, even though she knew Eve was behind her probably rolling her eyes. She would definitely wear the Worth gown her mother suggested. “Then I suppose I will see you there.”
“I hope you will honor me with the first waltz?”
Gracious, he certainly wasted no time! But Rose knew better than to have any expectations where he was concerned. Grey might not want her, but she wasn’t ready to set her cap on the first man to show interest in her.
“If you wish to dance with me, I have no desire to disappoint you.” Who was the flirt now?
Kellan bowed over her hand, brushing his lips across her gloved knuckles. “I shall count the days until then. Good day, Lady Rose. Lady Eve.”
“Good day, Mr. Maxwell.”
Pleased with him as well as herself, Rose watched him walk away, but took pains not to let her contentment show. It would only give the gossips something to twitter over, and she knew better than that.
“Promise me you won’t fall victim to his charms, Rose,” Eve murmured near her ear.
“You needn’t worry, Eve,” she replied, patting her friend’s hand. “I’m not the green girl I once was.”
And that was truth as well, because the girl she once was never would have been so suddenly sure of a man’s interest. Nor would she consider using that interest to her own advantage-not in any harmful way, of course. She may no longer be green, but she wasn’t an “arse” as Eve so eloquently put it.
But still, if Grey didn’t want her, then he wouldn’t mind if someone else did. Would he?
I shouldn’t mind being his wife at all, if he ever asks me.”
It was at that moment that Mr. Gregory looked up and caught them watching him. He smiled and raised his glass of champagne to them.
Eve smiled in return before turning to snatch a similar glass for each of them off the tray of a passing footman. “See? He catches me staring and he barely reacts. Most men would be halfway across the floor already.”
Rose took a sip from the flute her friend had given her. “Perhaps he is so confident in his intent to have you that he feels he needn’t exert himself.”
The blonde made an indelicate sound. “He’d better reconsider exerting himself, otherwise I’m likely to find someone with less confidence.”
How Rose wished she had that kind of self-value.
It was an imprudent idea to begin with.”
“I shan’t argue with you on that point.”
Rose scoffed at him. “You don’t get to play morally superior with me, Grey. I may have been stupid enough to conspire against you, but you didn’t even recognize someone you’ve known for years! If one of us must be the bigger idiot, I think it must be you!” Oh dear God. She covered her mouth with her hand. What had she just said?
Dark arched brows pulled together tightly over stormy blue eyes. “You’re right,” he agreed. “I am an idiot, but only because I allowed this ridiculous ruse past the point when I realized your identity.”
Rose froze-like a damp leaf on an icy pond. “You knew?” And yet he continued to pretend…oh, he was worse than she by far.
“Of course I knew.” He glowered at her. “Blindfold me and I would know the scent of your skin, the exact color and texture of your skin. Do you not realize that I know the color of your eyes right down to the flecks of gold that light their depths?”
Heart pounding, stomach churning in shock, Rose could only stare at him. How could he say such things to her and sound so disgusted? “When?” Her voice was a ragged whisper. “When did you know?”
“I suspected before but tried to deny it. The morning after we last met I took one look at your sweet mouth and knew there couldn’t be two women in the world, let alone London with the same delectable bottom lip.”
It hurt. Oh, she hadn’t thought hearing him say such wonderful things could hurt so much! She pressed a hand to her chest. “You suspected and yet you made love to me any way.”
“Made love?” He snorted. “That’s a girl’s term, Rose. What you and I did…it was something far worse than making trite love.”
Worse? How could he malign what had transpired between them. “So you regret it, despite your own choice to continue with the charade.”
“What I regret,” he growled, suddenly moving toward her, “is your sudden attack of conscience.”
He was mad. She took a step back. “I don’t understand you.”
“If only you had managed to keep your guilt where it belonged.” A ravaged smile curved his lips as he shook his head. “We might have continued on, with neither being the wiser, but now we must endure the rest of the Season together, knowing what we can no longer have.”
“Then you admit you have feelings for me.”
He laughed hollowly. “So many I can scarce discern them all.”
It was a hollow victory at best. “If you care for me and I for you, then why can we not reveal our feelings? You have but to ask and I’m yours.
For a second he thought she might chuckle, and honest to God he didn't know what he would do if she did. "Grey, society didn't give you that scar. A woman you treated with no more regard than your dirty stockings gave you that scar. You cannot blame the actions of one on so many."
HIs fingers tightened into fists at his side. "I do not blame all of society for her actions, of course not."
"How could you? You don't even know who it was, do you?"
"No." But he had suspicions. He was almost completely certain it had been Maggie-Lady Devane. He'd broken her heart the worst of them all.
"Of course you don't." Suddenly her eyes were very dark and hard. "I suspect it could be one of a large list of names, all women who you toyed with and cast aside."
A heavy chill settled over Grey's chest at the note of censure, and disapproval in her tone. He had known this day would come, when she would see him for what he truly was. He just hadn't expected it quite so soon.
"Yes," he whispered. "A long list indeed."
"So it's no wonder you would rather avoid society. I would too if I had no idea who my enemies were. It's certainly preferable to apologizing to every conquest and hope that you got the right one." She didn't say it meanly, or even mockingly, but there was definitely an edge to her husky voice.
"Is this what we've come to, Rose?" he demanded. "You've added your name to the list of the women I've wronged?"
She laughed then, knocking him even more off guard. "Of course not. I knew what I was getting myself into when I hatched such a foolhardy plan. No, your conscience need not bear the weight of me, grey." When she moved to stand directly before him, just inches away, it was all he could do to stand his ground and not prove himself a coward.
Her hand touched his face, the slick satin of her gloves soft against his cheek. "I wish you would stop living under all this regret and rejoin the world," she told him in a tone laden with sorrow. "You have so much to offer it. I'm sure society would agree with me if you took the chance."
Before he could engineer a reply, there was another knock at the door. Rose dropped her hand just as her mother stuck her head into the room.
"Ah, there you are. Good evening, Grey. Rose, Lord Archer is here."
Rose smiled. "I'll be right there, Mama." When the door closed once more, she turned to Grey. "Let us put an end to this disagreeable conversation and put it in the past where it belongs. Friends?"
Grey looked down at her hand, extended like a man's. He didn't want to take it. In fact, he wanted to tell her what she could do with her offer of friendship and barely veiled insults. He wanted to crush her against his chest and kiss her until her knees buckled and her superior attitude melted away to pleas of passion. That was what he wanted.
You look lovely tonight, my lady,” Kellan said for her ears alone as he took her into his arms-not too close, of course.
His flattery pleased her but did not discompose her as Grey’s did. Rose smiled sincerely in response. “Thank you, sir. Might I say that you are in very fine looks as well.”
“You always know exactly the right thing to say to woo me, Lady Rose.” He grinned as they moved through a turn. “Have a care, else you’re likely to break my heart.”
“If it is so easily broken, perhaps you should hold it a little more dear,” she advised archly.
He winced, but it was apparent that he had taken the remark with the humor she intended. “She mocks me.”
“You are mistaken, sir. I am merely thinking of your best interests.”
They shared a smile and were silent for a turn.
“I am surprised that Ryeton allowed you to come tonight.”
Rose raised a brow. “The duke does not dictate where I can and cannot go.” Grey might be her benefactor, but he was not her guardian.
“That is good to hear,” Kellan replied, ignoring the edge to her tone. “So he cannot prevent you from taking a drive in Hyde Park with me tomorrow afternoon.”
She chuckled. “No, I suppose not. But first, you might want to ask me if I care to take a drive with you.”
“Do you?”
She did. Did that make her awful? Just a few minutes ago she’d been missing Grey and thinking about how much she cared for him, and now here she was flirting with Kellan and fluttering over the prospect of going for a carriage ride.
It wasn’t fickleness, she told herself. It was practicality. She was doing what she was supposed to do. Kellan had yet to lay any claim to her feelings or her heart, but she owed him the opportunity to try. She would never get over Grey and find love if she didn’t try as well.
And it wouldn’t hurt Grey to see another man take interest in her. Perhaps a little jealousy would do him good.
Lady Rose, you grow lovelier every time I see you.”
Had it been a stranger who spoke she might have been flustered, but since it was Archer, Grey’s younger brother, she merely grinned in response and offered her hand. “And your eyesight grows poorer every time you see me, sir.”
He bowed over her fingers. “If I am blind it is only by your beauty.”
She laughed at that, enjoying the good-natured sparkle in his bright blue eyes. He was so much more easy-natured than Grey, so much more full of life and flirtation. And yet, the family resemblance could not be denied even if Archer’s features were a little thinner, a little sharper.
How would Grey feel if she found a replacement for him in his own brother? It was too low, even in jest.
“Careful with your flattery, sir,” she warned teasingly. “I am trolling for a husband you know.”
Archer’s dark brows shot up in mock horror. “Never say!” Then he leaned closer to whisper. “Is my brother actually fool enough to let you get away?”
Rose’s heart lurched at the note of seriousness in his voice. When she raised her gaze to his she saw only concern and genuine affection there. “He’s packing my bags as we speak.”
He laughed then, a deep, rich sound that drew the attention of everyone on the terrace, including his older brother.
“Will you by chance be at the Devane musicale next week, Lord Archer?”
“I will,” he remarked, suddenly sober. “As much as it pains me to enter that viper’s pit. I’m accompanying Mama and Bronte. Since there’s never been any proof of what she did to Grey, Mama refuses to cut the woman. She’s better than that.”
Archer’s use of the word “cut” might have been ironic, but what a relief knowing he would be there. “Would you care to accompany Mama and myself as well?”
He regarded her with a sly smile. “My dear, Lady Rose. Do you plan to use me to make my brother jealous?”
“Of course not!” And she was honest to a point. “I wish to use your knowledge of eligible beaux and have you buoy my spirits. If that happens to annoy your brother, then so much the better.”
He laughed again. This time Grey scowled at the pair of them. Rose smiled and waved.
Archer tucked her hand around his arm and guided her toward the chairs where the others sat enjoying the day, the table before them laden with sandwiches, cakes, scones, and all kinds of preserves, cream, and biscuits. A large pot of tea sat in the center.
“What are you grinning at?” Grey demanded as they approached.
Archer gave his brother an easy smile, not the least bit intimidated. “Lady Rose has just accepted my invitation for both she and her dear mama to accompany us to the Devane musicale next week.”
Grey stiffened. It was the slightest movement, like a blade of grass fighting the breeze, but Rose noticed. She’d wager Archer did too.
“How nice,” he replied civilly, but Rose mentally winced at the coolness of his tone. He turned to his mother. “I’m parched. Mama, will you pour?”
And he didn’t look at her again.
Before his death your father begged a promise from me. He made me swear that I would look after you and your mother.”
“And you have,” she insisted.
He held up his hand to prevent her from saying more. “And made me give my word that I would never touch you in any manner other than brotherly.” Another rueful smile. “So you see, I preferred being able to pretend that I had kept my promise rather than face the truth of breaking my word.”
He broke her heart, damn him. “He made me promise not to become attached to you,” she confided, continuing with the evening’s truthful trend. “It seems Papa saw something that neither one of us did.”
“Oh, I saw it. I’ve seen it since you were eighteen years old and we danced together at some insipid ball. I don’t remember where it was, or the day of the week, but I remember that you wore a pale tea-colored gown with Belgian lace, and that you had pearls in your hair.”
She couldn’t breathe. The tilt of his lips, the bleakness of his gaze, it was all too horrible. “And you wore a red cravat,” she whispered. “I thought you looked so rakish in it.”
“I was rakish,” he admitted. “Your father knew that.
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