Книга - An Innocent Maid For The Duke

An Innocent Maid For The Duke
Ann Lethbridge


His lady in red…Jacob, Duke of Westmoor, is feeling the weight of his recently inherited title, when a stolen kiss with a beautiful woman in his gentlemen’s club breathes life back into him. Until he discovers she’s a maid!Unable to let the beautiful innocent go, he arranges for Rose Nightingale to become his grandmother’s companion. But living under the same roof, their attraction becomes impossible to resist!The Society of Wicked GentlemenThe hour is late and the stakes are high







His lady in red...

Jacob, Duke of Westmoor, is feeling the weight of his recently inherited title when a stolen kiss with a beautiful woman in his gentlemen’s club breathes life back into him. Until he discovers she’s a maid!

Unable to let the beautiful innocent go, he arranges for Rose Nightingale to become his grandmother’s companion. But living under the same roof, their attraction becomes impossible to resist!


Hidden amongst the masked revellers of an underground Regency gentlemen’s club where decadence, daring and debauchery abound, the four owners of Vitium et Virtus are about to meet their match!

Welcome to...

The Society of Wicked Gentlemen

Read

A Convenient Bride for the Soldier by Christine Merrill September 2017

An Innocent Maid for the Duke

by Ann Lethbridge

October 2017

A Pregnant Courtesan for the Rake

by Diane Gaston

November 2017

And look for the concluding story from Sophia James

A Secret Consequence for the Viscount

December 2017


Author Note (#u1e936611-158c-508d-b85c-1590d046b654)

In every book I try to include a little bit of history that might be an insight into a world long gone but still beloved by so many. The panorama visit by Jake, Rose and Lucy is a description of a real place and event during the time frame of this story. Panoramas were a forerunner of the movies we love to watch today. The size of the building, the care with which the scenes were painted and presented, were a testament to human creative ingenuity.

Everyone flocked to the Leicester Square Rotunda to see the latest panorama offered by the owner Robert Barker for nearly seventy years. The painted views provided a window on other parts of the world, and were not only painted with painstaking accuracy, but decorated with artefacts to add to their realism. People viewing these vistas often became nauseous because of the realism and unaccustomed scope. Barker’s Rotunda still exists in London today, tucked in between buildings in Leicester Square—and, fittingly enough, the only way it can be seen is from above.

I do hope you like Rose and Jake’s journey to happiness, and enjoy reading the series as much as we authors have enjoyed writing it for you.

If you wish to know more about me or my books, visit annlethbridge.com (http://www.annlethbridge.com). If you would like to dive deeper into the world of the Regency, visit my blog: RegencyRamble.blogspot.com (http://www.RegencyRamble.blogspot.com).

Until next we meet, I wish you health, happiness and love.


An Innocent Maid for the Duke

Ann Lethbridge






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


In her youth, award-winning author ANN LETHBRIDGE reimagined the Regency romances she read—and now she loves writing her own. Now living in Canada, Ann visits Britain every year, where family members understand—or so they say—her need to poke around every antiquity within a hundred miles. Learn more about Ann or contact her at annlethbridge.com (http://www.annlethbridge.com). She loves hearing from readers.

Books by Ann Lethbridge

Mills & Boon Historical Romance

and Mills & Boon Undone! ebooks

Rakes in Disgrace

The Gamekeeper’s Lady

More Than a Mistress

Deliciously Debauched by the Rake (Undone!)

More Than a Lover

The Gilvrys of Dunross

The Laird’s Forbidden Lady

Her Highland Protector

Falling for the Highland Rogue

Return of the Prodigal Gilvry

One Night with the Highlander (Undone!)

The Society of Wicked Gentlemen

An Innocent Maid for the Duke

Linked by Character

Wicked Rake, Defiant Mistress

One Night as a Courtesan (Undone!)

Secrets of the Marriage Bed

Haunted by the Earl’s Touch

Captured Countess

The Duke’s Daring Debutante

The Rake’s Inherited CourtesanLady Rosabella’s RuseThe Rake’s Intimate Encounter (Undone!)

Visit the Author Profile page at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk) for more titles.


This novel is dedicated to CanadaLoneWolves, in particular Donmar, Lyon and Katz. Each and every day these awesome people provide me with laughs and smiles. Everyone needs folk like these in their lives and I hope you all have some of those too. I also want to dedicate this story to the other three authors in this series. Thank you, ladies, for being such a wonderful group to work with on this project.


Contents

Cover (#ud2cd6b97-bf90-5f54-bfe9-a0fa3630a172)

Back Cover Text (#uec35dcea-c490-59a3-9d6d-aac209263e62)

The Society of Wicked Gentlemen (#u73410a62-6c7b-55a0-a9ad-5a671c63ef78)

Author Note (#u154bbcda-808c-54ad-bab9-a53a38a3724b)

Title Page (#ufc938b30-81b0-52a6-bda6-433f8c04c8b8)

About the Author (#u3189fbeb-5565-53af-a452-c3f52b264394)

Dedication (#u23353565-743b-584e-9975-4f2290c99759)

Chapter One (#u7ceff656-d762-515a-abc0-87e9dbfa177d)

Chapter Two (#ud4e6d657-9f32-5f48-a50e-f94439def7d9)

Chapter Three (#ua57639c2-81fd-5483-ad74-8a39fdb623e1)

Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


Chapter One (#u1e936611-158c-508d-b85c-1590d046b654)

Entering the owners’ private quarters at the gentleman’s club Vitium et Virtus, Jake, Duke of Westmoor, stifled a groan at the sight of the other two founding members lounging in heavy leather armchairs placed around a low table. One of the two empty chairs was his. The fourth supported a small gilded box.

‘This was the reason you sent for me?’

Even seated, the brown-haired, brown-eyed Frederick Challenger had a military air. At Jake’s words he snapped to attention and glowered. ‘It may have escaped your lofty notice, Your Grace, but today is the sixth anniversary of Nicholas’s disappearance.’

Jake tensed at the use of his title. The significance of the date had indeed escaped his notice, busy as he was with the affairs of the Duchy, but he wasn’t about to admit it. ‘I thought we were beyond all this.’ He had enough reminders of loss at home without adding to them here. The one place he thought of as a refuge.

‘Sit down, Westmoor,’ Oliver, the other member of their group, said, his green eyes snapping sparks in his burnished face.

Jake sighed, but did as requested. Or rather ordered. If Oliver hadn’t been such a good friend... No. Not true. He had no wish to alienate these men, his oldest friends. Without them he might not have survived the loss of his father and brother.

He glanced on the gilded box on the other chair. It contained Nicholas’s ring, the last reminder of their missing founder of Vitium et Virtus. Could it really be six years since Nicolas’s disappearance? It hardly seemed possible. Back then, they’d scarcely achieved their majority. Now look at them. All three of them reaching the grand old age of thirty. The intervening years had passed in a heartbeat.

Yet the shock of finding a pool of blood in the alley outside Vitium et Virtus and Nicholas’s signet ring trampled in the dirt beside it wasn’t any less raw.

Oliver leaned forward and laid his hand palm up in the centre of the table.

‘You seriously intend to do this,’ Jake said.

The other two glared at him. Grudgingly, he placed his hand on top of Oliver’s, the warmth of another man’s skin odd against the palm of his hand. Frederick added his to the pile.

‘In vitium et virtus,’ they chorused like the bunch of schoolboys they’d been when they started this stupid venture. In vice and virtue. Even after all this time, the words sounded strangely lacking without Nicholas’s voice in the mix.

Withdrawing his hand, he picked up his brandy, lifting the glass towards the empty chair in a toast. ‘To absent friends.’

The others imitated his action.

‘Be he in heaven or hell—’ Oliver continued with the words they’d been saying each year for the past six years.

‘Or somewhere in between—’ Frederick intoned.

‘Know that we wish you well,’ they finished together. As if anything so nonsensical could bring their friend back.

They threw back their drinks, staring at the empty seat.

‘I was so sure he’d turn up like a bad penny before the year was out telling us it was all a jest,’ Frederick said.

‘If so, it would be in pretty poor taste. Even for Nicholas.’ Oliver said, his green eyes dark with the pain of loss they’d all felt since Nicholas’s disappearance. A loss Jake didn’t want to think about. There had been too many in his life. Each one worse than the last.

‘It would have been like him,’ Jake said, burying the surge of anger that took him by surprise. ‘Nicholas always was one for stupid japes. This club, for example.’

Troubled, he rubbed at his chin and felt a day’s growth of stubble. Hadn’t he shaved this morning? Surely he had.

‘I hear his uncle is petitioning the Lords to have the title declared vacant.’ Frederick rolled his empty glass between his palms. ‘Bastard can’t wait to step into his shoes. I wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t do away with him so he could get his hands on the estate.’

Inwardly, Jake flinched, though he kept his face expressionless.

Oliver’s eyes sharpened. ‘Don’t be an idiot, Fred.’

Frederick’s ears reddened as his glance fell on Jacob’s face.

Apparently, his lack of emotion hadn’t fooled his friends.

‘Dammit, Your Grace. You know such a thing never crossed my mind.’

He made a dismissive gesture with his hand. ‘Naturally not.’ But others had whispered words like murder behind his back. And it wasn’t as if he was entirely innocent.

The night his father and brother died came crashing back with a vengeance. The loss. The horror. The guilt. He leaned back in his chair, needing even that fraction of distance from the sympathetic glances of his friends.

A sympathy he did not deserve.

Oliver frowned at him. ‘You look like hell, Jake. When was the last time you had a haircut?’

He couldn’t remember. ‘None of your business.’

The sound of catcalls and hoots came from behind the thick oak door that separated their private owners’ quarters from the public rooms of the club.

Glad of the distraction, Jake raised a brow. ‘What is going on out there?’

‘It’s choose-your-partner night,’ Fred said.

Bell, the balding erstwhile butler, now manager of Vitium et Virtus, shot through the door. The noise level went up to deafening.

Bell’s face screwed up into an expression of worry. ‘Please, sirs. One of you needs to restore order. One of the gentlemen is insisting he wants five of the girls at once and none is interested. I’ve explained the rules, but he is being most uncooperative. Several other gentlemen have bet on his abilities and are insisting.’ He disappeared back through the door. It closed behind him with the faintest click.

‘Blast it all,’ Jake gritted out. ‘It really is time we closed this place once and for all.’ It certainly didn’t fit with his new position in life. He glanced at the empty place at the table. ‘If this wasn’t the one place that might draw Nicholas back, I’d be for closing it down.’ The club had been Nicholas’s idea. He had provided the largest portion of money to get it started.

‘I’ll go.’ Frederick grabbed up his mask and cloak, the required uniform for all entering Vitium et Virtus. While people might guess at their identities, they had never admitted to owning the place.

On his way past, Frederick shot Jake a conciliatory look. ‘Water under the bridge, right?’

‘Right,’ Jake said. He forced a smile. ‘It’s a good thing Nicholas wasn’t here, or he’d be ribbing me about my thin skin for weeks.’

Fred picked up his pace as the door failed to keep out the noise of the rising mayhem beyond.

Oliver pushed to his feet. ‘Nicholas would have been ribbing you about your appearance, too. Take a look in the mirror next time you pass one. White’s wouldn’t let you through the door.’

Jake scraped a nail through his stubble. ‘Good thing Vitium et Virtus isn’t so fussy. Where are you going? Home?’

Oliver’s green eyes sparked mischief. ‘At some point. You?’

Jake grimaced, envying his friend his light-hearted grin. The idea of going back to the ducal town house caused his gut to clench. He hated walking through the door, let alone spending time there. He ought to go back, though. Duty called and all that. So much duty. ‘Soon.’

He’d have to go soon. His grandmother was expecting him to bid her goodnight. And then she’d look at him with such sorrow in her eyes...

He picked up the decanter and poured himself another glass of brandy. The best money could buy.

‘Want to talk about it?’ Oliver offered, concern in his gaze.

Sympathy was worse than self-recrimination. ‘I’m not in the mood for company,’ he said, deliberately avoiding the question, but telling the truth all the same. He rarely was in the mood for company any more. Burying one’s family did that to a fellow.

Only when the door clicked, did he realise Oliver had gone.

He swallowed the brandy in one gulp, poured another and headed for the office. These days, work and brandy were the only things that helped him sleep.

* * *

Rose stacked the last of the plates in the cupboard, removed her apron and stretched her back. Oh, it felt so good.

‘All done, Rose?’ Charity Parker, a middle-aged woman and housekeeper at the V&V, as the servants called it, swept a gimlet glance around the kitchen.

‘Yes, Mrs Parker.’ She hesitated, wondering if there was more to do.

The woman’s stern expression softened a little. ‘Go on, then, join your friends in the Green Room if you must, but don’t be staying up all night sewing their dresses. And be careful, Rose. Things are still in full swing.’ She bustled away.

Rose grinned at her back. Mrs Parker’s bark was far worse than her bite. But she was right. At this time of the night the gentlemen members were often half-seas-over and could be a little too friendly to anything in skirts. Even someone as drab and plain as her was fair game in their eyes. She certainly didn’t want to risk losing her position by breaking any rules. Mrs Parker and Mr Bell were very strict about the servants keeping to their proper places. For their protection as much as anything.

It was just one of the things that made her feel especially lucky to have found this position. The pay at the club was better than anything she’d ever received before and, best of all, she didn’t have to live in as she did when working as a housemaid in a gentleman’s home. Housemaids risked the advances of any lusty fellow under its roof. Men who couldn’t keep their hands to themselves were the reason she’d left her last three positions. She knew the risks of a kiss and a cuddle under the blankets. She was likely the result of one.

No, she was better off going to her own place every night. Her own home, meagre though it was. No matter how kind and respectful the family might be to their servants, she always felt like an intruder. An outsider looking in on a happiness she had never known. Perhaps one day she would have family of her own. She was determined she would. The idea of it sent a chill down her spine.

Enough daydreaming. If she was to do a bit of mending for the girls before she went home, she needed to get going.

She slipped into the Green Room unnoticed. Not green at all, of course. Painted white and blue and lined with mirrors, the large open room was in the basement at the back of the house. It was here the girls who performed at the V&V changed into their costumes, practiced their acts and rested when not required on stage. Or wherever they performed.

It had none of the lewd pictures and murals covering the walls and ceiling of the rest of the place, or the statues and artefacts, thank goodness. She’d become used to them over time, even got used to dusting them, but at first she hadn’t known where to look.

The Green Room was a whole different matter. She loved this room full of chatter and laughter and singing as the girls swirled around in their brightly coloured costumes. It was nothing like the stark cold rooms at the Foundling Hospital where she had grown up. Or the kitchens and servants’ halls she’d worked in when she’d gone out into the world. In those places, everyone was afraid of their shadow and talked in whispers.

She sank into the old horsehair sofa in the corner and pulled out the needle case she’d made at the orphanage. A small embroidered book that safely held her few precious needles and pins. She sorted through the mending in the basket beside the sofa and pulled out pair of holey stockings. She loved helping the girls and if they occasionally slipped her a penny or two for her efforts, she was grateful.

From here, she observed the goings-on while she rested her poor aching feet before walking home. With a sigh, she unlaced her half-boots, rubbed at her soles for a blissful moment or two, then tucked her them up under her skirts.

Peace at last.

‘I ’oped you’d come by.’ Fleurette, whose real name was Flo, plopped herself down beside Rose. Her fair golden locks were arranged in the elaborate hairstyle Rose had helped her with earlier in the day.

It was Flo who had first asked for Rose’s help with her hair. When the other girls had seen the result, they had begged for help, too. She did what she could, but Mrs Parker only gave her a few minutes off here and there during the evening. Still, she made a point of helping whenever she had a moment or two, as well as after work. It was these snatched moments that had put the idea into her head that she might one day become a ladies’ maid or a dressmaker.

Flo cracked a huge yawn, then exploded in laugher. ‘I’m so tired I could fall asleep right here.’

Rose had liked Flo on sight. Apparently the feeling had been mutual. For the first time in her life, Rose felt as if she had a true friend.

Making friends at the orphanage had been frowned upon. They weren’t there for enjoyment. They were unwanted children and needed to learn how to make themselves useful as adults.

‘Was there something you needed?’ she asked after a moment or two of silence.

Her friend winced. ‘I wore that new red gown for my first number and caught my heel in the hem. The old besom will fine me when she sees I’ve damaged it already.’

She looked so downcast Rose wanted to hug her. ‘Give it to me. I’ll fix it and take it up an inch and then you won’t trip.’

‘I feel terrible asking. You’ve been here for hours—’

‘And you need it for tomorrow. I’m happy to do it.’

‘I’ll pay you.’

‘No! What are friends for?’

Flo gave her a mock glare. ‘You’ll take a couple of coppers and like it. I’d have to pay a whole lot more if the old besom had her way.’ All the girls called the wardrobe mistress ‘the old besom.’

‘It is not right that they fine you for rips and such,’ Rose said. ‘It is not as if the gowns are brand new when you get them. Don’t worry, I’ll do it before I go home.’

Flo leaned in and kissed her cheek. ‘You are a dear. I’ll go and fetch it. And don’t be offering to sew anyone else’s gown for free. Or style their hair, for that matter.’

‘I do it because I like doing it,’ she said to Flo’s departing back. And because it gave her hope that one day she could be more than a scullery maid. A hope that people wouldn’t look at her with disdain because she scrubbed floors and washed dishes, and was a bastard to boot.

Within moments, Flo was back with a gown of brilliant scarlet with silk roses adorning neckline and hem.

Rose let the silky fabric slide through her fingers, careful not to let it catch on her work-worn skin and torn nails. ‘Leave it with me. I’ll have it done in no time.’

‘Flo,’ one of the other girls called. ‘Your gentleman’s waiting at the back door.’

A shadow passed across her friend’s face, but then she shot Rose a cheeky smile. ‘’Is lordship’s taking me out for dinner.’ She glided away.

His lordship, as Flo called him, was Flo’s gentleman follower. Rose sometimes wondered if he treated her right. There had been a couple of unexplained bruises that Flo had brushed off as falls.

The girls were allowed to walk out with the club members as long as they were discreet and did not ask for, or mention, any names. Flo lived in hopes her beau would ask her to marry him. Rose had offered dire warnings after seeing those bruises.

In her turn, Flo had instructed Rose on how to avoid unwanted children, just in case.

Rose pulled out the pair of thin cotton gloves she used to keep the silky fabrics the girls wore from getting ruined by her rough skin and set to work.

Slowly the noise around her dwindled to nothing. The wall sconce above her head contained the only candles left alight. A clock struck the hour.

Four in the morning! Already? The repair had taken far longer than she had expected because she’d also found three rips in the gauzy gown’s side seams and some of the silk roses bordering the hem had been loose.

She snipped off the thread and held the gown towards the light. So feminine, like something one of the titled ladies who occasionally visited the club would wear, even if it was a little gaudy.

What would it be like to be one of those ladies? Living a life of ease and luxury. She didn’t envy them the boredom that Flo said was the reason they came to the V&V, drawn there by the excitement of losing hundreds of pounds at the gambling tables or by the private assignations with one or other of the virile young men who were members.

She pushed to her feet, rubbing at the ever-present ache in the small of her back. Time to go home or she wouldn’t get any sleep at all. She carried the gown over her arm to Flo’s chest full of clothes. On top was a mask covered in red spangles shaped to cover the top half of the wearer’s face. It matched the gown. As Rose moved it aside, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, tired, drab, plain.

Grinning at her image, she held the gown up against her and kicked out a foot, making the red fabric swirl around her ankles. The picture she created was spoiled by the sight of her ugly brown dress as she turned to view herself from the side. She stared at the neckline. Was it too low? Should she have added a bit more fabric? While the V&V was renowned for debauchery and depravity, Flo was a singer not a courtesan.

Perhaps she should try it on before she put it away. For Flo’s sake, naturally. She shook her head. Who did she think she was fooling? She wanted to see what she would look like in such a gown.

She whipped off her frock and slid the whisper of a gown over her head. In the mirror, a magical transformation took place. Her eyes seemed to pick up the sparkles at the neckline and her figure seemed more shapely. If it wasn’t for the plain Jane face staring back at her, she might have thought herself pretty.

The mobcap had to go. But with the severe bun still in place, it made little difference. She pulled the pins from her hair and let it fall around her shoulders, then, with a naughty smile, tied on the mask.

She turned this way and that, regarding her reflection. Better. Much better. Why, she might almost pass as one of the girls. And if she really used her imagination, perhaps as a lady. The neckline was not as bad as she had feared. It was a little low, showing the rise of her bosom, but not at all indecent.

Eyes half-closed, she twirled around humming one of the tunes she’d heard the musicians playing in the ballroom earlier that evening, pretending she was waltzing with one particularly handsome gentleman, who had no clue she even existed.

Sore feet and aching back gave her not one twinge.

* * *

Returning from seeing his grandmother, Jake passed a carriage standing outside the front door of Vitium et Virtus. Waiting for one of nobility’s late-night revellers, no doubt. Usually it was the ladies who kept their carriages at the ready. He went around the side of the club, to the door out of sight of regular members, reserved for the owners.

The porter, Ben Snyder, bowed him in. ‘Good evening, Yer Grace.’

Jake froze. The pain of loss held him rigid, followed swiftly by a rage he could scarcely contain.

With a muttered curse Jake slung his coat and hat on one of the four hooks in the shape of aroused male appendages they’d bought as a job lot upon opening Vitium et Virtus.

Snyder handed him a mask and retreated to his chair.

No doubt the man had seen the anger and thought it was directed at him. Jake reined in his emotions. Built the wall of distance that kept him halfway sane. But, God help him, each and every time he heard those two words, his instinct was to glance around for his father. Only to realise it was he who was being addressed. He loathed it.

It was a constant reminder of his father and brother. Of their lives. Of their deaths. Of the reason he was now addressed as Your Grace.

It was also why he was here and not tucked up in the ducal bed in the ducal mansion. Here and only here did he seem able to snatch a few minutes’ sleep. A slog through the ledgers with a brandy or two in the comfort of the owners’ private rooms should send him into the arms of Morpheus. He hoped.

‘Any one left above stairs?’ he enquired of the porter, trying to sound normal and coming off icily cold.

‘A few, Yer Grace,’ the man said warily. ‘In the gaming room and upstairs in the private bedrooms. Want me to clear them out?’

‘No. I am not in. To anyone. I don’t care if the place burns down, I do not want to be disturbed, understand?’

‘Understood, Your Grace.’

The porter also added a whispered as usual, but Jake decided not to hear. The porter would follow orders. He always did and that was all Jake required. He strode along the deserted corridor with its erotic statues and murals seeming to leer at him, the need for brandy an ache in his throat.

He took the servants’ staircase down. It would take him to the other side of the house to another set of stairs leading up to where the owners’ private quarters were located. Allowing him to avoid any lingering customers.

A sound of soft humming brought him to a halt outside the ladies’ dressing room. He frowned. The girls should all be gone by now. They were certainly not supposed to entertain gentlemen here. There were rooms on the top floor set aside for such frolics. Rooms equipped with costumes and toys for every taste.

He donned his mask and opened the door a fraction, enough to see in but not be seen until he could figure out what was going on.

A petite woman in a glittering red mask was singing to herself, her scarlet gown swirling around her shapely ankles as she twirled in front of the mirrors, each one giving a different reflection of a gown moulded to every curve of a sinuously lush body moving in time to her humming. The smile on her parted lips was not the forced smile of a courtesan, nor that of a jaded widow, or yet the hopeful smile of a debutante anxious to please a duke. This smile was pure delight. Enjoyment.

Her joy at the simple act of dancing spilled over with an infectious feeling of lightness that unaccountably lifted his spirits. He found his own lips curving upwards in response. Even more surprising, he found himself wanting to be the one to waltz her around the room.

* * *

A movement in the shadows caught the corner of Rose’s eye. She turned and gasped. It was him! The Duke. Though he was wearing his usual mask, she would know him anywhere by his height and breadth and commanding presence. By his dark stubbled jaw and firm chin. By his lovely mouth.

Too many times had she stopped to admire him as he passed her at her work. Of all the owners of the club he was the only one who had caught her attention in that way. He was impossibly handsome, but coldly unapproachable. A proper duke.

Or how one assumed a duke to be.

Not that she would ever mention that she knew who he was. No names were ever spoken. House rules.

Despite his lofty position, something about him had struck her as sad. As if some deep sorrow weighed him down and made her want to offer comfort. A foolish fancy. Someone of her lowly station had nothing to offer a man such as he.

But how often she had dreamed of feeling those strong arms curl around her while she laid her head on his chest. The very idea of it made her feel strangely weak.

Never before had she felt such a powerful attraction, despite knowing better than to get tangled up with a man. Fortunately, he was nothing more than a fantasy. A man who marched through her dreams like a knight in shining armour. As long as she kept him there, in her dreams, she was safe.

But this was no dream. The crushing realisation pressed down on her shoulders. She should not be here. It was against the rules. She glanced around for an escape route. But he was between her and the door and approaching slowly, his bright blue gaze fixed on her face.

His expression did not reflect anger. Indeed, the warmth of his smile, with a glimpse of white teeth, charmed her into remaining still. She released a breath she had not realised she was holding. A sigh really. Of appreciation.

His smile broadened and he bowed. ‘I beg your pardon, my lady. I did not mean to startle you.’

My lady? Her heart fluttered strangely. If only she were his lady. She placed her hand below her throat and shook her head. ‘Merely surprised.’

She’d responded with the careful diction she’d taught herself from listening to those of the upper classes as she moved unseen among them, cleaning grates and scrubbing floors.

‘I have interrupted you,’ he said, cocking his head to the side in question.

‘Foolishness,’ she said, peeping up at him. Heavens, he was taller than she had thought and broader. And so much more handsome close up. She could scarcely breathe and yet somehow the scent of his cologne filled her lungs and made her feel strangely dizzy. ‘I should go.’

‘Not before you give me the honour of a dance, surely?’ His voice had deepened. His eyes, which had always seemed coldly reserved as he went about the business of the club, were bright, sparkling with mischief.

Dance? With a duke? ‘I cannot,’ she choked out.

He chuckled, low and deep. ‘You certainly can. You waltz as beautifully as you hum.’

Heat rushed up from the neckline of the shocking gown, for now with his gaze upon her, she felt almost naked. Flirting. A duke was flirting with her and every particle in her body wanted to allow it. Nay, wanted to encourage it.

Wanton. Like your mother.

She must say no. But it would never happen again, this chance to dance with the man who haunted her dreams. When she was about her work, he never noticed her underfoot. None of the gentry did. They weren’t supposed to. She had long ago realised it saved both the served and the server embarrassment.

What harm would one dance do? This was the first time she had seen the man smile since she started working here. If it would bring him a measure of happiness, and her, too, why not? It would certainly be something for her to dream about for the rest of her life and perhaps tell her grandchildren at some long-distant time in the future.

The night their old granny danced with a duke. The idea of that dream of a family made her smile.

‘You know you want to,’ he said, holding out a hand.

A moment later, she was in his arms.

* * *

The faraway gaze in eyes the loveliest shade of green Jake had ever seen sent blood humming through his veins. Those eyes were limpid and soft as she gazed up at him, as if this was all a dream. To his surprise, not only did their steps meld in perfect unison, it was if they were designed to be partners.

For months he’d been numb to everything around him, going through life by rote, fulfilling required duties and responsibilities hour after brutal hour. Keeping himself busy. But now, here, with this vision of loveliness, he could actually feel the blood coursing through his veins. It was as if he had left a cold dark place to enter a land of light and warmth.

Her light. Her warmth. He basked in it, even though he knew he did not deserve it.

He swept her around a turn at the end of the room, gazing down into her face. What did she look like beneath the mask? Her lips were lush and full, her eyes dreamy, her loose hair a river of thick gilded waves that curled in little tendrils on her faintly flushed cheek.

His body responded to that shadowed glow of pink on her skin. The blood in his veins beat a tattoo of desire.

Her lips parted as if she, too, felt the connection between them. The rise and fall of her generous breasts quickened with each indrawn breath. A pulse beat rapidly at the base of her throat. A place he longed to taste with his tongue.

Awareness sparked in the air. Their steps slowed. Their gazes locked. Hers dropped to his mouth.

With all the old reckless impulsiveness he’d been determined to curb these past many months, he drew her flush against his body. She tensed and, though he wanted to curse, he eased his hold, preparing to let her go. Unbelievably, she smiled up at him and relaxed into his embrace.

A brief kiss was all he intended, a thank you for the respite she’d brought to the darkness of his world, but as the plush full mouth yielded beneath his lips, he lost himself in the pleasure of kissing a willing woman.

Deeper and deeper he delved the soft recess of her mouth, while he felt the warm breath of her sigh against his cheek. A tentative dart of her tongue into his mouth sent a jolt of lust ripping through him.

A groan rumbled up from deep in his throat and he pulled her hard against his body. Feeling pleasure as her belly pressed against his groin.

She gasped and pulled away, staring at him in shock, startled out of her daydream by the evidence of his arousal through the wisp of silk she wore. He cursed his stupidity. Lost in sensation, he’d forgotten the rules of the game. Never rush a woman, especially one he did not know.

He stepped back and bowed. ‘I beg your pardon.’

Fingertips went to her lips, covering her mouth, her eyes wide behind her mask, wary, distraught, but also hazy with desire, which gave him a vague sense of satisfaction.

‘I mean you no harm,’ he hastened to assure her, taking another step back.

‘I must go,’ she said breathlessly, her glance finding the door. ‘I should not be here.’

A married woman then, out for a night of discreet fun. A strange sense of disappointment filled him. Really? This was exactly the sort of entertainment his friends had been recommending would get him out of the doldrums. Before he settled down to find a duchess.

‘Allow me to escort you to your carriage.’

She looked startled. ‘My carriage?’ She swallowed. Smoothed her hands down the front of her gown, caressing the lovely shape that only a moment ago had seared a memory into his skin. ‘Oh, yes. My carriage. No need for escort, Your Grace.’

Inwardly he cursed. She knew who he was. Of course she did. There wasn’t a person in London who didn’t after all that had happened. No wonder she didn’t want to be seen with him. To be seen leaving a place like this on his arm would create yet another scandal.

He schooled his expression into cool reserve and looked down the renowned Westmoor nose. ‘As you wish.’

She cast him a shy little smile. ‘Thank you for waltzing with me.’

That tiny upward curve of her lips, her soft voice with its odd little accent he could not place, caused a pang behind his breastbone. ‘You are welcome, my lady. May I see you again?’ He froze, startled by the words that had left his lips before his brain caught up to them. Yet he waited for her answer with a sense of hopeful anticipation.

Her jaw dropped a fraction. ‘Me?’ she squeaked.

He couldn’t help but chuckle at her surprise. He took her small hand encased in a silky glove and pressed a kiss to the inside of her wrist. ‘Naturally, you.’ There was no denying it to himself. He wanted her. And since he hadn’t desired a woman since the night of the accident, it came as something of a relief to know he could still feel desire. ‘I would like to get to know you better. If it would suit you.’

Heart pounding strangely hard, he waited for her answer. God, he felt like a schoolboy all over again. Shy. Nervous of rejection, yet full of hope.

She looked wildly around as if expecting someone to leap out at her. ‘I couldn’t.’

She sounded so genuinely regretful, it made him all the more determined. ‘You could if you really wished to.’

Her bottom lip drooped. ‘It is not possible.’

He’d not flirted and bedded the most beautiful women in London without learning a trick or two. ‘It will be our secret. No one will ever know. Not from me. Not if you do not wish. I give you my word.’ He ran a fingertip along her jaw and ended up touching her bottom lip still flushed red from his kiss. ‘Please.’

‘I cannot risk—’

‘No risk. I simply want to talk, that is all. There is a garden at the back of the club. Very quiet. The windows on that side are all nailed shut.’ He and his fellow owners had decided early on that they would make very sure the club was inviolable to peeping toms and nosy newspapers. Nor did they wish to upset their more respectable neighbours. ‘Meet me there tomorrow evening at seven. I will leave the gate beside the mews open for you.’

She looked adorably confused. ‘I shouldn’t.’

He reached out to touch her mask. ‘You came here and you shouldn’t.’

Her shoulders sagged and he felt a little spurt of triumph, tinged with a dash of guilt.

‘If I can...’

Again the careful diction. Perhaps a foreigner trying to sound English, but not an accent he recognised. ‘If you can’t come tomorrow, then I will wait for you the next evening and the next until you do.’

‘I don’t know.’ On those words, she turned and fled.

But she would. He was sure of it. He’d seen the longing in those amazing spring-green eyes.

He followed her at a leisurely pace, not wishing to scare her. By the time he reached the front door and looked out, the carriage was gone.

‘Anything I can do for you, Yer Grace?’ Snyder asked.

Jake smiled at him. ‘Nothing.’

The man’s eyes widened in shock.

Feeling just a tiny bit smug, Jake walked away, humming.


Chapter Two (#u1e936611-158c-508d-b85c-1590d046b654)

‘’Ere you are!’

Heart in her throat, Rose swung about, water and suds splashing on the floor. Those were not the deep drugging tones of the man she’d lived in fear would discover her, but Flo’s strident angry tones.

She sagged back against rim of the sink. ‘Oh, it’s you.’

Flo folded her arms across her chest. ‘’Oo else would it be?’ Her expression changed from anger to worry in a heartbeat. ‘Wot’s wrong?’

‘Nothing.’ She swallowed the dryness in her throat that had been there since two nights ago. ‘I’ve had extra work,’ she mumbled. ‘I haven’t been able to get away. Perhaps I will see you later.’

Flo narrowed her eyes. ‘Oh, no. You’ll just go sneaking off again.’ She grabbed Rose’s wrist and dragged her into the pantry. ‘Tell me wot’s ’appened. You look like someone died.’

Misery climbed Rose’s throat and stuck there in a huge lump at the memory of His Grace the Duke of Westmoor’s large hand on the small of her back. The sensation of the tease of his lips danced across her mind and sent chills rushing across her skin. He’d been lovely. So handsome in an unkempt way, his hair a little longer than it should be, his cheeks hazed in stubble, his appearance slightly rumpled. As if he needed someone to care for him.

But, oh, his kisses, they had been truly amazing. Never had she suspected a kiss could be so pleasurable. It was all she’d been able to think about in her bed of a night.

How could she have let him kiss her? Knowing he was one of the owners of the club. Knowing how far above her he was—a duke, no less. How wanton she had been in her enjoyment of his mouth on hers. Worse yet, how she longed to kiss him again.

And she could, if she met him as he’d asked.

She didn’t dare, yet the thought of him waiting... She pushed the thought aside. ‘Was the dress to your liking?’

‘Of course it was. Why do you think I was looking for you?’ Flo shoved a handful of coins at her. ‘Why haven’t you popped in to see us tonight? No one does hair the way you do and the girls have been asking after you.’

She should never have ventured into the Green Room in the first place. If she hadn’t, she would never have met His Grace and she wouldn’t be walking around with her mind in a whirl and her heart aching.

They’d told her and told her at the orphanage what happened when girls let their emotions and feelings get the better of them. Most of those left there were the product of illicit relationships. As she was. Wanton blood ran through her veins. She’d refused to believe it, until two nights ago. ‘I have to go. If Mrs—’

‘The sooner you tell me wot’s wrong, the sooner you can go back to your dirty dishes.’

She gazed at her friend, at her kind and worried expression. She had to tell someone. Had to. ‘You promise you won’t tell.’

‘Cross my heart and hope to die.’

Rose managed a weak smile at the childish oath. Where to begin? She peeked out of the pantry door. No sign of Cook.

‘I met a man.’

Flo squeaked with excitement. ‘You are walking out?’

Rose shuddered at the very thought. ‘Oh, no.’

Her friend glowered. ‘If the bastard took advantage, I’ll scratch his eyes out, so I will.’

‘Nothing like that,’ Rose hissed. ‘We danced a bit. He kissed me.’ She touched her lips at the recollection. ‘He was lovely.’

‘So...where’s the problem?’

‘He’s a gentleman. Oh, Flo, I tried on the gown and the mask and he caught me waltzing around in it. I think he thought I was one of the lady guests. He wants to meet me.’

‘So meet him. If you like him, that is.’

‘How can I?’ She gestured to her faded gown. ‘He’s a gentleman. One of the nobs.’ Worse. Far worse. He was a duke, but she did not dare mention that or Flo would guess his identity. ‘What would he think if he saw the real me?’ The thought of his disgust had her heart sinking to her shoes. All her life she’d been disdained. An unwanted orphan. Child of sin. ‘Perhaps he’ll think I tricked him on purpose. I can’t lose this job.’ Or her small room in the boarding house. She was barely able to afford it as it was. She’d have to start all over again and this time with no character. She’d be lucky not to end in the workhouse. Or worse. ‘I should never have put on that dress.’ She sank on to the hard wooden chair. ‘What am I to do? He’d said he’d wait every night until I met him. What if he really is waiting?’

Flo tilted her head, her blue eyes perceptive. ‘You like this man.’

She’d be lying to her friend if she said no and that she did not want to do. ‘He was nice.’ More than nice. He made her heart do somersaults and her body tingle in wicked places. That last, though, was something she would never admit to anyone.

‘Then the real question is...do you want to see him again?’

Dreadfully. The longing in her heart would not be denied. ‘I feel horrible every time I think of him waiting.’ The back of her throat burned at the idea she would never see him again, except maybe from a distance. ‘I should at least let him know meeting him again is impossible. But how could I, dressed like this? I’d be too ashamed. Oh, why, oh, why did I try on the dress?’

Flo ran a glance from her head to her heels. ‘You’re right. That dress certainly won’t do. Leave it to me.’ She bustled away.

Rose mopped the water from the floor and she plunged her hands back into the hot soapy water.

Her heart picked up speed at the thought of seeing His Grace again. She took a deep steadying breath. She couldn’t. No matter what Flo said. It was an impossible dream. Hadn’t she learned long ago dreams were not for the likes of her?

Of course he would not be waiting.

She’d heard all the rumours about him. How he was before he came into the title. He was a man who loved the ladies. All different sorts of ladies. Never faithful to one particular one. Always out for a good time. There were darker rumours, too. Those she’d ignored.

Oh, he might have shown up once, she supposed, shrugged his shoulders at her non-appearance and moved on.

If only her foolish heart didn’t keep wanting to know for certain. And hoping.

* * *

Only a fool would spend three nights sitting on a cold stone bench waiting for a woman who had made it pretty clear she wouldn’t meet him.

A fool indeed.

Not to mention that the last thing he needed was to become entangled with another man’s wife. Dukes didn’t do that sort of thing. So what if she’d felt so right in his arms, had eyes the colour of peridots and her kisses tasted of honey and innocence? He had responsibilities now. Duties. The days of dalliance and enjoyment were done.

Besides, he didn’t deserve them.

And yet, still he sat here, watching the gate in the wall leading into the garden from the alley. This was the very last time. He’d said it last night, but tonight he meant it.

He got up and paced around the lawn, letting the blood flow back into his backside, rolling his shoulders to ease the tension. Though why he’d be tense he didn’t know. All the paperwork he’d ploughed through earlier in the day, no doubt. He needed a drink to relax him, instead of hanging about here like some lovesick swain.

Hell. He didn’t even know her name. Had no way of seeking her out. In his mind he called her the lady in red. His lady in red, no less, he mocked.

If she didn’t come this evening, he’d pin his card to the gate. She could damned well chase after him. He had only come tonight because a gentleman always kept his word. At least, until it was no longer viable. Three nights was more than enough, though he’d likely always regret never seeing her face or getting her name. A feeling he couldn’t account for at all. Perhaps it was because of his surprise at seeing her float around in front of the mirror like a goddess come to earth. And the way she’d made him feel something other than numb for those few moments.

Perhaps this was his punishment for all the times he’d missed appointments with his father because he was having such a good time. Just deserts, so to speak. He glanced heavenwards and shook his head. Pure imagination. And wishful thinking.

He returned to the stone bench and eyed it with distaste. Why not simply give up and return to the comforts of the club and a very fine old brandy?

Better yet, he should go home. The thought of the accusing stares of his household slid a dagger between his ribs and into the hollow cavity of his chest. The same guilty pain he felt every time his grandmother looked at him.

He pulled out his pocket watch and flicked open the case with a thumbnail. Twenty minutes past the hour of seven o’clock. Ten minutes and he was leaving.

Once more he paced the edge of lawn and then shot a glance at the garden gate...again.

His jaw dropped. For a moment he thought he might be experiencing a hallucination. Despite the fact that he’d been waiting, he’d been positive she would not come.

Now she was here, he was slack jawed and speechless. Tonight, she was vision in green wearing a far more modest gown than she’d worn the night they’d met, but it also showed off the sumptuousness of her hour-glass figure, the elegant slope of her shoulders and brought out the unusual green of her eyes. Tonight, instead of a river of hair down her back, her tresses were hidden beneath the crown of a straw bonnet, leaving only one ringlet to fall over her shoulder and draw attention to her magnificent cleavage.

Delicious. He almost licked his lips with the desire to taste every inch of her milky skin.

The hesitance in her expression brought him to his senses.

He bowed. ‘Madame.’ Dash it, couldn’t he sound more friendly and less ducal? What had happened to his famous rakish charm?

‘I wasn’t sure you would still be here.’ She sounded breathless. Shy.

He shrugged. ‘I gave my word. Though I must say I was about to leave.’

She winced. ‘I apologise. I was unable to...come before.’

Was she toying with him? Hoping that by keeping him in suspense, she could control him? It wouldn’t be the first time a woman had tried such ploys. He was too old a hand at the game of flirtation to be caught in such a way. Then why was he staring at her with a besotted grin on his face? Idiot.

He took her hand in his and kissed the back of her glove.

She dipped a curtsy.

Another man of his rank might have deemed her courtesy an insult, for it was neither deep enough or held long enough to be deemed anywhere close to correct. Indeed, it was more of a little bob, as if he held a junior rank or no rank at all.

A deliberate snub? Had she heard the rumours and believed them?

He put his hands behind his back, reverting to the posture his father had so often employed to put him in his place.

She glanced up at him from beneath her lashes. A quick shy little glance before she looked at her feet again. ‘I did not intend to come at all,’ she said in her soft clear voice, the odd little accent once more teasing at his ear. ‘But I did not like to think of you waiting.’

She was pitying him? His spine stiffened. ‘I can assure you I have not been waiting long.’

She nodded her acceptance of his words, when he had expected her to flirt and tease. Something he would have been perfectly comfortable with. This honesty left him flat-footed. All at sea. ‘Since you are here,’ he said, more gruffly than he intended, ‘perhaps you would care to take a turn about the garden?’

She glanced around nervously and up at the building. ‘If you are sure we will not be seen.’

‘I am sure.’ He held out his arm.

After a slight hesitation that had him on tenterhooks, she rested her hand on his arm.

A tactical error. By walking side by side, the only way he could see her expressions was to bend forward to peer around the brim of her bonnet. And wouldn’t that make him look like some callow eager youth. He led her to an arbour where roses grew over a trellis and some thoughtful gardener had set another infernal stone seat. ‘Please, sit for a while. I think you will find the view from here to your taste.’ He flicked his handkerchief over the stone surface to ensure she would not ruin her gown.

She smiled up at him. ‘Thank you.’

Guileless, that smile, and yet it beguiled him none the less.

She perched on the edge of the seat and he sat beside her, angling his body so he could see her profile while she gazed around.

‘I did not expect so large a garden,’ she said. ‘In London, I mean.’

‘When this house was built large gardens were the fashion. This is one of the few streets where they have not been torn down to make way for a square or a terrace. What is left of the garden is only a small part of what was here before.’

‘It is quiet enough to be miles from the city.’

‘You like the country? What county do you hail from?’

‘I have always lived in London, Your Grace.’

‘So, you do know who I am. Will you honour me with your name?’

She froze.

Another rushed fence. Curse it, what was wrong with him? He lightened his tone. ‘Your first name, if you will.’

‘Rose.’

‘It suits you.’

‘Why? Because my face goes red when I am embarrassed?’

He repressed the desire to chuckle at her defensive tone. It seemed they were both less than at ease. ‘No. Because, as you know, a rose is considered the most beautiful of flowers.’

A cheeky grin lit her face. ‘Now that’s what you call flattery, Your Grace, and I would prefer we was...were honest in our dealings.’

The slight slip in her vocabulary stunned him. It was not the sort of thing to fall from a gently bred girl’s lips. Though a foreigner might make such a mistake, he supposed. ‘So exactly where in London do you reside, Rose?’

‘I doubt you would know it, even if I told you.’

Or perhaps he was wrong; she certainly sounded haughty enough to be the daughter of a nobleman.

‘Are you married?’ The question had plagued him from the moment they met.

Surprise filled her expression. ‘Mercy, certainly not.’

‘So tell me why you were here at the Vitium? Who brought you?’

‘I came by myself, on my own two feet.’

He shook his head. She would not win in a war of words. ‘Only patrons and their guests are permitted through these hallowed portals.’

She laughed out loud. ‘Hallowed. I think not.’

Again, every word was formed with care. Perhaps she was the daughter of some foreign dignitary. Or a very accomplished actress.

He stretched out his legs. ‘I am glad you came.’

‘Me, too. I wasn’t sure you were real. Half the time our dance seemed like a dream.’

He cocked a brow. ‘A good dream, I hope?’

Gah, really? He was actually fishing for compliments?

‘A lovely dream.’

He found himself tongue-tied by the sweet smile on her pretty lips, the genuine light in her eyes and the blush on her cheek. He wanted to kiss her lips. Badly.

‘Shall we walk some more?’

She popped up on her feet. ‘I would like that. Do you know the name of all these plants and bushes?’

‘Some of them, certainly.’

* * *

Rose still could not believe she was doing this. Walking with her hand on the arm of a duke. Conversing as if it was an everyday thing. At any moment he would guess she was an impostor in borrowed clothes and revile her. She’d likely lose her job, too.

What had she done?

She’d let Flo and the other girls talk her into borrowing a gown suitable enough to wear for her gentleman, and helping her with her hair. After all, they had said, twittering in excitement, she had helped them so many times. Gloves had appeared on her hands and parasol on her arm and all topped off by a straw bonnet they all declared was fetching.

Fine feathers did not make a fine bird or a sow’s ear a silk purse, but she had desperately wanted to be convinced. Silly goose.

Or she had until she reached the gate.

If Flo hadn’t pushed her through, she would have fled.

Now she wished she had run, because she had the sense he was not all that glad to see her. He seemed more reserved than he had the other night, cooler, more distant.

‘I really didn’t expect you to be here, you know,’ she said, lifting her chin.

‘You think I would not keep my word?’

Oh, now he sounded insulted. An angry duke was not a good thing. She straightened her shoulders. ‘That is not what I meant, Your Grace. It was I who failed to keep our...’ What did one call it?

‘Our assignation.’ He said it casually as if it meant little of import.

Assignation. She savoured the word and stored it away for future consideration.

‘So, you see,’ she said, ‘I assumed you would have far more important things to do beside wait for me.’

A brow quirked as if her words surprised him. ‘You are here now.’

Blasted man, could he be any more stiff and starchy? The silence grew heavy. It must be her turn to say something. Oh, dear. What did one discuss with a duke? ‘I...um...what sort of tree is this?’ She gazed up into the leafy branches that cast a gentle dappled shade over the gravel walk.

‘Beech.’

Trees were trees. Though she did know there were different kinds, she had no idea how to tell them apart. She’d seen little enough of them as a child and not much more since starting her employment. ‘How do you know?’

While he looked a little taken aback, he stopped to poke at a crack in the paving slabs with the toe of his boot. A strange little shell rolled out, brown and prickly and curling away from the centre. ‘For one thing, this is its fruit. A beech nut, if you will.’ He pointed at the trunk. ‘The bark is distinctive, as are its leaves.’ He reached up and pulled down a branch so she could see close up. ‘Other trees have serrated leaves, but the combination of all three tells me this is a beech.’

‘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.’

‘Please, Flo. I want to go. Now.’

Clearly torn between wanting to seek out the man and needing to help Rose, Flo hesitated.

‘Flo, I need to go home.’

With a curse, Flo put an arm around her shoulders and turned down the street heading for Cheapside.


Chapter Three (#u1e936611-158c-508d-b85c-1590d046b654)

Heavy-eyed and muzzy-headed, Jake lifted his gaze from the numbers dancing across the page of the ledger and stared at the straw bonnet sitting on the corner of the desk.

What had he been thinking? He was the Duke, not the carefree second son any longer. He had responsibilities and, as his father had reminded him with his dying breath, a duty to the Westmoor name. A duke didn’t go about importuning ladies in a hidden garden. Surely even he had too much pride to abase himself before an unwilling woman. His brother would never have considered such a thing.

Besides, even if she was not a member of the ton, Rose was innately a lady in every respect. The rake in him had recognised her innocence from the first and he had come so close to scaring her to death, she’d had to run from him. It did not bear thinking about.

After swearing to his father to do his duty by the title, at the first temptation to come his way he’d returned to his old careless impetuous ways. Shame flooded him to the core of his being.

Thank heavens Rose had more sense.

And yet something inside him kept urging him to seek her out.

He could do it. He could find her. A widow or wife living on the edges of society in search of a bit of harmless adventure would be known to someone. As a duke, he had unlimited resources. And he could bend her to his will, make her want him if he put his mind to it, too. He’d charmed enough ladybirds and widows in his salad days to know his appeal to the ladies. A charm he’d never given a second’s thought. Until now.

Not that he would. It wouldn’t be honourable.

He really ought to apologise, though.

Those last moments with his father floated through his mind.

‘You swear you will give up your rakish ways and give the title its due? For my sake.’

‘No!’ he’d yelled. ‘You are not going to die. You must not. I do not want this—’ His voice had broken.

A heavy sigh. ‘Do your duty, my son. That is all I ask. Care for Eleanor and my mother.’

Fingers, clammy and cold, had clenched on his hand.

‘Swear it.’

His throat had felt raw. His eyes had burned.

‘I swear it, Papa. On my life.’

‘I trust you, my son.’

The grey eyes had closed for the last time.

Trust was a heavy burden. Jake squeezed his eyes shut and prayed for respite, for an hour or two of sleep before he returned to the house where his father had placed a life of duty and honour upon shoulders ill-prepared to bear them. Burdens he had never wanted.

How many times during his youth had he rejoiced that the dukedom was his brother’s destiny and not his, while he went his merry way.

‘You here again, Westmoor?’

He looked up at the impatient tone.

Frederick loomed over him, glaring down. ‘Do you not have a home to go to? Oh, wait. You do. A ducal mansion.’ He inhaled and curled his lip in distaste. ‘God, how much wine have you drunk?’ He whisked the decanter off the desk and deposited it back on the tray on the console between the shuttered windows. ‘You stink of brandy. Go home. Bathe, for God’s sake.’

Frederick’s brusque manner hid a caring heart. Jake knew this, but he simply glowered at his friend. ‘I have as much right to be here as you do. I am doing something useful.’ He glanced down at the ledger. Trying to anyway.

‘We employ a bookkeeper for that.’

‘Someone has to oversee the bookkeeper.’

What on earth was the matter with him? Fred’s advice might not be to his liking, but it wasn’t wrong.

Besides, it was a lady’s prerogative to choose her protector. A gentleman simply shrugged and moved on if he wasn’t picked. He toyed with one of the blue ribbons from the bonnet and twined it around his fingers. Not that he’d suffered such rejections in the past. After all he’d been the second son of a duke, fabulously wealthy in his own right and his reputation for generosity had not gone unnoticed.

Until now. Damn it all, he needed to think about something else. About those in his care. His grandmother, for example.

When had he last seen the old girl? He cast his mind back with effort. Two days ago? Three? She’d be worrying. The thought of her in distress made his stomach roil. Another failure to add to a string of them he dragged behind him like anchors.

Fred peered at the bonnet. ‘What is that doing there?’

‘Nothing. I found it in the garden. One of the girls must have dropped it. I thought I would ask around.’

‘I doubt any of them would want that old thing back.’

‘Probably not.’ Jake picked it up and dropped it in the rubbish basket.

‘Well, I’ll leave you to it,’ Fred said.

‘Not on my account, I hope. I’m leaving.’

‘I only came by to check on the state of the cellar, which I have done. See you later, Westmoor.’

Fred left, closing the door behind him.

Jake forced himself to his feet. He was done here. There was no point in pretending to read numbers when he could barely see them. He picked the bonnet out of the bin and hung it on the back of the door. Just in case.

He wandered off to the stables. He deliberately did not glance at the garden gate and nor did he utter a word at the reproving glance he received from his coachman for keeping him waiting till some ridiculous hour of the morning. Again. Thank goodness the stables at Vitium et Virtus offered comfort for long-suffering servants.

* * *

Once home, he went straight to his room, endured the ministrations of a valet who did nothing but complain about the fit of his coats and the state of his linen, and shut himself in the library, which he now used as his office. Even after all these months, he still couldn’t bring himself to use the ducal study.

Instead, he’d had them bring a writing table in here along with the various documents he needed day to day. He’d also had them cover the most recent family portrait. His father, brother, sister and himself. Something about the way his father and brother looked out of that frame made him feel inadequate. And as guilty as hell.

Why had he not done as his father had asked him on that last day?

Such a simple request. For some reason he could no longer fathom, or justify, he had taken umbrage at the implication that he had nothing better to do than dash off to Brighton to curry favour with the Regent.

If only—

He cut the thought off and returned to the pile of correspondence awaiting his attention. Why had he never realised how much work it was, being a duke? Likely because his father and brother had never involved him in the routine running of the Duchy.

Nor had he wanted them to. Had he?

He shut his eyes, briefly. No. He had not. He’d been having too good a time as he’d so often gloated to an older brother weighed down by responsibilities and paperwork.

Too busy enjoying the charms of the fairer sex, his unbelievable luck at the tables and running Vitium et Virtus with his friends. Running it and enjoying its entertainments. Though he had to admit the sameness of it all had begun to pall some time ago.

The library door opened to admit an elderly lady with her hair powdered and her back ramrod straight, despite needing the support of her cane. A pair of piercing grey eyes fixed on his face. Eyes like his father’s. And his brother’s. His were blue, like his mother’s and Eleanor’s.

‘Grandmama. Good morning.’

A beauty in her youth, she was still a handsome woman in her seventies.

She snorted. ‘Don’t “Grandmama” me in that cozening tone. It is mid-afternoon. Where have you been? I having been wanting to speak to you for two days now.’

‘Out. What can I do for you?’

She pursed her lips, but plucked a letter from her reticule. ‘Eleanor asks if she may come to town next week. She wishes to shop.’

Eleanor. Something else his father hadn’t seen fit to tell him about. If ever he discovered who the father of his niece was, who the man was who had abandoned his sister to a life of secrets and loneliness, he was going to roast him on a spit. ‘She may come whenever she wishes, as I told her.’

‘Your father...’

‘In this one thing, Grandmama, my father was an ass.’

The starch went out of his grandmother and all of a sudden she looked old and frail and sad. She sank into a chair. ‘It was on my advice that we sent her away,’ she admitted, sounding miserable. ‘I thought it was for the best. You know your father always took my advice when it came to your sister after your mother died.’

Jake bit back a hard retort about his father needing to think for himself and came around to sit beside his grandmama on the sofa.

She reached out and touched his hand. ‘You are a good boy, Jake. You have a kind heart.’

Not always. His mind went back to Rose. He’d upset her very handily, when clearly she did not fancy him the way he had fancied her. It was such a spur-of-the-moment thing, he barely understood it himself.

Dash it. He would find her and make sure she had suffered no ill effects as a result of his reckless behaviour. It was the honourable thing to do. But right now his grandmother needed him. ‘Shall I ring for tea?’

‘No, thank you. I need to get a reply off to Eleanor in the post. I want to assure her right away that she is welcome. Any delay and she will think we don’t want her and these days, with my stiff joints, writing is a slow business.’

‘Why do you not let me hire a secretary for you or a companion to help with such things?’ It was not the first time he’d made the suggestions since her last lady companion had departed.

She shot him a steely-eyed stare his father would have been proud of. ‘Your wife would be companion enough, should you deign to obtain one.’

He masked a wince. ‘I have to find a willing lady first, Grandmama.’

Her brows lowered. ‘Excuses, excuses. Why, I have introduced you to a dozen suitable young women over the past few weeks.’

His hackles rose. He was perfectly capable of finding his own wife. When he was ready. ‘It is too soon, Grandmama. We are barely out of mourning.’

‘Your father would have wanted you to secure the succession as soon as possible. You danced with Mrs Challenger at the ball you threw for her and Challenger. You could have used the opportunity to meet this Season’s crop of debutantes. But, no, not one other lady did you ask to dance.’

His scalp tightened. Every muscle in his body felt tight. He now knew how a fox must feel when chased by the hounds. He forced himself to remain polite. ‘The ball was a favour to one of my oldest and dearest friends. Right now, the affairs of the Duchy require my complete attention. Let me get those in hand and then I promise you I will do my duty and attend every ball and assembly from John o’ Groats to Land’s End. I will leave no stone unturned. No maiden left uninspected for her suitability.’

She laughed and shook her head. ‘Ridiculous boy. You always did have a way with words. But...’ she wagged a finger gnarled by the ravages of rheumatism ‘...I will keep you to that promise. Or the spirit of it anyway.’

She limped out of the room.

* * *

Eight hours later, Jake found himself entering Vitium et Virtus in search of an hour or two of sleep before the sun rose. Again. He’d forced himself to remain at home, to go to bed like a normal person, under his own roof—and lain awake all through the darkest hours. Now, at almost dawn, he needed sleep to the point of desperation.

Snyder greeted him briefly, took his coat and hat and left him in peace.

If there was peace to be had. The servants would soon be bustling about their chores.

He should have come earlier. He strolled past the Green Room and against his will opened the door and looked in.

Naturally no one was twirling about in front of the mirror. No one was there at all. And in the interim he’d come to the conclusion he should forget about Rose. Seeing her again, he had concluded, would only make his restlessness worse. He had a duty to the Duchy as his grandmother had pointed out. He must make a good marriage if he was to secure the future of his name and the dynasty entrusted to his care. Albeit reluctantly, he’d given in and taken up the mantle and the strawberry-leaved coronet. Blast it.

The weight of that mantle and crown had him dragging his steps towards the owners’ private quarters. He passed a maid already at her work in the grand hall, the entrance used by paying members.

On her hands and knees polishing the marble floor, she was scrubbing so hard that her bottom moved in counterpoint to the swish of her cloth.

A very attractive, lushly curved bottom it was too. Drawn by some unnamed instinct, he paused to watch, feeling a strange sense of kinship with that sweetly rounded bum. A palm-tingling urge to stroke and squeeze. And she was humming quietly to herself. A familiar refrain that... No. It could not be.

His gut clenched. He felt ill. She was not... He refused to allow it.

Unable to stop himself, he walked stealthily around her, but she must have seen a movement from the corner of her eye, because she jerked upright, still on her knees, and looked up at him, her face pink with exertion—

‘Rose!’

She winced at his shout.

* * *

Staring at the Duke, Rose felt horror roll through her in a sickening tide. Another half-hour and she would have been hidden away in the kitchens for the rest of the day.

He was staring at her as if he expected her to say something. She dropped the rag, wiped her hands on her apron and pushed to her feet.

She bobbed a curtsy, keeping her head respectfully lowered, her gaze on the floor, wishing he’d walk away. Or that the floor would crack open and swallow her up. ‘Your Grace.’

All she could see were his feet planted squarely on the patch of marble she’d scrubbed clean. She waited for him to move on. She didn’t dare look at his face, at the disgust she’d see in his expression.

Or the anger.

‘Well?’ he said softly, menacingly. ‘Are you going to explain?’

‘Explain what?’ She winced. She hadn’t intended to speak out loud. A glance upwards at his implacable expression sent a shiver down her spine. It was far worse than a show of anger. He looked merely curious. Almost cold.

‘Explain why you never told me that you work here.’ He looked down his ducal nose. ‘You do work here? Have been working here for some time?’

And was unlikely to be working here much longer. She nodded miserably. ‘As a scullery maid.’

He folded his arms across his chest. ‘So what were you doing in the Green Room the other evening?’

She shrugged. ‘I had been mending the gown. I tried it on to see...’ Dash it, if she was going to be let go, it might as well be for the true reason. ‘I wanted to see what I would look like in such a lovely gown.’

His frown deepened.

She held her breath, waiting for the full force of his wrath.

‘You made me think you were gently bred. A lady.’ Not angry, disappointed.

What right did he have to be disappointed? ‘If you’d thought me a lady, you would not have met me in private or kissed me without permission.’ She winced at her scolding tone. What was the point of feeling embarrassed? She was what she was and she cared nothing for his opinion, good or bad.

Only she did. Heat rushed to her face and she let her gaze fall away. ‘I apologise, Your Grace. I—I did not set out to trick you. It simply happened. I should never have met you in the garden, however. For that I am sorry.’

His feet did move away then. A few steps and then silence. She looked up, expecting him to be gone, not to find him perched on the second step of the stairs up to the great subscription room.

He gestured for her to come closer and she found it odd when she approached that she was in fact looking down on him by an inch or two.

It made him seem less imposing, less of a threat and more like the man she had met in the garden. As if they were somehow equals. They were not. A fact she would do well to remember.

‘This time you will tell me the truth, if you please.’

She clenched her hands at her waist. ‘What is it you want to know?’

He narrowed his eyes at her obvious defensiveness.

What did it matter? She was going to lose her job anyway. She shrugged.

‘Very well. What is your real name?’

‘Rose Nightingale.’

He made a face of disbelief.

‘Is too,’ she said.

‘Very well, Miss Nightingale. How long have you worked at Vitium et Virtus?’

‘Four months or so.’

‘Do you live in or out?’

She hissed in a breath. Why did he want to know that? Only a few of the employees here lived in. He must know that, being an owner and all.

‘Out.’

The answer was received with a heavy silence.

‘I will collect my things and leave.’ What else could she say? Clearly she had lost any regard he might have held for the woman he thought she was. An ache scoured the inside of her chest. She was wrong to have let herself be swept up in what was really was no more than a foolish dream.

‘You want to leave?’ he asked.

She frowned at him. A horrid suspicion entered her mind. Did he want to continue where they had left off only...? Now he knew who she was...what she was, would he treat her differently? With less respect?

‘I think it is for the best.’

He regarded her for a long moment. ‘You are going home?’

‘Yes.’

‘To your family.’

Truth. She had to tell him the truth. She had said she would. And then he really would despise her utterly. ‘I have no family left that I know of.’ She lifted her chin.

‘Oh, Rose,’ he said, shaking his head, sorrowfully.

‘I have done nothing to be ashamed of.’ Her face flushed again. ‘Nothing that has brought harm to anyone else.’ Even if she was a bastard. Born on the wrong side of the blanket, the nobs called it. She called it irresponsible.

To her surprise, he looked startled, as if her declaration surprised him. What? Did he think because she had no family, she was some sort of undesirable? Or worse yet, a woman of low moral character? She closed her eyes briefly. That was it, most likely. And now, like a lackwit, she had as good as told him there was no one in the world who cared what happened to her. ‘Besides, it is none of your business where I go from here.’ She turned away.

‘Rose, wait.’

She swung back to face him.

He rose to his feet. ‘You don’t need to go.’

‘Are you saying I haven’t lost my position?’

He approached her warily, as if she might bite him if he got too close. ‘No, I mean. Well, obviously I would find it difficult when...’

She narrowed her eyes at him. ‘When?’

He rubbed a palm over his jaw in an odd upward motion. ‘I mean, I do not like to think of you...well, scrubbing the floors.’ He gestured at the rag and bucket in the middle of the floor.

She frowned. ‘There is nothing wrong with scrubbing floors.’

‘You could be so much more.’

Anger bubbled up at the disdain in his tone. More? Such as being his mistress, perhaps? What else could he mean? ‘I am perfectly content, thank you. I certainly don’t need to make my living...’ She stopped before she said something really rude.

‘I intended no insult, Rose.’

He was the one who sounded insulted. He had gone all ducal, looking down that lordly nose of his.

She was a fool for letting herself be swept up by a dream. Really, she was. ‘I wouldn’t like Your Grace to feel uncomfortable with my presence. So I will remove it.’

He reached out as if to stop her. She jerked away, and a look of chagrin passed over his face. Followed swiftly by a haughty stare. ‘Very well. If you insist. Go.’

She breathed a sigh of relief, tempered by a large dose of despair.

She had liked working here. And the rules had protected her from unwanted attentions, as they had not in the residences where she had worked. Until she’d gone and broken those rules. She was going to miss her friends, too. Especially Flo.

Inwardly she groaned as the full implications of her stupidity landed in the pit of her stomach like a rock. Once her landlord learned she had lost her job, she’d be out on the street, unless she found another one quickly. She would certainly never find another employer as generous as the V&V.

She picked up her bucket and rag. Perhaps if she apologised properly he would let her stay?

When she turned back to ask him, he had gone. For a big man, he moved very quietly. The reason she hadn’t heard him when she had been foolishly prancing around in the Green Room and again today when she’d been washing the floor.

Sadly, she shook her head and walked to the lower reaches of the house. If one of the owners of the club wanted her gone, what could be done?

She almost fell over when he stepped in front of her as she was about to enter the kitchen. She backed up hastily. ‘I thought you went.’

‘I came back.’

She tried not to roll her eyes. ‘Was there something else?’

‘I—’ He huffed out a breath. ‘You don’t have to go. Keep your job. Just—just keep out of my way. All right?’

It took a moment to process the words. She nodded stiffly. ‘Then please be aware, Your Grace, I am required to wash the floor in the front hall every day at five-thirty in the morning and it takes me half an hour.’

‘I take note, Miss Nightingale.’

She gritted her teeth. ‘It’s Rose, Your Grace. Just Rose.’ A duke did not offer courtesy to a servant, not if he didn’t want to cause talk.

‘Rose. Good day.’

Good? What was good about today? This wasn’t finished. She could feel it in her bones and down her spine. But the reprieve would give her a chance to find a new position before he changed his mind and she was let go without a character.

* * *

As the day progressed she became less worried about him changing his mind. All seemed just as usual. No calls by Mrs Parker to see her in her office. As a precaution, she stayed close to the kitchen, never being tempted into visiting her friends in case she ran into the Duke. When, at the end of the work day there was still no threat of dismissal, she heaved a sigh of relief. It seemed all was well. She scuttled out of the side door as quick as a wink, not wanting to tempt fate by lingering in the Green Room.

‘Rose.’

A tall lean shadow detached itself from the darkness in the alley outside the back door.

She swallowed the dryness in her throat. Her heart sank. ‘Why are you here, Your Grace?’

‘I want to talk to you.’

Here it came then, after all. Her notice.

‘Allow me to escort you home. We can talk while we walk.’

‘I’m not taking you to where I live. I am a decent girl, I am.’ Her landlord would be scandalised. Well, perhaps not. He didn’t seem to care about that sort of thing, given what his other tenants were up to. But she didn’t want anyone getting the wrong impression about her. It wouldn’t take much and coming home on the arm of a toff like him would do it.

The Duke frowned and looked about him. ‘You can’t surely be intending to walk the streets alone.’

‘Today is no different to any other day, Your Grace.’

He looked nonplussed. ‘You will, however, permit me to walk you, if not all the way, then at least to the end of your street.’

The firmness in his voice said he was not to be denied.

‘As you wish,’ she muttered. She’d find a way to be rid of him long before then. She knew the neighbourhood like the back of her hand, whereas he surely did not.

They walked some distance in silence and she kept waiting for him to tell her she was dismissed. Finally she could not stand it any longer. ‘What is it you wished to talk about?’

He gave her a look askance. ‘I have a request to make of you. Well, more of a proposition, I suppose.’

Her heart stilled. Did she really want this? She gripped her basket tight.

* * *

Jake could not figure out what was the matter with him. He was usually so articulate, so charming around women. With Rose, he kept stumbling over his words like an adolescent stumbling over feet too large for a gangly body. And heaven knew, every time he opened his mouth he seemed to put one of those very large feet right in it.

He also noticed that while Rose seemed willing to let him walk beside her, she deliberately kept her small basket over the arm closest to him. Effectively keeping him at a distance.

Well, perhaps that wasn’t such a surprise. He’d been so horrified to see her on her hands and knees that morning he’d been unable to think straight. A nap had sorted him out, somewhat. After all, finding her, knowing where she was, had enabled him to relax enough to actually close his eyes without being haunted by images—He cut the thought off. Nonsense.





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