Chapter Thirteen
S team swirled around the bath as Rosilee sank deeper into the warm water, her body still humming from the memory of Blake’s touch last night. The water soothed her skin, but it couldn’t quell the storm of emotions that brewed beneath the surface. Every inch of her still felt alive, still tingled with the memory of his breath against her skin, his body pushing deep inside hers. She closed her eyes, replaying every touch, every breath, every whispered word. How was she supposed to think straight after all that?
What am I supposed to do now?
What did he want to do?
She hadn’t been the only one to feel it, had she? It hadn’t been just physical. There had been something more, something that was there before they even kissed and lingered long after their bodies had parted. She was falling for the duke.
Or she had already fallen for him.
Yes, she’d so already fallen!
Her heart fluttered at the thought, and her fingers lightly grazed the surface of the water, watching the ripples dance. What did it mean for her plan now? What did it mean for them?
You don’t know if he feels the same way.
Yes, but surely . . .
No! Do not jump to conclusions, Rosilee!
She had never imagined herself in such a situation, tangled in an affair that felt both reckless and inevitable at the same time. Yet here she was, body and soul marked by a man she had once helped and now was helping her.
The door creaking pulled her from her absorption. Mrs. Prune, who slipped into the room and greeted her with a bright smile, headed for the bed to straighten the linens with a briskness that somehow matched the woman’s no-nonsense nature. The older woman cast an amused glance at Rosilee as she picked up a stray stocking from the floor and shook her head. “You remind me of the duke when he was a boy.”
Rosilee smiled. “Did he leave stockings all over his chamber, too?”
Mrs. Prune chuckled. “Socks.”
She swirled her hand in the water again. She wished she could have seen more of Blake as a boy. Him laughing. Him being mischievous. “Do you ever regret things, Mrs. Prune?” Rosilee asked suddenly, filling with curiosity.
Mrs. Prune, busy fluffing a pillow, paused mid-motion and glanced at her. “Regret? Oh, I imagine everyone does at some point, don’t they?”
“Quite right.”
“But regrets are a funny thing,” Mrs. Prune went on. “They’ve a way of coming back to you when you least expect them, like bad pennies. Best to live in a way that you’ve fewer of them weighing you down.”
“I know,” Rosilee said softly. But she couldn’t explain to Mrs. Prune that she had shared a passionate night with the duke. One she didn’t regret. Never would. Though others might think she should. Blake had touched something deeper. Something inside her had shifted and could never be undone. However, that didn’t mean that things would work out between them either.
She sighed, and Rosilee leaned her head back against the edge of the tub, staring up at the ceiling. “I feel like I’m standing on the edge of something... something big. And once I step off, there’s no going back.”
“Sometimes, you just have to step off, dear,” Mrs. Prune said. “Especially if you are speaking about a certain duke.”
Heat rushed to Rosilee’s cheeks. “I do not know what you are talking about, Mrs. Prune.”
Mrs. Prune resumed her work but kept her eyes on Rosilee. “That’s the way of things, isn’t it? Life’s full of those moments. Question is, what’s waiting for you on the other side? Is it worth the leap?”
Yes.
Rosilee let out a long breath. Blake had made her feel more alive since she’d met him on that dirt road—more than she had ever felt in all her life. With the possible exception of that night eighteen years ago, terrible as it was. It had all started then.
But what did it mean for her future? She was no fool—she knew the dangers, the consequences of giving herself to a man. Yet, somehow, the thought of a life without that passion, that connection, seemed more unbearable than any scandal.
However, she couldn’t forget about Baston.
Leopold.
“But it felt... right,” she murmured, almost to herself.
Mrs. Prune raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment immediately. Instead, she moved to the dressing table and polished the silver brush with care. After a moment, she spoke again, her tone softer this time. “Love is a tricky thing, my lady. It can make you feel like you’re soaring, but it can also make the fall that much harder when it comes.”
Love . . .
Rosilee smiled faintly. “Are you saying I’m bound to fall, Mrs. Prune?”
The older woman chuckled. “I’m saying that if you do fall, make sure you’ve someone there to catch you. The right someone.”
Rosilee didn’t need to ask who Mrs. Prune thought was the right someone. It was most certainly the duke. He would catch her if she fell. Of this, she had no doubt. However, she had come to understand his rescue would never come in the form of a proposal. It would come in other ways, ways that had nothing to do with vows or duty, but were nevertheless steadfast.
Like offering to help her find a husband.
Just one that wasn’t himself.
Which meant he had no plans for marriage. She hadn’t thought about wedding him either. Not until last night. No—the kiss beneath the tree. That was when her thoughts had begun to shift. That was why, regardless of her mission, she had not completely felt comfortable at the ball, and after one turn about the room, she had wanted to return home.
Home.
Did she already consider the duke’s home her home?
A knock on the door sounded, followed by Ben’s voice. “My lady, there is a man here for you.”
Rosilee froze, her eyes jumping to Mrs. Prune. Her first thought was Baston. Had he stormed the castle? She wouldn’t put it past him. But before she could panic, the boy’s next words made her pulse leap.
“It’s some earl.”
Earl? Right! The Earl of Stagbourne! Hadn’t he said he would call on her today? Dear lord, what should she do? Should she receive him? Should she send him away? Should she find Blake first?
“Thank you, Ben. I shall be down shortly.” Whatever she was going to do, she’d best get dressed first.
“I was about to ask after your night,” Mrs. Prune murmured. “But it seems that I don’t have to now. It must have been a success.”
Success isn’t what Rosilee would call it.
Too many parts were moving at a pace she struggled to keep up with, and in directions she was unsure of. She smiled at Mrs. Prune. “There is no success yet, Mrs. Prune.”
There were only two paths.
And she didn’t know which one to take.
Blake stood at the edge of the garden, the looming maze before him, its twisted paths mirroring the tangled mess in his heart and mind. The air was thick with the various scents of plant life, woven with the vivid whispers of last night’s mistake. His gaze traced the entrance to the maze as if it could offer an answer, a solution, an escape.
But there was none.
Not from this.
Not from her.
Crawling through a few holes might offer a way out of the maze, but there are no such convenient escapes in life.
“Still brooding, I see.” Bishop’s voice cut through the silence, steady and matter-of-fact, as he approached. “And such a beautiful day to brood, too. I take it the ball went all beyond expectation, and now you are sour at all the attention Lady Rosilee attracted.”
Blake refused to answer, not even sparing the man a glance.
But the man didn’t stop. “Punishing yourself again, are you?”
“You think I deserve anything less?”
“No one’s asking what you deserve. But I would ask you what you want.”
Want.
Such a small word for something that clawed at his chest with relentless, burning insistence. His mind filled with Rosilee—her body under his, her breath against his skin, her hands dragging over his back. It was all so bloody vivid—he shuddered as though he were in that moment again right now. She had been everything. Every damned thing he ever thought he wanted.
But she was also everything he feared he could—and would—ruin. If he hadn’t already. He should never have touched her.
Not like that.
And yet, his whole body burned with want even now—wanting her touch once more.
“What I want doesn’t matter.”
“Of course it does,” Bishop said. “Just admit it already. You want her. You love her. You can’t live without her.”
“She deserves better than me.” She deserved a title, a man, that wouldn’t sully her.
“And what about what the lady wants?”
Blake winced at the words. “It doesn’t matter.”
“What does then?”
“That I don’t ruin her by even breathing the same air.” His chest throbbed. All he could do now was not ruin her any more than he already had.
Bishop snorted. “You give yourself too much credit. Lady Rosilee is no wilting flower. Your breath won’t be able to ruin her.”
Blake’s fists clenched at his sides. Bishop didn’t understand. Last night he gave in. He took what he wanted. The beast inside him had its way, and now... now, she was tethered to him in ways that went beyond mere passion, ways that she shouldn’t be. Ways that damned her to him —and all that came with it.
Blake turned sharply, finally meeting Bishop’s gaze, the suffocating grasp of guilt sinking into his bones. “How could I marry her? How could I tie her to the name of Crane when my father’s legacy still taints it? I have nothing to offer her. She would be better off with someone like Stagbourne.”
Bishop shook his head. “I hope you do not regret this decision, old chap. And that you one day know that your father’s sins aren’t yours.”
Blake scoffed bitterly. “Aren’t they? I carry his name. His blood. If I marry Rosilee, I’ll drag her into the shadow of a man who destroyed lives, crushed souls, and left a legacy of ruin in his wake. I’ll taint her with all that darkness. Just like my father did to my mother. I refuse to do that to her.”
Bishop studied him for a long moment, then sighed, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “You’re a fool.”
Blake frowned, but before he could respond, the door behind them pushed open, and Rosilee stepped through—a breath of fresh air in a pretty, soft-pink day dress. She paused when her eyes landed on him, but only a moment before she said, “The Earl of Stagbourne is here. Shall I send him away?”
His heart stopped. Or stuttered. Or skipped a bit beat. Whatever it was, it was deuced painful. He shot a glare at Bishop. So, this was why the man had come to press him about Lady Rosilee.
It changed nothing.
He looked back to Lady Rosilee, fortifying his heart. “No, don’t.”
Her brows furrowed. “No? Why not?” Her gaze flicked between him and Bishop. “We...”
“I am not your answer, Rosilee.” It was best to be curt. Best to be blunt. Best to nip any and all expectations and hope in the bud. “I am not your future.”
“But last night . . .”
He clenched his jaw, ignoring Bishop’s scowl. “Was a mistake. Stagbourne is your most favorable option. You should go see him.”
She stared at him, and Blake forced himself to remain upright and not to allow any part of his body to sag. “Is this your final answer then?” she asked softly. Only a fool wouldn’t be able to hear the hurt there.
“Yes.”
“I see.” A small pause. “Then I shall go receive the earl.” She turned to walk away.
Wait! He couldn’t help himself. He had to say, “I don’t want to take advantage of you. I don’t want to hurt you.”
She suddenly laughed, turning back to him. “But you have, haven’t you? Taken advantage of me, that is.”
He paled. “No, I mean—”
“I don’t mean last night together, Blake.” She shook her head. “I meant the moment you decided to approach me because of my situation.”
“I approached you because I wanted to help you.”
“Is that really the case?”
“I don’t understand your meaning,” Blake said, wishing he could smooth the deep lines between her brows.
“Of course you don’t.” She sent him a rueful smile. “Because you only ever thought about yourself. You say you wished to help me, but what will you do after I’m married? Go back to your castle and spy on me for another eighteen years? Drawing from the moments we shared here? All because you didn’t want to hurt me? Because you think you’re a monster?”
“I—”
“Stop,” she said, lifting her hands. “I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to hear you. You’re so afraid that your title will blemish me, but have you ever thought that I might be the one that stains it, but with light, not darkness? You haven’t, have you?”
His jaw clenched. “Rosilee . . .”
She shook her head for him to stop. “You should never have come for me, Your Grace,” she said, turning to leave, shutting the door behind her.
Everything inside him shattered.