Chapter Twenty
Rose refrained from mentioning that she didn’t wish to go to any parties or dances. They were not typically something she enjoyed, but the prospect of spending a night pressed to Edmund’s chest and swaying in his arms was a tempting prospect. Before meeting Edmund, she was acutely aware of her shortcomings and her inability to catch the eyes of suitors with her scholarly air and wayward locks, to say nothing of the stray streaks of dirt and muddy hems that made her mother despair.
But tonight? Tonight, she would not need to sit alone, feeling ashamed for being exactly who she was. She would have Edmund to dance with or hide with in dimly lit corners, whispering and laughing. Kissing. Touching.
She let out a shaky gasp as Jane finished the final stitch on her dress, pulling the pale pink bodice closed.
“I’m sorry, my lady! Did I prick you?”
“No! No, Jane, I am fine. I was only thinking of tonight. You know as well as anyone that I am not much given to parties.”
“But his lordship wants to take you out and show you off, madam! That’s the nice bit of being married, isn’t it? He’s right proud of you.”
Rose patted her hair. “Of my conversation, yes, but of my beauty? No. Mother says I’m pretty in a plain sort of way. Not truly beautiful like my sisters.”
Jane gave her a thoughtful look, her lips working in and out of a discontented frown before bursting out, “Not to say one word against your own dear mother, but some women don’t come into their own until they can wear what they like and do as they please. In this color, with that full skirt and the soft flounce that shows off your pretty white shoulders, ma’am? And with your hair in them beautiful pearl combs? You look more beautiful than any of the flowers you grow, and Sir Edmund will agree with me.”
“Indeed he will, Jane,” Edmund’s voice rang in their suite of rooms. “You look ravishingly beautiful, Rose. I shall be the envy of every man there.”
Ravishingly beautiful?Rose nodded, words escaping her. Ravishing was surely something allowable by husbands...
EDMUND HELPED ROSEfrom the cab in front of the Guards Club in Pall Mall. It was not far from their hotel by cab, but it was much too far and too dark for a man with his slow and unsteady steps to walk.
But he had never stood taller than when he was announced at the entrance of the club, with Rose on his arm, a rare blossom in a world of thorns.
Nothing, not even the prospect of pain and the hassle of adjusting half of his wardrobe, could take the shine off of this glorious night of music, dancing, and romance.
I didn’t have time to woo my wife before she was my bride. I wonder if I can manage it now? I’ve already kissed her. She sleeps in my bed. In my arms. Oh, if she only understood how fiercely I love her...
Tonight is the perfect time to show her.
“Dance with me?”
Rose looked up at him in surprise but slid her gloved hand into his own. “Thank you, I’d love to. Is this music not a little lively?” she whispered.
“We shall dance in that little grotto by the punch and go slowly. After all, I did not really come here for the music. I came here to have an excuse to stare at you all night, dressed in that pretty frock.”
“Edmund, you will make me blush.”
“And you are all the prettier when you blush. Rose... Rose, do you not know how lovely you are to me? Not just in your suitable qualities, but in your womanly ones. Your perfect smile. Your enchanting eyes.” Edmund stopped, a wave of worry washing over him. What if he was fawning over her too much? Did he seem insincere? Or would she be put off by this sudden outpouring of compliments? “I’m sorry. I should have said these sentiments earlier.”
“I appreciate them more now because I am so fond of the man praising me. I wish I was as eloquent, Edmund. About how very handsome I find you. How you impress me with your physical strength—”
“Nonsense!”
“It’s true! Your strength of mind, character, and your body as well. And you dance beautifully, dear husband.” Rose licked her lips, looking into his eyes. “Not in the slightest bit clumsy or disappointing. Entirely graceful. So very satisfying.”
Edmund forgot to move, his body anchored to the spot and anchored to hers. His hands slid to her waist. No more polite distances. No more discreet, appropriate hints.
“Rose. I have been wanting—”
“Good heavens above! The pair of wallflowers, here? In London? At a dance? What strange fortune is this?”
Edmund almost swore aloud at the interruption—and again when he turned and found himself face-to-face with a flushed Captain Bryce and a very haughty-looking Alice Marbury (although he now supposed she was Alice Bryce).
Rose recovered first. “Alice! Captain Bryce! Goodness, how funny to run into you in this of all places. But of course, you are living in London at present, are you not?”
“Yes! You must pay us a call later this week, or this month if you are staying in the city. You’ve never seen such a gorgeous home, Rose. Such fine hangings and paintings,” Alice simpered.
“Come, Alice. Do not suppose that Locke and his good lady will venture into society twice in the same year.” Bryce tried to sound hearty and bluff, but a sneer marred his words. “Their ball at Cadfael House and then this little dance will probably render them in need of hibernation for the winter.”
Rose bridled beside him, but Edmund beat her in responding, his voice as smooth as oil. He cupped Rose’s cheek and let his hand linger. “Bryce is right, isn’t he, my love? If we are not in the gardens, we are in our rooms. Either way, a paradise.”
His bride made a small squeak of surprise before nodding, her eyes glazing with desire as she put her hand firmly on his shirtfront, fingers digging in. “I’m so sorry, Alice. As one newly married, I’m sure you understand how very hard it is to share your husband with anyone. I’m jealous of every moment of his time.”
Edmund’s toes curled at the sinuous sound of her voice, low and smoky, like a cat’s purr.
Seductive.
Either she is not only one of the cleverest women in England but also a fantastically fine actress—or Rose means her words.
Bryce’s jaw dropped. Alice simpered again, but it had no gusto. It died out into a puzzled whine.
I should leave well enough alone. Bow and bid them goodnight.
But I can’t help but remember how Bryce’s eyes raked over Ivy while paying court to Rose. How he dismissed her as unmarriageable because she was not afraid to show the brains in her head.
Such an insult needs answering.
“Ah, Bryce. I owe you a debt of gratitude that I can never repay,” Edmund forced himself to shake the officer’s hand in a warm grasp.
“Me? Surely not. You must be under some misapprehension, sir.”
“No, no. I recall all too well that fine June morning when my Rose refused your proposal and you brushed her aside as ‘unmarriageable.’” Edmund savored the words—and their effect on the couple opposite him. Alice was fuming silently, and Bryce was beginning to splutter, cheeks red as his regimental uniform. “Never have I moved with such alacrity to throw myself and all I possess at her feet. What a wife she is! What a wife she will be, with her wit, her charm, and her outstanding beauty. She far outshines any flower that shares her name, does she not?”
“Oh, Edmund,” Rose whispered, smiling, voice trembling. “You are too good to me. Too sweet and too unprepossessing. ‘Tis I who would fling myself at your feet every day for the rest of my life.”
“No, no, dearest. Fling yourself into my arms instead. Let us be off and not detain the captain and his wife any further. Good evening.”
Bryce mumbled farewell and Alice simply stared as Edmund whisked Rose away, retreating to a small table in the back of the large gathering area.
“She will question him endlessly now,” Edmund remarked with poorly concealed glee. “I am a wicked man, for I don’t feel an inch of shame for dropping him in—”
Whatever he felt was never communicated in its entirety, for Rose pulled him close to her, skidding her chair as near as possible to his before leaning over and sealing his lips with her own.
“Is Bryce still looking?” Edmund asked when she released him.
“I don’t care. I will do that and ten times more—once we are alone in our rooms tonight.”
Edmund swallowed, “I meant every word I said.”
“As did I—and a great many more I have to tell you.” Rose’s hand found his under the table, squeezing it desperately. “A wife should not say such things perhaps—”
“I love my wife as she is. Exactly as she is, including all of her words and the things she dares to say and do,” Edmund hissed, his hand moving boldly to her knee, clutching it. Rose didn’t pull away or let out any noises of dismay.
“And I love my husband. I crave him, the way seedlings crave the sun. They die without its touch—and I feel like I will smother and wither without yours, Edmund. I know I am impatient...”
“You are patient enough.” Edmund reached over and slid his hands from her cheeks to her throat, finally resting them on her bare, satiny shoulders. “I confess I have been denying any impulses for weeks because I did not wish to pursue something you might not want.”
Rose looked at him steadily. “Is it very sinful for a wife to tell her husband how very much she wants him?”
“Not my wife. I asked her to keep no secrets from me.”
Rose laid another burning kiss on his lips, and when she pulled back, it was only to move her lips to his ear while her bust heaved against his chest. “I would beg you to leave this dance and take me to some secluded room on the premises—if I did not want to learn slowly and thoroughly.”
A shiver of pleasure coursed down his spine. “We will leave the moment I have made my apologies to Dr. Owens. But if you change your mind—”
“Does a flower suddenly stop needing sunlight, Edmund? No. Then I shall never stop wanting you.”