Lady Rosabella's Ruse

Chapter Fourteen




‘What do you do to me?’ he muttered.

They lay entwined. The fading heat of bliss cradled Garth’s body and left his mind soggy. This woman, soon to be his wife, was an unexpected treasure. A mix of cool calm waters and hot springs. God, he’d only just managed to withdraw from her at the last moment. Her passion carried him to heights of desire he’d never encountered with anyone else.

So many times he had played the strawberry game to its conclusion, leaving his partner sated, while he finished the fruit and waited for them to be ready again. He couldn’t even get through the game with her.

Never had he wanted a woman so much. With such driving force.

What he had with her was as rare as roses in January. And she was his. For all time.

It felt wondrous, with her nestled against his body, the rise and fall of her chest, the feel of her breath on his shoulder. New. Like a boy, though he hardly remembered that youth.

She deserved a far better man. He would make sure she had the life she deserved, even if she didn’t have the best of husbands.

She shifted. Looked up. ‘There is something I need to tell you.’

Something inside him went cold. He had heard those words many times. They signified that, somewhere along the way, he’d been deceived. Normally, he didn’t care. Hell, he expected it. This time, with this woman, his future wife, the idea chilled him. ‘What is it?’

She rose up on one elbow, her lovely breasts inches from his mouth, like full ripe peaches ready to be consumed. ‘At the house. I wasn’t looking for a miniature. I was looking for my father’s will. He promised to provide for me and my sisters, but no one found a will when he died. I was so sure I would find it there.’

The painful truth. Painful to her—he could hear it in her voice. He tipped her chin and gazed into eyes so sad his chest squeezed all the breath from his lungs. He wanted to comfort her, take away her hurt. ‘Perhaps his death happened too fast?’

Her wide forehead wrinkled. ‘It wasn’t like that. He promised us, me and my sisters, years before, when he married again. He needed an heir. We understood that. Our stepmama hated us and sent us away to school, but Papa promised to provide for us.’

He gave her a small hug. ‘So your father left everything to his heir. It is not unusual. Don’t worry, I will take care of you and your sisters.’

A brief smile lifted her lips. ‘I know.’ She pressed a quick kiss to his shoulder. ‘And I thank you. But you see, I just find it hard to believe he forgot us. He must have hidden the document away from my stepmother, and now it is lost. I have to believe it. He loved us.’

Love. A false coin. A word mouthed by females to get their way. Rosabella, however, seemed to believe in its mysterious power, for her eyes had filled with tears even as her expression shone with conviction.

‘You think finding a piece of paper will prove he loved you?’

She blinked and he realised his tone had been unnecessarily harsh.

‘I know he loved us. But…’ She shook her head, her lower lip trembling. ‘It isn’t right. He promised.’

‘People promise many things they don’t mean. They speak of love in one breath and in the next they are in bed with someone else. Wives despise their husbands. Fathers abandon their sons. People do whatever is convenient to them. If there is such a thing as love, it is love of self.’

Tears clung to her eyelashes; her almond-shaped eyes were huge and accusing as she stared at him. ‘You don’t believe in love at all?’

God, what a little innocent she was.

‘Don’t smile at me like that,’ she said fiercely. ‘I hate it.’

Startled, he stared down at her. ‘Smile like what?’

‘Cynical. Mocking. As if I am stupid and only you know the truth.’

Anger sparked hot in his blood. He forced calmness into his voice. ‘When you spout about love and promises, I know I am the only one in this room who understands the way of the world.’

‘So you are saying I am stupid to believe my father loved my mother or us?’

‘I am saying you are putting your hopes in the wrong man.’ Damnation, was he jealous of her dead father? ‘For whatever reason, he didn’t leave you anything in his will. I am sorry he didn’t. Clearly it is important to you. But people do what suits them. There is nothing you can do about it.’

She sat up and moved away from him, pinning the sheet to her chest with her folded arms. There was something in her eyes he didn’t understand. Disappointment. Hurt.

He wanted to hit something. He pulled himself up against the pillows, put his hand on her cheek, turning her face towards him. ‘So he forgot to leave a will. What difference does it make? I will make sure you and your sisters have everything you need.’

‘I made sure we have everything we need.’ She jerked her face away. ‘It is part of my bargain with you. After all, we will not marry for love.’

Inwardly he flinched at the rejection in her voice. It laid bare an emotion he did not want to feel. He replied with cold logic. ‘Things will go on a lot better because we both have realistic expectations.’

A flash of a question passed across her face.

‘What is it?’

‘Why do you?’ She bit at the inside of her lip. He wanted to nibble and suck at the outside. He could see from her expression that would not be appreciated. Not right now.

‘Why do I what?’

‘At the end. You do not stay with me. You pleasure yourself, I think. You did not do it the first time, but since then…’

He huffed out a breath. He had not expected to have this conversation so soon. ‘It’s a precaution. Nothing to worry about.’

‘A precaution against what?’ If anything, she looked more concerned.

‘You might already be carrying my child.’

‘Oh, I see.’

He breathed a sigh of relief. He’d sidestepped that midden.

‘And if I’m not?’ She frowned. ‘You do want children, don’t you?’

‘I haven’t given the matter thought.’ Not about having one.

She frowned. ‘You need an heir, surely.’

‘It isn’t of any great concern at the moment. And besides, aren’t we having a good time? Wouldn’t a child spoil our games?’ He waggled his brows suggestively.

She stared at him. ‘You prefer to wait?’

‘Yes, I prefer to wait.’ He smiled and kissed her lips. ‘You taste of strawberries.’

‘So do you,’ she whispered, desire softening her eyes.

He kissed her again until she moaned with pleasure and forgot her questions.





Since Rosa could not go riding with Garth until after they were married, she dressed leisurely in one of her new gowns. She wanted to look her best when he returned. In a few days she would be a married woman. It hardly seemed possible.

She had barely sat down in the drawing room when the butler popped his head through the door.

‘I’m to ask where you wish to put the trunk and the desk, my lady,’ the butler said. ‘The carter is below. His lordship suggested the trunk should go in the attic and the desk in here.’

Of course he thought her mother’s chest should be relegated to the attic. In life, her father had hidden her mother away in Sussex.

Oh, now she was allowing her disappointment in her father to flow over into thoughts about Garth. Unfair. Garth had made a suggestion, that was all. ‘The desk will do very well in here.’ She glanced around and pointed to a low cabinet containing assorted pieces of porcelain. ‘It can go there.’ The light would be good for writing. ‘Perhaps the cabinet can go in the downstairs drawing room. If not, it can go up in the attic. The chest goes in my dressing room.’

At least it could remain there until she had time to go through it properly. Some of the costumes might need wrapping in paper. If she had a child, a girl, she would like her to see her grandmother’s things.

She flattened a hand against her stomach. The babe was exceedingly small if she was indeed enceinte. It hardly seemed likely. She wished she had someone to ask.

‘I’ll see to it right away, ma’am.’ The butler bowed his way out.





It didn’t take long for the butler and a pair of brawny footmen to move the cabinet out and the writing desk in. Rosa stood in front of it when they were finished. It looked good in here. It gave her a warm feeling, a sense of homecoming. She could almost feel her father’s cheerful presence in the room. Almost see his sparkling hazel eyes. The deep creases around his mouth when he smiled.

He’d been a happy careless man who cared nothing for society and its mores. And he had loved her mother. He’d given up status and position to be with her.

Rosa smiled at the memories flooding in. He’d also been terribly unorganised, though he had the best of intentions. Without Mother to remind him, perhaps he’d simply forgotten, not his daughters, but the administrative part of making a will. Otherwise why hadn’t one been found?

It must be the answer.

Nevertheless, she could not stop herself from looking through the drawers one more time. First the right-hand side, and then the left, pulling them out and turning them over in case something had fallen behind and got caught. Finally her fingers hovered beside the secret compartment.

Breath held, she sprang the latch.

Nothing.

No matter how she peered into the little dark space, or ran her fingers around it, there really was nothing in there.

Heavy steps alerted her to the trunk’s passage up the stairs. She snapped the compartment shut and hurried out to see to its placement. She almost collided with the butler, who was coming in. His face was harried. ‘Lady Stanford is here.’

She looked at him blankly.

‘His lordship’s mother,’ the butler explained.

He’d never mentioned his mother, had he? She’d assumed his parents weren’t living, if she’d thought about them at all. Why had he never mentioned her? And why was she here? Her heart sank. Was she here to take a look at her future daughter-in-law? Oh, where was Garth?

The butler’s grim expression made her heart sink even lower. ‘What is wrong?’

‘His lordship doesn’t usually see her, but she—’

‘No need to show me in,’ a quavering voice said. ‘I can find my own way.’

The butler groaned under his breath.

What on earth? ‘It is all right, of course I will see her.’

‘Shall I bring tea?’ the butler asked.

Rosa smiled. ‘Please.’

The butler dodged around the lady who had reached the top of the stairs. Rosa dipped a curtsy. ‘Lady Stanford. Please, do come in.’

Her future mother-in-law swept by Rosa and ensconced herself in the chair by the hearth in a rustle of pale blue silk and a flutter of her handkerchief. It was the chair one would usually expect the hostess to occupy. But then Rosa wasn’t a hostess. She wasn’t anything. Yet.

‘Is it true? Are you marrying my son?’ the widow said.

Rosa tried a tentative smile. ‘Yes. We are betrothed.’

‘Hmmph.’ The pale blue eyes raked her from head to heel. Her lips pursed. ‘Who are you?’

A fair question, if a little rude. ‘My name is Rosabella Cavendish.’

‘Please tell me there is no truth to the rumour, Miss Cavendish.’

‘Rumour?’

She patted her handkerchief to her lips as if the next words might soil them. ‘Someone said you were an opera dancer.’

Oh, dear. Someone had let the proverbial cat out of a bag, and from the look on his mother’s face she hated cats.

‘I did have a part in an opera, yes, but—’

The widow gasped. ‘What is Garth thinking? He was probably drunk. Let me give you some money to leave him be.’

Anger blazed like molten metal in Rosa’s veins. Her spine grew so stiff it felt like steel. Yet she couldn’t blame Garth’s mother for feeling this way. ‘Didn’t he tell you about me?’ Surely, it was the first thing he should have done, instead of letting her hear the news by way of gossip?

The handkerchief, a scrap of Mechlin lace, dabbed at her cheeks, though there wasn’t a glint of tears in those sharp blue eyes. ‘Garth never tells me anything.’

What was going on here? ‘I will have him call on you right away.’

‘But why are you living here? Who are your parents? This is all very irregular.’

Oh, dear, this really was not a good beginning. ‘It is up to Garth to explain.’

The dowager glanced around the room. ‘Making changes already, I see,’ she said, pointing at the writing desk. ‘The cabinet that was there contained very valuable pieces of china all bought by my dear late husband.’

She forced a conciliatory smile. ‘And they now hold pride of place in the downstairs drawing room used for guests, instead of up here where they are rarely viewed. Nothing else has changed.’

The frantic waving of the handkerchief ceased as the butler entered with the tea tray. He shot Rosa a wary glance.

What now?

‘His lordship is on his way up, ma’am.’

Why look so worried? This was a rescue.

‘Thank you.’

Garth sauntered in a moment later, still dressed for riding. ‘Mother. That was indeed your broomstick I saw outside the door. What brings you to my den of iniquity?’

Rosa almost choked on her mouthful of tea. Never had she heard such rudeness.

‘Riding dress in the drawing room, Garth. I thought I taught you better.’ His mother sniffed into her handkerchief as if she could smell dung on his boots.

They were immaculate. He’d cleaned them before coming inside. Or changed into a different pair.

Garth flung himself down on the sofa beside Rosa and propped one heel on the table. ‘What does bring you here, Mother dear?’

‘I heard ridiculous gossip.’ She cast an eye at Rosa. ‘About a possible wedding.’

Garth’s eyes narrowed dangerously. ‘You heard correctly. It’s on Wednesday.’

‘Am I not invited?’

‘Tea, Stanford?’ Rosa said, hoping to calm what looked like a coming storm.

‘I prefer brandy.’ He dropped his heels with a loud thud, lounged to his feet and strolled to the cabinet beside the door.

‘Brandy at this hour of the day!’ his mother said. The handkerchief danced at the end of her languid fingers. ‘It isn’t good for you.’

‘At this hour or any other hour, should I choose,’ he drawled, pouring a drink. ‘Would you like some in your tea, darling?’ He looked at Rosa.

Was he trying to make his mother think she was some sort of doxy? ‘No, thank you.’

What on earth was going on? Hatred writhed through the room like a noxious gas. Rosa wanted to fling open the widow and take a deep breath of smoky London air. Or, better yet, run far away.

They were family. They acted like enemies.

Garth brought his drink back to the sofa with him and sprawled beside her, his legs stretched out, at perfect ease, one arm along the sofa back behind her. He looked rakish and dangerous. Like a wild animal poked with a stick daring someone to put a finger in its mouth.

‘Get to the point, Mother dear.’ The chill in his voice sent a shiver down Rosa’s spine.

Lady Stanford shifted in her seat. Her eyes misted. ‘I can’t believe you didn’t tell me. Nevertheless, I am happy to offer my assistance to your bride. There are things she needs to know about our proud family history. About what it means to be an Evernden.’

‘Ah,’ Garth murmured. ‘The proud family name.’ He turned towards Rosa. ‘My younger brother married the Duke of Hastings’s daughter. I, on the other hand, am the black sheep of the family.’ He laughed bitterly.

‘Your brother made a brilliant match. I always hoped the same for you.’

‘Did you?’ Garth said with a feral smile.

The dowager probably didn’t put Rosa in her category of a brilliant match. Rosa couldn’t blame her. As she handed the cup to the widow, it rattled in the saucer.

He turned his dark gaze on her. ‘Don’t be alarmed, darling. This is an old conversation, isn’t it, Mother?’

The handkerchief waved like a flag in a stiff breeze. ‘Please, Garth, don’t be…so cruel. I simply came to find out if the rumours were true. That you were marrying an—’

‘Opera singer,’ he said in a purr.

Rosa had had enough. ‘Really, Garth. I must protest. I have no idea why you are taunting your mother this way. Yes, I have performed in an opera, but I am Lord Pelham’s legitimate granddaughter.’

‘Bravo,’ Garth murmured in her ear. His fingers stroked her nape and played with the tendrils of hair that had escaped her pins. Another shiver ripped across her skin. Not cold this time. Desire. Lust flooded her body with heat. As angry as she felt, her body responded instantly to his wicked breath and seductive touch. She fought the urge to snuggle closer.

The handkerchief collapsed on the widow’s lap. ‘Pelham?’ Her reproachful gaze turned on her son. ‘The daughter of a man cast out by society? Did you give no thought to Christopher’s position?’ His mother’s voice rose to a wail.

‘I think about his position every damned day,’ Garth said.

Rosa flinched at the venom in his voice. She wasn’t sure which of them was the worst. They seemed to take delight in flinging poisoned darts at each other. No. Garth was worse. He should be trying to reassure his mother, not tear her to shreds.

‘What would your father have said?’ Lady Stanford quavered.

Garth curled his lip. ‘We will never know, will we?’ He rose and held out his hand. ‘Come, let me escort you to your carriage.’ He took the half-full cup from her hand, set it down and bodily pulled her from the chair.

‘Garth!’ Rosa gasped as he physically pushed his mother from the room and towards the stairs.

Disbelieving, Rosa ran after them. ‘Garth, stop it.’

‘Stay out of this, Rosa,’ Garth flung over his shoulder.

‘Why are you being so rude?’ his mother asked as he hustled her down the stairs.

‘You know why.’

She stopped and turned around. ‘You know I only want what is best for you.’

He smiled grimly. ‘You only want what is best for you.’ He gestured for her to continue down the stairs. Rosa had the feeling if his mother didn’t go, he would pick her up and carry her out, he looked so angry.

‘Is she expecting a child?’ the widow said in a loud whisper while waiting for the front door to be opened.

‘I don’t know.’

‘Oh, Garth. You said you wouldn’t have children. You told me after Christopher left—’

‘Enough!’ he roared, then lowered his voice. ‘I will deal with the problem of a child, if it arises. Now go.’

He hadn’t wanted children? A dart made of ice pierced Rosa’s heart. It seemed to stop beating. Her hands went to her stomach.

Rosa turned tail and ran up the stairs. She ran into the bedroom and closed the door, fumbling at the lock. No key. She darted into the dressing room. This door had a bolt. She drew it across and collapsed to her knees on the rug.

What did that mean, he’d deal with it? The way he’d dealt with his mother was positively cruel. Would he deal with a child the same way? How had she allowed herself to be so misled? His handsome face and charming ways hid a heart of stone.

How long would it be before he treated her equally coldly? And their child? And how would she bear it?

Tears ran down her face as she slowly opened the lid. She pulled out the flimsiest of costumes and held it to her face, inhaling the faint scent of jasmine her mother always wore.

‘What have I done?’