A Midsummer's Kiss (Farthingale Series Book 4) (28 page)

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Dear Reader,

Thank you for reading
A Midsummer’s Kiss
. Sometimes love happens at the most unexpected times and in the most unexpected places. Sometimes it quietly sneaks up on you, and sometimes it knocks you over on a London street, just as it happened to Graelem Dayne when meeting Laurel Farthingale in a most unusual way. Laurel’s horse ran him over and broke his leg. Add the pressure of Graelem having to find the perfect wife in a mere thirty days or lose a large inheritance, and you have Laurel and Graelem’s story. To Graelem, finding the right bride seems an impossible task until he sets his fuzzy gaze on Laurel. But Laurel has other plans and isn’t so eager to give her heart to this handsome stranger. Farthingales marry for love and Laurel will settle for no less. Only by treasuring Laurel’s heart above a baronial fortune will Graelem stand any chance of gaining it all.

Book 5 in the Farthingale Series is
The Viscount’s Rose
, the prequel to
A Midsummer’s Kiss
,
Rules For Reforming A Rake
,
The Duke I’m Going To Marry
, and
My Fair Lily
. Yes, I’m finding that I think best backwards, especially with this Farthingale Series. The sisters have decided the order of these books, and I am helpless to do anything but obey. So, next is Rose’s story, and if you think the course of Rose and Julian’s courtship runs smoothly, think again. Their first meeting is explosive, literally, and then the two of them are abducted. Julian blames himself for putting Rose in danger and vows to do all in his power to keep her safe until they are rescued or can escape. But Rose isn’t as innocent in this abduction scheme as he believes and can’t risk Julian ever finding out. I can’t wait for you to meet Rose and Julian, and I hope you enjoy their bumpy path to love. Read on for a sneak peek at Rose’s story, the fifth in the FARTHINGALE SERIES due in early summer 2016.

SNEAK PEEK

The Viscount’s Rose

by Meara Platt

Mayfair District, London

June 1813

“JULIAN,
PLEASE.
I wish you’d meet Rolf.”

“Not today, Nicola.” Lord Julian Emory, the tenth Viscount Chatham, stifled a groan as he assisted his sister down from his carriage in front of Number 3 Chipping Way, the stately residence of her best friend… whose name he couldn’t recall at the moment. Nicola always referred to her friend as Rolf. Who gave a young lady that sort of pet name anyway? It was the sort one gave to a dog.

Nicola frowned at him. “She’s wonderful and so much more interesting than any debutante making her come out this season. Much nicer than those supposedly elegant ladies you keep company with. Please come in with me, Julian.”

He was about to decline, as he had every day this past week, when a small explosion suddenly rocked the quiet street. “Nicola, get back in the carriage. Now!”

“But Rolf— Ack!”

He tossed his sister into the carriage, ordered his coachman to drive a safe distance away, and then leaped the gate, for he’d heard several high-pitched cries for help coming from the garden of the very townhouse his sister was about to visit. He ran toward the screams and noticed a small funnel of black smoke rising from a makeshift structure in the far corner of the garden.

Two young girls were being held back by two older women, but the girls were obviously struggling to break free and run toward the danger. He couldn’t allow that to happen. “Is anyone in there?” he demanded to know, removing his jacket and intending to use it to smother any spreading flames, although the fire appeared to be contained.

“Our sister’s in there,” one of the girls replied, gazing at him through tearful blue eyes.

“Her kiln exploded,” the other girl said, gazing at him through identical blue eyes. Had his vision suddenly blurred? He was seeing identical faces.

No matter, he’d sort it all out once he’d rescued their sister.

Julian placed his jacket protectively over his nose and mouth, dropped to a crouch, and nudged open the door that had almost blown off but was still hanging on one hinge. The black funnel of smoke quickly dissipated as it wafted outside, which meant the fire had burned itself out. He had only to find the sister.

Don’t let her be dead or injured.

He’d engaged in enough battles on the Peninsula to understand the damage that wounds caused, leaving not only visible scars but invisible ones as well, the sort that pierced deep under one’s flesh and festered.
Damn.
He didn’t even know the young innocent’s name to call out to her. “Miss? Can you hear me? Where are you?”

His eyes watered and stung as smoke and dust enveloped him. He wasn’t half way into the small enclosure when he heard a soft moan coming from behind an overturned table. The girl was alive, but in what condition? As he approached he saw that her ankle was pinned under the table, so he quickly righted it and then knelt to check for broken bones before he dared move her. With no fire to worry about, the bigger risk to her was a break, a bump on the head, or other unknown internal injury.

He brushed a few stray locks off her forehead and spoke gently, relieved to feel no lumps forming on her brow. “Can you move your fingers?”

“I… I th-think so.” She appeared to do so without much effort.

“Now raise your arms, one at a time.” Again, she managed with little effort. “I’m going to touch your legs, don’t be alarmed.”

“Nothing will alarm me after this,” she said, punctuating each word with a cough. Even so, the gentle amusement in her raspy voice sent an unexpected warmth coursing through his blood. There was a sweet, melodic quality to her voice.

“Good, because I need to make certain you have no spinal damage and then get you out of here before the roof collapses atop us.” He touched her leg. “Can you feel my hand on you?” Because he sure as hell could feel her soft, shapely leg, and that warmth flowing through his blood had just turned fiery.

“Yes, I can.”

He cleared his throat. “I’m going to take off your slippers and I’d like you to wiggle your toes, one foot at a time.”

She winced as she tried to move her injured ankle, which appeared to be the only damage she’d sustained. Of course, she’d inhaled some smoke. That was worrisome, depending on how much she’d taken in. “Put your arms around my neck.”

He lifted her into his arms once she did so and carried her out into the cool, fresh air. She coughed again as her lungs took in the cooler air and—
merciful heavens!
—he felt each heave of her ample breasts against his chest.

Fiery did not begin to describe the heat now raging through his body.

Bloody nuisance.

He didn’t even know her name. “Who are you?” he asked more sternly than intended, but it couldn’t be helped. She was turning him inside out and he didn’t know who she was, nor could he see her clearly because smoke still stung his eyes.

A cool, gusting breeze surrounded them the moment he carried her out. The bright sunshine caused his eyes to tear up worse than they had done inside, but he managed to set her down on the grass under a shade tree without stumbling. He wiped his eyes with his sleeve, which wasn’t the cleverest idea for his sleeves were covered in soot, and now so was his face.

He knelt beside her.

The little girls with identical faces fell to their knees on the opposite side of their sister, excitedly chattering and obviously relieved she was safe and relatively unharmed. “I didn’t hide my box of explosives in your kiln, Rose,” one of them said. “I’d never do anything so foolish.”

What?

He now knew the name of the girl he’d just carried out. But what were her sisters doing with explosives? In elegant Mayfair, no less? He’d question the young girl later, but right now his attention was focused on the one he’d just carried out. He cleared his throat. “Your name is Rose?”

She nodded. “It is, sir. Thank you for saving me. May I ask—” That was as much as her still raspy voice managed before she erupted in a fit of coughing that alarmed the small crowd of servants who must have run out of the house when they heard the explosion and were now gathering around him and Rose.

A tall, older gentleman seemed to be in charge of the worried staff, no doubt the Farthingale family’s head butler.

“Pruitt, she needs something to drink,” one of her sisters said, wringing her small hands together in worry. “And wash cloths to clean the grime off their hands and faces. We mustn’t track soot all over this lovely new house after Mama worked so hard to put it in shape.”

“Right away, Miss Lily.” He sent one of the maids to attend to the chore and then sent two others to the kitchen to bring out refreshments and wash cloths. “Will tea and cakes do for all of you? Sir, shall I send out something a little stronger for you?”

“Tea will do for me.” He needed to keep his wits about him, for he had yet to regain control of his body despite the fact that he was no longer holding Rose.

Pruitt assigned several footmen the task of securing the rubble now that the fire was out and, once assured that Rose was all right, ordered the others back into the house. Only the governesses and Rose’s sisters remained beside them. “I’m Dillie,” one of the girls said, smiling at him. “This is my twin, Lily.”

He grinned. “I guessed as much. Identical blue eyes and dark hair. Identical faces.” Same thin, gangly bodies. “Lord Julian Emory, at your service.”

“Emory? As in Viscount Chatham? Lady Nicola’s brother?” Rose attempted to raise herself to a sitting position, but the movement caused her to cough again.

Alarmed when the coughs suddenly mingled with wheezes, he drew her into his arms and placed a hand on her chest to feel her heart and lungs. Her heart was beating wildly, but not in a haphazard pattern that would signal something more serious than a cough. Her intake of air, despite her wheezing, appeared adequate.

After a frighteningly long moment, she calmed.

Dillie stared at him and then turned to her twin. “Why is his hand still on Rose’s breast?”

“To check her lung capacity, of course.” Lily frowned. “What did you think he was doing?”

“Girls, I’m right here. You can ask me… er, no. Lily just answered the question.” Which didn’t explain why his hand was still on Rose’s breast, or why he was unable to draw it away. “Who is Rolf?”

Perhaps he ought to meet that sister after all. Nicola had been urging the introduction for weeks now. Was the girl anywhere near as beautiful as Rose? Not that he’d actually taken a good look at Rose. No, his body had responded to hers in the dark. Quite another matter by the bright light of day. He finally took his hand off her chest but kept it loosely poised at her waist, for she was still unsteady and trembling from her ordeal.

She needed comforting.

He needed something altogether inappropriate.

Why her? Why now? No matter, his inexplicable bout of lust for the girl would soon pass. Even if it didn’t, he was never going to act upon it. Still, he was curious to study the face attached to that exquisite body. He spared her a glance… more than a glance.

Merciful heavens!

Despite the smudges of soot on Rose’s cheeks and tip of her nose, there was no mistaking her beauty. She had lively blue eyes, a deep ocean blue that glistened with mirth and intelligence. Her hair was a riotous tumble of honey-blonde curls. She had a generous, sensual mouth. “You asked about Rolf,” she said, interrupting the wayward thoughts he should not be having.

He nodded. “Is she your sister?”

Rose’s full lips curled upward in a radiant smile.

Her sisters began to giggle.

Bloody nuisance.

“I’m Rolf. Didn’t Nicola tell you?” Rose shook her head lightly.

Yes, his sister had told him repeatedly, only he hadn’t been listening. His heart slammed into his chest. “You?”

She nodded. “Rose Olivia Lorelei Farthingale. Rolf to my friends.”

“Lorelei, as in the siren who lures men with her irresistible beauty and plaintive song onto the rocks to their watery graves?” He arched an eyebrow.

She managed a soft, still raspy laugh. “At the moment I sound like a bullfrog, and I’ve never lured any man, so I don’t think your siren and I are related in any way.”

“I suppose not.” Clearly, Rose was far more captivating than any mythical creature ever could be. That she was modest about it only added to her allure.
No!
She couldn’t be alluring to him. Not now. He couldn’t afford the distraction.

Rose pursed her lips. “Where’s Nicola? Didn’t she come with you?”

He winced. “I’m afraid I tossed her rather ungently into my carriage when we heard the explosion, and ordered the driver to take her a safe distance from your home.”

“Of course. That was the sensible thing to do, while you ran toward the unknown danger. Nicola’s often spoken of your military service, and I see that her glowing description of your bravery is well deserved.”

“I did no more than anyone else would do.” In truth, he was feeling quite cowardly right now. Rose had him quaking in his boots. Nicola had spoken of her in glowing terms as well, and that description seemed wholly inadequate. He’d braved Napoleon’s army, had spent the last few years on dangerous spy missions within the heart of enemy territory. Surely he could resist Rose’s innocent charms until this latest mission was completed.

He had to.

Pruitt returned with wash cloths and refreshments. He handed Julian a damp cloth and another to Rose, and then set the refreshments out on a nearby table. Obviously this is where Nicola and Rose had planned to sit during their visit, for it was quite pleasant outdoors if one overlooked the lingering wisps of smoke.

One twin grabbed slices of cake and set them out on plates for him and Rose, while the other twin poured lemonade. “Rose, come sit with us.”

Julian reached out to lift Rose into his arms. “Your ankle looks swollen. You had better not walk on it yet. I’ll carry you to your chair.”

Rose became flustered, her cheeks stained a bright pink. “Oh, I’m sure I can manage on my own. You needn’t… oh, dear.” She cried out softly the moment she rose and attempted to put pressure on her ankle. She fell against his chest. “Ouch! It really hurts.”

He wrapped his arms about her and carried her to her seat. “Let me have a better look at that ankle.” He reached out to take it very delicately under his inspection. “It could be broken.” All three sisters and their two governesses gasped as he raised Rose’s gown to examine it.

“I’m sure it isn’t,” Rose insisted and nudged the hem lower.

“And what if I’m right and it is broken?” He frowned at her, although he was more annoyed with himself for desiring to see her ankle for reasons other than medical. He wanted to see a lot more than her ankle. The pale blue muslin gown she wore did little to hide her curves. Even though his eyes still stung, he could see well enough through them to know that she was nicely shaped. “At the very least, it’s badly bruised and must be attended to at once. Why won’t you let me do it?”

“It’s most improper,” she grumbled.

“He’s already touched your breast,” Lily pointed out. The twins were still hovering over them, curious as kittens.

“What?” Apparently, Rose had been too dazed to notice at the time. Her face was no longer pink but crimson. She gazed at him in confusion. Or was it unbridled horror?
Bloody nuisance.
Most women liked having his hands on their breasts. Why should she be any different?

“You were having trouble breathing,” he explained, once again annoyed with himself for wanting her to…
Never mind.
He shouldn’t be thinking about her or her body.
Done.
No longer in his thoughts…
Well, only a little.

Perhaps more than a little.

He was about to insist on attending to her ankle when Nicola entered the garden. Julian frowned. “I thought I told you to wait in the carriage.”

“I was worried about you.” She started to mimic his frown, then saw Rose beside him, and her expression suddenly lightened. She couldn’t stifle her knowing grin. “I see you’ve met Rolf.”