A Midsummer's Kiss (Farthingale Series Book 4) (29 page)

Rose was still blushing. “In a most unusual way.” She pointed to her foot. “Your brother rescued me. My work table fell on my leg.”

“But I heard a blast. It couldn’t have been just the table toppling. What happened? And you both have soot on your faces and all over your clothes.”

Rose nodded. “Someone sabotaged my kiln.”

“Oh, dear! You said this pottery business was run by scurrilous knaves. I never dreamed they’d behave so badly. Rolf, you might have been killed!”

“They only meant to destroy the kiln,” Rose said with a stubborn set to her jaw and a passionate blaze in her eyes. “But they won’t stop me.”

Julian groaned inwardly. The girl was beautiful and strong-willed, a great combination if one were seeking a debauched night of… but never with Rolf. No, indeed. Not with her. “What makes you believe these knaves are done with you? Assuming this was more than a mere accident.”

“I can assure you, I am always careful with my kiln. It was no accident.” The swirls of blue in her eyes glowed as brightly as gemstones.

Julian frowned. He was already caught up in a mission and didn’t have time to protect Rose, but he wasn’t about to turn his back on her if she was in danger. “What if they try again? If what you say is true, I can’t imagine your parents allowing you to continue this enterprise.” He glanced at the twins. “Think of your sisters, if not yourself. They might have been standing near the kiln or by the door as it blew off its hinges.”

Her mouth was drawn in a taut, thin line. “Are you through lecturing me?”

“Not nearly through.” After all, he’d earned the right to speak his mind by pulling her out of the rubble, hadn’t he? “What of your season? It’s hardly underway and you’re already hurt. I’m sure your parents put a lot of time and effort into launching you into society. They’d much rather see you married than injured… or worse.”

Nicola was nodding as he spoke, a rare moment when he and his sister agreed on something. “My brother’s right, Rolf. You can’t put your life at risk for the sake of a dish or vase, no matter how beautiful. We’re in our debut season. We promised to get through it together, so you ought to be thinking of balls and courtship and handsome, eligible bachelors… like Julian for example.”

He glowered at his sister. “But not me.”

Rose’s eyes rounded and she blushed in obvious embarrassment. “Of course not, Lord Emory. I wouldn’t presume. I’m most grateful for your assistance and promise to be more careful. You’re right, of course. It galls me to have them win, but I suppose they have for the moment. My family will be relieved. As you said, they brought us to London in the hope we’d find suitable husbands.” She glanced at her ankle and then looked up and cast him a wan smile. “There’ll be no dancing for me for a while. In truth, I was never very good at it anyway.”

Perhaps he’d been a little too stern with her. “I’m sure you’re an excellent dancer. I’ll claim the first waltz once you’ve healed.”
Oh, hell.
He shouldn’t have said that. Now Nicola will think her matchmaking scheme had worked, when nothing was further from the truth.

Rose shook her head and laughed lightly. “Prepare to have your toes stepped on, my lord.”

He winked at her and grinned. “I’ll wear my thickest boots.”

* * *

Rose didn’t mean to be unappreciative, but she sorely wished Lord Emory would leave before he lifted her into his arms again and insisted on carrying her into the house. She’d rather manage on her own, even though her ankle was sore. It wasn’t broken, and Lord Emory had not given ground on tending it, so he’d put a cold compress on it and then bound it with the bandages Pruitt retrieved from her uncle’s quarters. Her ankle was in as good a shape as could be expected. Even Uncle George would commend him on the admirable job he’d done.

In truth, Lord Emory had taken excellent care of her, his medical knowledge obviously learned in the midst of battle, which only made her like him all the more for the attentive care he’d obviously given the soldiers under his charge. He was smart and brave, and now that he’d wiped the grime off his face she could see that he was irresistibly handsome. His dark blond hair fell in thick waves almost to his shoulders, and his dark green eyes made her melt a little each time they crinkled at the corners when he smiled.

He was muscled, too. She’d felt the sinewed ripple along his arms when he’d carried her earlier. His broad, muscled shoulders were clearly outlined beneath his white lawn shirt because his jacket was ruined and he couldn’t put it back on. “Our Uncle George is a doctor. He’ll properly tend to my ankle when the family returns. You needn’t wait around for them. I’ll manage quite well with the help of my sisters and our staff.”

He smiled at her again, making her melt. It was a miracle she hadn’t turned into a complete puddle by now. Nicola had been right about her brother. He was charming, but Rose knew better than to mistake his politeness for anything more. “Are you that eager to be rid of me, Miss Farthingale?”

Lord Emory was experienced and sophisticated, and he knew how to go about in society. He ran with a fast crowd. Despite the unusual manner in which they’d met, she was ordinary in every respect and he probably considered her excessively boring. “Not at all, my lord. I have no wish to be rid of you. After all, you saved me, and for that you’ll always be welcome in the Farthingale home. But I suspect you’ve reached your limit of polite conversation and are eager to be on your way.”

“Do I look as though I’m eager to be anywhere but here?” He was still smiling and she was still melting.
Drip, drip, drip.
Her little puddle would soon be a pond. With ducks swimming in it. And a swan or two gliding across it.

She cleared her throat. “Well, no. But you must find my conversation quite dull. You’re too polite to show it.”

The twins weren’t nearly as polite. Having gobbled their ginger cakes, they sat fidgeting and bored until Rose took pity on them and gave them permission to return to the house. As they rose along with their governesses, Lord Emory also got to his feet. “Lily,” he said with quiet authority, holding her back as the others walked ahead, “I’m curious about your stash of explosives. How did you come by it? May I see it?”

She nodded. “I found a small pouch when we’d all gone down to see Uncle Harrison’s regiment ship off for France last week. I tried to return it once I realized what it contained, but everyone was too busy to pay me any notice. So I brought it home. It’s hidden under my bed.”

“Under your…” Lord Emory’s eyes rounded and his mouth gaped open for an instant before he seemed to recover. “I’m good friends with the regimental commander. Will you permit me to return it to him?”

If Rose could have jumped to her feet and hugged him, she would have done so. “An excellent idea, my lord. This is the perfect solution, and it can all be done quietly.”

Lily frowned. “Shouldn’t I tell Papa? I’ve been meaning to show it to him, but he and Mama are always so busy lately, I can’t seem to get their attention.”

“We’ll figure it out afterward. Bring Lord Emory the pouch.” Rose shook her head and released a groaning laugh as Lily skipped off. “Brilliantly done, Lord Emory. Thank you.”

He chuckled. “And now, what were you saying about my being bored? Because I don’t believe I’ve ever spent a more unusual afternoon.”

“You’re right, of course. I only meant that you don’t strike me as a tea and cakes sort of gentleman.”

“Is that the only reason you want me gone?” He arched an eyebrow, looking impossibly irreverent. “Or are you worried that I’ll give your parents an accurate account of what happened today?”

Well, perhaps there was a little of that. “My ankle is bound, my gown is covered in soot, and the kiln is damaged. I think they’ll suspect all is not as it should be. If you’re worried that I’ll understate the danger, rest assured the twins will not overlook a single detail. They’ll probably embellish the story and have you dueling a marauding pirate or two at some point in their retelling.”

He ran a hand through his hair and laughed. “I like your sisters, even though my eyes still cross whenever they stand together.”

“Rolf has two more sisters,” Nicola said, her own grin wide and her eyes revealing her triumphant joy in finally getting her and Lord Emory to meet. “The twins are the youngest, but there’s also Laurel and Daisy. Laurel will make her debut next year and Daisy the following year.”

“You all have floral names except for Dillie,” he noted, nodding as Rose offered him more tea. He really was being quite attentive and polite, not at all impatient as Nicola had described him.

“Her real name is Daffodil, but she’s not very fond of being called that. Yes, we’re all named after flowers, although our parents sometimes think they ought to have named us Nettle, or Thorn, or Bramblebush. We vex them at times.”

He was smiling at her again in a charmingly seductive way that tempted her to rethink her decision to hobble into the house on her own. Why was it so important? Couldn’t she pretend to be a delicate female in distress and feign endless gratitude when he lifted her into his manly arms and carried her inside?

The wind began to pick up and the white clouds suddenly turned gray, obscuring the sun. Lord Emory glanced up as well. The wind ruffled his blond locks, brushing them back to accentuate the strong angles of his cheekbones and firm jaw. “Looks like our run of good weather has come to an end. Miss Farthingale, let me help you into your home before the rain pours down and turns the dirt on our clothes to mud.”

Pruitt must have also noticed the sudden change in the weather. He hurried out with two footmen to clear away the tea and linens. “May I help you, Miss Rose?”

Lord Emory moved possessively close. “I’ll take care of her, Pruitt. See to the tables.”

Rose regarded him curiously. Nicola wished for a match between them and had never been subtle in her desire, but Lord Emory’s name was already linked to a recently widowed countess, a renowned beauty who traveled in his fast set. He was reportedly infatuated with her, if one were to believe the gossip rags, although he didn’t seem to be the sort to be led about by the nose by any woman.

But what did she know about men? Or love?

Nothing, obviously. Her senses were still addled, for Lord Emory appeared to be interested in her beyond a casual concern for her injured ankle. It couldn’t be so.

Shaking her head, Rose stood and carefully tested her injury by putting delicate weight on her foot. “Crumpets!” She winced as a lightning bolt of pain tore upward from her swollen toes and straight into her temples. “Very well, I’d be grateful for your help. I’ll never make it into the house on my own without falling flat on my face.” Her ankle was already throbbing and she had yet to take a single step.

He seemed relieved that she made no protest, but at the same time, his body tensed the moment he lifted her into his arms. Had she said or done something to displease him?

Was she too heavy?

Those ginger cakes were awfully good.

“Where should I set you down?” he asked, striding toward the house with her nestled in his arms as though she were no burden at all.

She pretended to think about the question, for she was in no hurry to respond. She liked the solid feel of his arms and had an artist’s admiration for the firm, masculine contours of his body. “The salon, I think. On one of the stools beside the fireplace.”

“On a stool?” He frowned.

“Our clothes,” she reminded him. “I’d hate to ruin my mother’s new furniture.”

He called to Pruitt to have one of the maids fetch an old sheet and spread it over the sofa.

“At once, m’lord,” he replied without so much as batting an eyelash. Pruitt had been with the Farthingale family long enough never to be surprised by anything that happened in the household.

Rose remained in Lord Emory’s arms until the task was accomplished, all the while itching to run her hands along the breadth of his chest and shoulders. She didn’t think he’d understand the artistic purpose to her touch, but he also had an interesting face and well-formed limbs that merited further study.

She liked the shape of his mouth, but he would mistake her intentions if she lightly ran her finger across it.

He settled her on the sofa and then took a seat beside her. He’d only done so because his clothes were also in bad shape and he couldn’t sit anywhere else without dirtying the expensive fabrics. “Your shirt and jacket are likely beyond repair. Please allow me to pay for any damage.”

His eyes widened in surprise. “No, Miss Farthingale. It isn’t necessary.”

“But—”

“Consider it my punishment for not coming to visit you sooner.”

Her smile faltered. “Punishment? I did bore you to tears. Of course, I did.”

Nicola leaped to her defense. “Rolf, you are delightful as always. Pay no attention to my beast of a brother.”

He let out a soft groan that ended in a seductive growl. Despite her embarrassment, a tingle shot through her as her body responded to that very male, very animal sound.

“I didn’t mean…” He ran a hand through his hair again. “I had a perfectly acceptable time with you, Miss Farthingale. The visit is not a punishment at all. Indeed, I plan to call on you tomorrow if you will allow it.”

Nicola’s eyes rounded in surprise and Rose could see that her friend was almost squealing with joy. She would have been excited too, but his meaning was obvious. He took no pleasure in seeing her. He only meant to stop by to ensure that his medical attention had done the trick and perhaps to take that pouch from Lily since she had yet to return with it. Lily was easily distracted and no doubt lost by now reading one of her science books. “Lord Emory, you and your sister are always welcome here. But it isn’t necessary. As I mentioned, my uncle is one of the most capable doctors in London. I’ll receive the best care possible.”

He nodded. “Then that settles it.”

Rose nibbled her lower lip to stem her disappointment.
Fool! He offered to visit and you rebuffed him!

What was wrong with her? She’d enjoyed his company and now he would never call on her again. Perhaps it was for the best. She liked him.