Wicked (17 page)

“All right.” Rose forced herself to seem calm and wise. “I have many pieces of advice for you.”

“I figured you would!”

“First, I don’t believe you should spend any time with Mr. Drake.”

Veronica frowned. “Why not? He’s like a big brother to me.”

“Yes, but you mentioned how you’ve grown. You’re not a child anymore.”

“I’m so glad I’m not!”

“You need to be more careful. You need to guard your reputation.”

“Well, that’s silly. How could I harm my reputation by chatting with a man I’ve known for most of my life?”

“It’s just”—Rose paused, struggling to locate the proper words—“different once you’re older. You can’t carry on as you did when you were younger.”

“And what about James? How can I learn what he’s thinking?”

If Rose had had a thousand years to ponder, she couldn’t picture Veronica and James together, and she hated to crush the girl’s romantic fantasy. But honestly!

“You probably shouldn’t count on Mr. Talbot.”

“Why not? Mr. Drake was very clear.”

“Yes, but has Mr. Talbot shown any inclination toward you that’s changed?”

Veronica thought and thought, then admitted, “No.”

“Then you must be patient. If his fondness blossoms, you’ll know immediately.”

“I can’t bear any delay! I want it to occur very fast, so I can marry and move to London with him.”

“My! What a grand plan.”

“I don’t belong in this stupid town. Neither does James. He’s the perfect husband for me.”

“It’s fun to dream, isn’t it?”

“It’s no dream,” Veronica firmly stated. “It’s meant to be. It’s simply a matter of time before it all works out.”

“I hope you’re right,” Rose lied.

Up on the verandah, the door opened, and James stepped outside.

Veronica gasped and murmured, “He saw I was here! He came out to speak with me!”

Rose bit down another caustic reply.
He came to see me. Me! Not you!

Yet she couldn’t say so aloud, and after her conversation with Veronica, she wasn’t sure of anything.

Was James smitten with Veronica? Could he be announcing his affection for Veronica to his friend, while dabbling with Rose in the dark of night? Was he that crass? That cold-hearted?

Rose hadn’t a clue how to judge his true feelings.

Veronica grinned and patted her hair. “How do I look?”

“Very fetching,” Rose said.

“I’m certain he’ll notice. Don’t you think he’ll notice?”

Veronica drew away from Rose and raced up the stairs to where James was waiting for one of them, but
which
one, Rose wouldn’t try to guess.

* * * *

James sneaked down the hall to Rose’s bedchamber. It was late, and he’d hardly seen her all day. There’d been just the brief encounter out on the verandah when she’d finished her walk with Veronica.

He’d told himself to leave her be, to ride off and find his own amusement with Lucas, but in the end, he’d hurried out. But of course, Veronica had blustered up first, had filled the moment with her inane chatter.

Rose had offered a quick hello, then disappeared before he could be shed of Veronica. He hadn’t been able to stumble on Rose after that, and for supper, she and Stanley had gone visiting. So he’d eaten with Lucas, and much as he enjoyed Lucas’s company, he’d kept glancing out the window, watching for Rose to return.

When they’d finally rolled in, he’d been in a rear parlor playing cards, so he’d missed her arrival, and she’d headed straight to her room.

He’d headed to bed too, but as he planned to depart in the morning, the notion of going without spending a few private minutes with her was extremely disconcerting.

He tiptoed to her door, the glow of the moon lighting his way. He spun the knob, expecting to slip inside as he had in the past. To his consternation, it was locked.

He knocked very quietly and whispered, “Rose?”

With bated breath, he listened for a reply, for the sound of a footstep, but her room was completely silent.

“Rose?” he whispered again to no avail.

Forlorn and hideously disappointed, he dawdled, wishing she’d answer. Fleetingly, he considered climbing the secret stairs to her dressing room, but he swiftly discounted the idea.

Obviously, she was sending a clear message that she wasn’t interested in a meeting, and he wasn’t such a boor that he’d continue to thrust himself on her. He’d believed their flirtation the prior night had been wonderful, that it had shifted their relationship to a thrilling level, but evidently, she had a different opinion.

He wasn’t an idiot that would tilt at windmills.

Let her have her month at Summerfield. Let her socialize and mingle with Stanley and his neighbors. Let her have some pleasant days on her own—before life dragged her away on a new and likely dreary path.

What was it to him if they didn’t have a last evening together? What was it to him if he left without a goodbye?

Still, as he whirled and crept away, he felt as if his heart was breaking.

“This is much better than what you originally planned.”

“What plan was that?”

James glared at Lucas, struggling to focus on his friend, but he was too distracted by Rose. They were in the main parlor, the furniture shoved back for dancing. A neighbor girl was playing the harpsichord, her sister the violin.

Couples were promenading down the floor, Rose included. Every man in the county seemed to have partnered with her—except for James—and he was disgusted to find himself feeling extremely jealous.

“We were riding to London this morning,” Lucas said. “You insisted we were leaving.”

“Yes, well, Stanley practically chained me to the fence so I couldn’t go.”

“Last night, I asked if Stanley was ill. Now I’m wondering if it isn’t you who’s sick.”

“Why?”

“Ever since we arrived at Summerfield, you’ve been leashed to him like a trained puppy. It’s so unlike you.”

“I know.”

“When you get along with him, it spoils all my fun.”

“I’ll try harder to aggravate him.”

“Please do. I don’t like it when things change. If you and Stanley became chums, I’d worry that the world was ending.”

“Trust me, Stanley and I will never be chums.”

“I certainly hope not. My poor heart couldn’t stand the strain.”

The music stopped, the couples rearranging as the violinist called out the next tune.

“It’s my turn with Miss Ralston.” Lucas grinned and hurried off to claim his dance.

James was forced to observe as Rose was whirled across the room. She was in fine spirits, laughing as Lucas chattered away. Even though she’d declared she didn’t like Lucas, she definitely appeared to, and James couldn’t figure out why he hadn’t marched over and claimed his own dance.

Pride was preventing him. Nerves too.

If he danced with her, he wouldn’t be able to hide his fascination. Summerfield was a small community, where people gossiped constantly. They would detect his budding attraction—and would be curious as to what it portended. She was supposed to be at Summerfield to marry Stanley, so they’d speculate, and James liked her too much to damage her reputation.

Since she’d come downstairs for the party, he’d barely spoken to her, and it was growing more and more difficult to stay away.

That morning, he’d risen early and had been eating breakfast, intent on having a filling meal, then packing his bags. But Stanley had rushed into the dining room and announced that he’d been summoned to London on emergency business.

He’d already organized several suppers for Rose, and he hadn’t wanted to cancel them. He’d all but begged James to host the events while he was in the city.

Like the fool he clearly was, James had immediately relented, which meant he was trapped at Summerfield—with Rose available and Stanley gone—for at least a week.

With James and Lucas on the premises, Rose had needed a chaperone, so Stanley had asked an elderly, mostly deaf neighbor to play the part. She was dozing in the corner and no barrier at all to any misbehavior.

James and Rose would be in frequent contact, thrust together over and over with too many chances to learn how much they liked each other outside the private confines of her bedchamber.

Stanley’s ploy was easy to decipher. He was hoping to lure James back into their bargain, was hoping unfettered proximity to Rose would spur James’s lusty instincts so he’d seduce her even though he’d decided he wouldn’t.

Stanley had completely manipulated James yet again, and James could never understand why he succumbed to Stanley’s exploitation. James viewed himself as a very obstinate person. Only Stanley got his way with James.

Lucas and Rose were in the line—Lucas flirting, Rose smiling—and James couldn’t bear to watch them.

He slid through the verandah doors and had just moved into the shadows when Veronica hustled in from the garden. She didn’t notice him, but dashed up the stairs to join the festivities.

As she passed, he nearly called out to her. She and Oscar hadn’t been invited to the party, so she must have sneaked out of the rectory after Oscar went to bed, and James was conflicted over what his role should be in the situation.

She shouldn’t be creeping around in the dark, but he was fully aware of what a nightmare it must be to live under Oscar’s pious thumb. James would have fled too.

At the same juncture, James was in charge while Stanley was away, and he was sort of an older brother to Veronica. Should he say something to her? Should he have a servant take her home?

He would never cause a scene or act like an enraged father figure, and Veronica wouldn’t appreciate any lectures. She received too many of them from Oscar.

In the end, he simply kept on into the garden. He’d tell Stanley when Stanley was back. Stanley could decide what should be done.

He strolled to the pond, the noises of the party dimming, but he could see the house lit from all the candles that were burning.

He’d always loved the spot. From his vantage point, the residence looked like a fairy’s castle. As a boy, he’d stared at the mansion and invented stories about it, that it was enchanted, that he was a lost prince released from a wicked spell and brought home to where he belonged. It was an orphan’s fantasy, but that didn’t make it any less potent.

He dawdled forever, until finally, the dancing stopped, the buffet being served. Shortly, Lucas was pounding away on the harpsichord, singing a bawdy song. James smiled on hearing him.

Despite his friend’s lazy insouciance, he was an accomplished keyboardist and had somehow managed to focus long enough for someone to teach him how to play really, really well. Plus, he relished being the center of attention and sitting at the bench while others cheered him on.

Suddenly, Rose came out onto the verandah, having snuck away from Lucas’s performance. She leaned against the balustrade, cooling her face with a painted fan.

She was wearing another new dress, a blue one this time, with a matching blue feather in her hair. The fan was blue too, as if it had been specifically selected to complement the gown.

Stanley must have bought the clothes for her. There was no other explanation, and James was bothered by the purchases because the transformation disturbed him. Each time he saw her, she was more attractive, and he was more smitten.

She gazed at the pond, as if she’d missed him and knew exactly where he’d be. Like a besotted swain, his pulse raced, and he started toward her. At the same moment, she walked into the garden, proceeding directly to him. He halted, waiting for her to round a corner.

“I’m here,” he murmured as her footsteps approached.

“James?” she said.

“Yes.”

For an instant, she froze, as if uncertain of her welcome, then he reached for her and she flew into his arms. He captured her lips in a torrid kiss, being thrilled to find that he hadn’t miscalculated. When she’d realized he’d left the house, she’d had to learn why. They were alarmingly close in their sentiments.

The kiss went on and on, and she joyfully participated until he tried to let down her hair. It was only then that she clasped his wrists to stop him.

“You can’t take down my hair,” she scolded. “My poor maid wasted an hour pinning it up. If you tug on any of the combs, the entire thing will fall, and I won’t be able to return to the party.”

“To hell with the party.”

“James! Cursing! My goodness.”

“Let’s sneak up to your room.”

“Absolutely not. It’s probably already been noticed that we’re both missing. We can’t encourage gossip.”

“No, we shouldn’t.”

She was snuggled to his chest, her shapely breasts flattened to his chest. The position rattled him, goaded him to misbehave.

“Why haven’t you danced with me?” she asked.

“I couldn’t. I was afraid I’d stare at you like a love-sick boy.”

She scoffed. “You’re being absurd.”

“Yes, I am. I can’t deny it.”

“Why did you leave the party? I looked around and you weren’t there.”

“I couldn’t stay inside. I was wild with jealousy, watching you with everyone else.”

“You were not.”

“You locked your door,” he grumpily accused.

“When?”

“Last night.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

She paused for an eternity, finally answering with, “What is your relationship to Veronica?”

“Veronica!”

“Yes. She’s quite smitten by you. Do you return her affection?”

“Gad, no.”

She studied his eyes. “I don’t know you well enough to decide if you’re being honest with me.”

“Is that why you locked me out? You saw me talking to her on the verandah and you assumed we were involved?”

“She’s expecting you to propose.”

“Propose! The girl is insane.”

“So I barred my door, but it wasn’t actually over Veronica.”

“What then?”

“You can’t continue visiting me. I’m not even sure why I’m out here. It’s so wrong, but I can’t help myself.”

“I can’t, either.”

“It’s like there’s a madness brewing in me.”

He completely agreed, but didn’t admit it. He kissed her again, more slowly, letting the passion build. She aroused him in incalculable ways, and it wasn’t healthy to be so titillated.