Debra Mullins (15 page)

Rome watched Anna from the other side of the room. The hurt expression on her face had squeezed his heart like a wine grape, but he knew he was doing the right thing by pushing her away. The Black Rose Society was more than a club of duelists that had gotten out of hand; the organization condoned murder for money, which meant
that the men behind it would kill to protect their secret.

He couldn’t allow Anna to put her life in danger.

As Emberly claimed Vin for a dance, Anna slowly made her way back to her mother. Rome ached to wipe the sorrowful look from her face, to take her in his arms and make everything right. But he couldn’t do that.

She wasn’t his woman, and the farther away he stayed, the better it was for both of them.

“Miss Rosewood, I believe I have this dance,” Haverford said.

Anna looked up from her conversation with one of her father’s cronies and smiled at the earl. “I believe you are correct, my lord.” She excused herself from Captain Raymond and took the earl’s proffered arm.

“I trust you are enjoying yourself this evening,” Haverford said, as they took their places for the set.

“It has been most entertaining,” Anna assured him. “I especially like the Grecian theme.”

“Indeed,” the earl replied.

“Hello again!” Charlotte Fellhopper said, taking a place next to them for the minuet. Rome accompanied her, moving to the spot across from Charlotte. His green eyes glittered like cold gemstones, and Anna nearly shivered.

“Miss Fellhopper,” Haverford said with a nod. He slanted a sharp look at Rome. “Cousin.”

“Marc,” Rome acknowledged. His tone utterly bland, he glanced at Anna. “Miss Rosewood.”

The orchestra launched into the minuet before Anna could respond. She stepped into the dance by rote, exquisitely conscious of Rome so close by. He smiled at Charlotte and made her laugh with murmured witticisms while he treated her, Anna, with a disdain she did not understand. What had she done to earn his enmity?

Caught up in her furtive glances at the other couple, she moved into the next pattern of the dance, only to crash into Lord Haverford. “Oh! My apologies, my lord!”

“Nonsense. Entirely my doing.” Haverford recovered himself and fell back into step. He sent a dark look at Charlotte and Rome, then mustered a smile for Anna. “All is well.”

Anna turned in time with the music, passing near enough to Rome to almost touch him. She gritted her teeth and determined not to look at him. Lord Haverford was her concern, and the displeasure she spied on her mother’s face from across the room only drove home that point.

Lord Haverford stepped on her toe. She winced and looked at him, only to see him jerk his gaze away from Rome and Charlotte. “Apologies, Miss Rosewood! I fear I am not a very good dancer.”

Despite her throbbing toe, Anna managed to form her lips into a smile. “No one is good at everything, my lord.”

“Except my cousin.” Haverford sent another look Rome’s way. Rome was moving with Charlotte in perfect time, clearly a superior dancer. “I have been…er…watching him to try and match his steps.”

“I see.” Puzzled, for she had never before observed any problem with the earl’s dancing ability, Anna lapsed into silence. Haverford made no attempt at further conversation and focused on his movements with a single-mindedness that should have flattered her.

How was she supposed to attract a man intent on silence?

By the time the orchestra played the last note, she felt as if she had run for miles. Her heart pounded, and moisture misted her forehead.

Haverford escorted her back to her mother’s side and made a very correct bow, then walked off. Anna watched as Rome did the same with Charlotte, returning her to the company of her brother with a flourish. His duty dispatched, he then headed for the French doors, disappearing through them to the moonlit gardens.

Haverford appeared almost immediately before Charlotte, offering his arm to lead her back to the dance floor as the first strains of the waltz filled the room. The couple took the traditional position, then swept across the floor in a graceful whirl.

“It’s just not fair,” her mother grumbled. “You
should be dancing the waltz with Lord Haverford instead of Miss Fellhopper!”

“We danced the minuet.” She watched the French doors, but Rome did not reappear.

Henrietta sighed. “And his lordship is such an accomplished dancer. I do wish it were you out there, Anna.”

Anna turned her attention to Haverford and Charlotte. Indeed, they moved together as if reading each other’s minds. Never once did the earl stumble or tread on Charlotte’s toes. He swept her around the floor with the grace of a dance master, his face animated as he conversed. Charlotte smiled and listened, her expression rapt.

“Perhaps he only knows the waltz,” Anna mused. “He certainly seems more confident now.”

“I shall see about obtaining permission for you to waltz.” Henrietta snapped open her fan. “By tomorrow, I daresay. If it is the waltz that Lord Haverford wants, then it is the waltz he shall have. With
you
, my girl.”

“Yes, Mama.” Anna caught sight of Lavinia across the room. “Would it be all right if I went to speak with Mrs. Emberly?”

“You should probably remain close by in case his lordship wishes to dance with you again.”

“That is a sensible idea.” She paused, pursing her lips. “Or I could engage his cousin, Mrs. Emberly, in conversation. He is bound to pay his respects to her.”

A crafty smile curved her mother’s lips. “An excellent notion, daughter. Yes, do go speak to our dear friend, Mrs. Emberly. I’m glad to see you are finally taking an interest in your future.”

“I am very interested in the future,” Anna said, then began to make her way to the other side of the room where Lavinia stood. Just as she got there, Mr. Emberly appeared and coaxed his wife to the floor a second time.

Just as well, Anna thought, and slipped through the French doors in pursuit of her real prey.

A
lone with the night, Rome puffed on a slender cheroot he had taken from a hidden pocket. The flavor of the pungent tobacco lingered on his tongue as he blew out the smoke in a slow, steady stream.

He shouldn’t be out here, smoking in the garden. The intimate grottoes were designed for lovers, not for solitary fools like him. Smoking was normally limited to exclusive male venues such as gentlemen’s clubs or a man’s study. It was particularly bad form to be seen smoking in public.

But he didn’t care. He needed to do something to maintain control, and the cheroot had seemed a damned good idea at the time.

He heard the scrape of a shoe behind him. With a
muttered curse, he tossed the cigar into the bushes and turned around, a polite smile on his lips.

The smile vanished when he saw who was there.

“Were you smoking?” Anna asked.

He narrowed his eyes. “What are you doing out here alone?”

“I’m not alone. You’re here. Were you just smoking?” She sniffed the air. “I thought I smelled cigar smoke.”

“Go back inside,” he said, turning away again.

“No.” Her shoes made a soft shuffle as she crossed the stone terrace. “I want to talk to you.”

“I have nothing to say to you.” He went down the stairs and began to follow a flower-lined pathway.

She scurried after him. “You will not escape me so easily, Roman Devereaux.”

“Go back to your mama,” he said over his shoulder.

“I will not.”

He stopped and faced her. She skidded to a halt just in time to avoid crashing into him. “Go. Back. Inside.”

Her lips tightened in mutiny. “No.”

She stood so close, he could smell her scent, even above the fragrance of the flowers surrounding them. He squeezed his eyes shut for an instant as he fought for control. Then he opened them again and looked at her, so soft and beautiful in the moonlight. The shimmering peach silk dress clung
to her every curve, and her skin glowed like rich cream. Her locket glimmered in the moonlight.

“I will speak with you, Rome,” she said, with a stubborn lift of her chin.

The challenge in her stance roused the sleeping beast he kept so tightly leashed. He reached for her, his hands closing on her supple, silk-clad shoulders. A gasp escaped her lips as he dragged her to him, pressing those sweet curves against his greedy body.

He lowered his mouth to her ear. “Don’t you know bad things happen to innocent girls in the dark?”

“You don’t frighten me.” Her voice trembled, as did her body. But when she turned her gaze to his, it was not fear he saw, but passion.

“Damn it, Anna.” He rubbed his cheek against her elegantly arranged curls, the scent of roses making him drunk with wanting her. “Why couldn’t you leave it be?”

“What have I done,” she whispered, “that you would treat me so hatefully?”

“You know what you’ve done.” He straightened, breathing hard. “You made me want you. And I shouldn’t.”

“It was an accident.” She leaned away, resisting his possessive hold. “We agreed to forget that night at Vauxhall, to work together as partners to solve the murders.”

“I cannot be your partner, Anna.” He forced his
fingers to release her. “Not in the way you mean.”

“But why?” She took a step back, putting space between them. “I can’t do this without you.”

“Because it’s dangerous.”

“I don’t care.”

“I do.” He traced her cheek with his thumb. “I don’t want you hurt.”

Her breath caught at his touch. “I won’t get hurt.”

“You might.” He made himself drop his hand and back away. “These are dangerous men. Killers. They must not discover you know of their existence.”

“I’m not a fool.”

He gave a short, harsh laugh. “I am.”

“My brother deserves the truth.”

“You already know what happened.”

“No, I don’t.” She looked like an Amazon queen in the moonlight, her body delicate and her will indomitable. “I have suspicions, but no facts. Anthony was not just my brother but my twin, Rome. A part of him lives in me and cries out for justice.”

“I can’t let anything happen to you. I won’t.”

“For pity’s sake!”

“No, for
your
sake.”

“You said you would help me.” She jutted out her chin, eyes gleaming with ire. “You are breaking your word.”

He shrugged. “Your life is worth that.”

“My life is
nothing
unless I discover the truth.”

“No.” He shook his head. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”

“I’m asking to be treated like a grown woman. Like a business partner.”

He laughed again, the edge of desperation clear even to him. “No man would ever call you a business partner, Anna.” He slanted her a hungry look. “And don’t tempt me to treat you like a grown woman. My control is thin.”

“There is more to this than your passions, Rome. Lives are at stake.”

“My point exactly. Your life is at stake if you remain involved, so I am not giving you the option. Stay away from the Black Rose Society, Anna.”

“I can’t.” Her doelike eyes begged him to understand. “I’m sorry, Rome.”

He saw the determination in her stance, the stubbornness of her mouth. “Damn you.”

She flinched. “This is the way it has to be.”

“This is not the way it has to be! I doubt your brother would want you to endanger your life to help him.”

She paled. “That may be so, but he was a part of me, and I can’t give up on him.” She clicked open the locket with trembling fingers. “Can you see him? The man he was? The adventurous young man who was kind to children? The born seaman
who longed to captain his own ship? The loyal brother, the tenderhearted son?” Her voice grew hoarse as her eyes glistened with tears. “The world will never know Anthony now, and I
will
find out who took him from this life, even if I die trying.”

He studied the image of the young man, barely visible in the moonlight, then lifted his gaze to her tearful one. His heart rolled over in his chest.

When this woman loved, she loved completely.

“You’re an amazing woman,” he murmured, then placed his hand over hers to close the locket. He allowed his fingers to linger against her scented skin, the thud of her heart steady against his flesh.

“I can’t give up on him, Rome.” The tears trickled like liquid diamonds down her cheeks. “No one else will listen to me. I’m all he has.”

“Shhh. It’s all right.” He finally released her locket to pull out his handkerchief. Gently, he dabbed at her face, the crisp linen soaking up the teardrops.

“You’re the only one who knows. The only one who understands. Those men killed my brother. He was stolen from me forever by the Black Rose Society.” She nearly spat the name. “He was going to buy a ship and name it after me, then sail the world and begin his own shipping company. He was a good man, a trustworthy brother. I loved him.”

She choked on the last words, nearly undone, and her eyes filled again. Big fat droplets
streamed down her cheeks, and she stared at him, so alone, so much in pain, grieving for the twin who had been ripped from her life.

In the face of such raw heartache, he could only do what any other man would do in his place. He gathered her into his arms and held her.

She sank into his embrace, her fingers curling into the lapels of his coat as huge sobs wracked her small frame. Murmuring soothing words, he urged her into one of the intimate grottoes so no one wandering down the path would see them. Then he held her, while she wept out her anguish into his shoulder.

He smoothed his hands over her back, crooning words of comfort in her ear. She seemed too petite to carry such a huge burden on her shoulders, but her spirit would not be conquered. She would do right by her brother or die trying. If she had been a man, he would have respected her tremendously.

But she wasn’t a man. The sweet curves pressed against him reminded him firmly of that. And because she was a female, he held her in even higher esteem for her sense of honor and duty to her slain brother.

Beautiful, intelligent, loyal. Anna Rosewood was a hell of a woman.

Her sobs quieted, and she remained within his embrace, her breathing a series of long, deep shudders. He rested his cheek against her hair, closing his eyes and inhaling the sweet scent of
roses that clung to her. He was content to hold her, the hush of the night surrounding them, the moon bathing them in cool, silvery light.

He could stay that way forever and die a happy man.

She lifted her head. Moisture clung to her lashes, and a hollow pain still lingered in her eyes. She sniffled. He raised a hand to her cheek and smoothed his fingers across the damp planes of her face, his tender smile reassuring.

She just looked at him, studied his face inch by inch with the fascination of someone examining the Elgin marbles. She paused at his mouth, eyes narrowing in feminine interest. His body tightened with a hot surge of need.

Then she pressed her lips to his, and he fell headfirst into the maelstrom.

He couldn’t have her, but he couldn’t resist her. He didn’t want to want her, but he hungered for her with his very blood. Her willing kiss ensnared him, cast him into a whirlpool of desire that spun his thoughts and tangled his will in knots.

He fisted his hands behind her back even as he pulled her closer. She clung to him and tormented him with her lips and teeth and tongue, wearing down his willpower like rushing water over sand. He joined in the kiss, helpless to resist a moment longer. She gave a soft groan of triumph that shot straight to his loins and fed the fire.

He tugged her deeper into the shadows, and she clung to him like ivy to mortar, pliant in his hands.

Helpless against the need that worked its will on her, she yielded to his guiding hands and desperate caresses. Everything inside her glowed hot, and for the first time since last he held her, she burned with life.

Anthony was gone; but she was here, and she was on fire.

Rome’s touch burned away the cold ache of grief and filled her with the delicious heat of desire. She wanted to bask in this wonderful feeling forever, to forget the darkness that had haunted her in the many months since her twin’s death.

And the nightmares.

Rome gathered her to him as if insatiable for her, his hands greedy with need. She lost herself in his embrace, gloried in this dance of life as he swept his mouth down her neck. A sharp keening surprised her as it burst from her throat.

Had such joy ever existed before?

His hand cupped her breast, and her thoughts whirled away like autumn leaves. Pleasure spiked through her as he brushed a thumb over her nipple. Scandalous! Dear God, such sensations could not be borne…

“I need you.” His rough mutter jolted through her like lightning. “God save me, but I need you, Anna.”

“How do you do this to me?” She laid a hand along his cheek, drawing his gaze to hers. “How can you lay your hands on me and shatter every truth I thought I knew?”

“You do the same to me. You make me forget.” He cupped her bottom and pulled her into the rigid length straining against his trousers. “I can think of nothing but having you.”

“I need to forget.” She kissed his lips, then held his face between her two palms. “Make me forget, Rome.”

He gave a low growl that thrilled her, then tugged her over to the stone bench hidden from the path by hedges and flowering trees. She went willingly, desperate to push away the pain, starving to feel the pleasure once more. A tiny voice in the back of her mind begged her to beware the consequences, but she stilled it.

Fifteen months of mourning. The agony of it left her breathless and bruised inside. But Rome’s touch washed away the pain, made her glory in her heart beating and her blood pumping. Before Rome, she had felt as dead and cold as the marble statues in the garden. But now—Dear Lord,
now
she lived.

She sat on the bench, and the cool stone momentarily jerked her from her passionate haze. The voice of caution whispered again, and she strained to hear it. Then Rome sat beside her and pulled her into his lap, and the glimmer of uncertainty winked out.

His hardness nestled against her bottom through thin layers of clothing, demonstrating his need for her. Right or wrong, she wanted this man with a hunger that shocked her.

He kissed her again as he slid his hand beneath her skirt. His fingers brushed her ankle, calf, knee. Her skin tingled in the wake of his caress, arousing her own demanding passion.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back, lost in sensation, trembling with the force of her own ardor.

“I remember how you felt.” He traced her ear with the tip of his tongue. “How you looked. How you sounded. I want that again.”

Her heart skipped. “Oh, God.”

“You’re beautiful.” He dipped his head and laved the curve of a breast plumped above the top of her bodice. “I want to touch all of you.” His fingers edged along her thighs, light as fairy wings. “I want to watch you when the pleasure takes you.”

His words wooed her with as much power as his caresses. Would he take her right here in the garden? Did he want her that much? Excitement rippled down her spine.

He nudged her thighs apart and slipped his hand between them as he nipped at her neck. He came to where the locket rested over her beating heart and flicked the ornament away, leaving it to dangle over her shoulder, as he dropped a string of sweet, succulent kisses down her breastbone, as his fingers reached the moist, hot folds between her legs.

Her head fell back as he touched her core, and the locket swung in time to his strokes, bumping
her in gentle rhythm. It almost felt like someone was tapping her on the shoulder, trying to tell her something.

Then Rome slid a finger inside her, and her senses spun like a wild carousel.

“God, I want you,” he rasped. “You’re so wet and hot. I could slide right in, feel you squeeze me.”

He curled his arm around her to fondle her breast, rubbing her nipple to an aching, rigid nub as his fingers glided over the slickness of her sensitive folds. She rocked in his arms, moving with an instinct that sang to her.