er than her own reflection in the glass, and, unfortunately, the additional reflection of Miss Gardener as she approached.
With a determined posture, Rose turned around to face the woman. Miss Gardener held the smile of a lady who thought herself highly superior to the one she was addressing. Rose resisted the urge to roll her eyes and inform the woman that Carver enjoyed the thought of poison more than her company.
Miss Gardener spoke with a false sweetness. “Do you know, Miss Bellows, I find it increasingly odd that I cannot recall ever having seen you in London last season. I make it my business to know each and every one of the debutantes, you see.” Her voice dripped with barely veiled accusation.
But Rose had graced enough society functions to know how to play the game. “Don’t worry, Miss Gardener. I don’t fault you for not remembering me. It must be very difficult to memorize the faces of each London lady with your eyes fixed so determinedly on my fiancé.” She let her gaze grow pointed as a grin touched her mouth.
Miss Gardener’s face flushed hotly as she narrowed her blue eyes. “I’m sure that I do not know what you mean.”
Rose wanted to chuckle but didn’t, thinking it would make her sound too menacing. “Don’t you though, Miss Gardener?” she said settling for a smile. “I cut my wisdoms a long time ago, and it’s plain for me to see that you, as well as your meddlesome mother, have been trying to belittle me in front of Lord Kensworth and his family this entire evening. And although I find it very entertaining, I am getting tired of it and must now insist that you give up the hunt and move on to some other unfortunate gentleman.” It was likely more than she should have said but Rose wouldn’t allow herself to regret the words until tomorrow. Tonight, she was enjoying the chance to give the pompous lady a much-needed set down.
The blush already touching Miss Gardeners cheeks turned into a dark crimson before dropping away all together. The woman’s pretty lips curved into a vicious smile. She stepped closer. “There is something very odd about you, Miss Bellows. And believe me when I say that I fully intend to uncover just what it is.”
Her moment of enjoyment left her. She had said too much. Shown too much fire. Drawn too much unwanted attention. Was Miss Gardener threatening to dig until she found out the truth? Rose knew she wouldn’t have to dig very far. Although the woman didn’t know Rose’s real name, there were already several warrants out for her arrest with her detailed description. One inquiry into Bow Street and the woman could easily figure out the truth.
But Rose was a professional criminal and knew how to never let her worry show to an adversary. Instead, she smiled softly and blinked. “I’ll confess. I have always thought of myself as odd. Please don’t hesitate to let me know if you can figure out the cause.”
Her jest was not appreciated. Miss Gardener sneered and then turned to join her mother on the yellow settee. Rose relaxed and turned her eyes back out the window, noticing that her body was trembling slightly. If she were in the middle of any other job, she would have aborted the con right then, knowing that she had been compromised. But Carver was counting on her.
Rose still had three days left until the duke’s ball. Three days for Miss Gardener to dig into Daphney Bellows’s life and find out that the real Daphney was none other than a maid recently released from her post due to an indiscretion and living on a farm in another part of England. A thick lump formed in her throat. Was three days enough time for Miss Gardener to uncover enough incriminating facts? Probably not, but there was no way to know for sure.
She needed to leave. Her feet ached to run. To protect herself. To get as far away from potential danger as possible. She ought to claim a headache that very night and go pack her things. If she rode all night, she could be at the orphanage by dawn. She would need to spend a few weeks in hiding until Miss Gardener and her mother tired of asking questions. Or perhaps she and Uncle Felix could flee to Scotland and work a few jobs there. She would figure out the logistics later. All that mattered now was that she leave Dalton Park as soon as possible.
But then, the door to the drawing room opened and Carver stepped through, filling the doorway with his strength and authority. His direct grey gaze settled immediately on Rose and it felt as if the world stopped moving. He smiled, warm and slow. She couldn’t look away. Nothing else mattered. A tense breath released from her chest and her hands relaxed. And there, caught in the current of his eyes, Rose realized something for the first time. She loved him. And she wasn’t going to leave.
Chapter 23
The next morning, the sun felt just as reluctant to start its day as Rose. A chambermaid had come in about an hour before to open the curtains, and had left a fresh can of water on her vanity, but Rose hadn’t gotten up. She nestled under her warm coverlet and peered out at the grey, gloomy sky, wondering what in the devil she was doing with her life.
She wasn’t supposed to like living at Dalton Park. She wasn’t supposed to like Carver’s family. And she definitely wasn’t supposed to let herself imagine what it would be like to really be engaged to Carver, or have him love her in return. Yet there she was, lying in bed, dreaming about the way his eyes crinkled in the corners when he really smiled. And how his lips had felt against her palm when he kissed it in the nursery. What would it be like to really be kissed by Carver?
Rose groaned and threw the covers off her body. She sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed, letting them fall to the floor with a satisfying thud. What she needed was to splash her face with water and get a grip on her heart. So she loved the man. No matter. She was a self-sufficient woman who worked better alone. In a few days, the whole ruse would be over and she would be free to rip her heart back from his hands and move on with her life. It would definitely be painful, but she would force herself to forget Carver Timothy Ashburn. She would force herself to forget his handsome smile, and the way his laugh sounded when it boomed through the meadow, and his eyes, and his strength, and his funny stories.
This time she cursed. A splash of water wasn’t going to be enough to remedy those feelings.
Rose took her time dressing that morning, hoping the extra alone time might be enough to sort out her twisted and conflicting emotions. It wasn’t. After donning her slate blue walking dress, worn half boots, and tying her hair up in a simple silver ribbon, she left her room intent on exploring the house.
That early in the morning, Rose knew the family would be in the breakfast room, so she decided to explore the opposite side of the house. It wasn’t that she was cow-hearted and afraid of running into Carver. She had simply already seen that side of the house and thought it would be nice to see what else the expansive home had to offer. And she only tiptoed down the stairs because…well…she was cow-hearted.
Rose made it to the bottom floor and quickly swept down the hallway leading away from the breakfast room. As she walked, she noticed the massive family portraits lining the walls and the occasional porcelain busts that rested on the wall’s inset ledges. There were so many doors in every hallway. She couldn’t imagine owning a house with so many rooms.
She paused in front of a painting she recognized was Carver as a young boy. He was maybe thirteen or fourteen and had clearly not yet formed the broad muscular stature he possessed now. She immediately recognized the same mischievous twinkle in his grey eyes. She had never before seen grey eyes on anyone—it seemed that even the painter had a hard time capturing the particular soft light of his iris.
Beside Carver’s painting was one of the duke, around thirty years old. Rose realized—stupidly, for the first time—that Carver would one day take possession of his father’s title and become the duke himself. He would own Dalton Park and his wife would become duchess.
How could she have been so ridiculous to even entertain the idea of giving into her feelings for him, for even a moment? It was absurd. She was a wanted criminal—not a lady. And he was the son of a Peer of the Realm. He was part of the nobility and probably the most desired suitor in all of London. Every eligible wo
man in that blasted town had to have her cap set on Carver. She could never compete with them. Would not compete with them.
It was time to give up any idiotic illusions and see the situation for what it was. A job. She and Carver were playing parts and it would all be over soon. It was time to get her deuced heart to obey her again.
“Rose, you stupid fool,” she whispered after looking once more at Carver’s painting.
“Pardon?” A male voice sounded behind her.
Rose jumped and spun around to find the duke standing in the threshold of an open door behind her. He had spectacles on the bridge of his nose and a smile on his mouth. Gone was the intimidating duke from dinner with the Gardeners.
She curtsied. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you, Your Grace.”