Debra Mullins Read online

  “Better Vin than I. I’m in no hurry to carry on this family’s name.” Rome heard the bitterness in his voice even as he saw the distress flicker across his mother’s face. “Mother, I’m sorry.”

  Eleanor gave a sigh, her soft green eyes glowing with remembered pain. “You have every right to feel that way, I suppose.”

  “Don’t let my foul temper spoil things,” Rome said. He took her by the hands and pulled her from the settee so he could admire her evening dress. “Look at you. You’re ravishing!”

  The compliment drew a blush from her. “Now, Roman, don’t think you’re going to distract me that easily.”

  “Tonight is not the night for unpleasant memories.” Rome held his hand out to Lavinia. “I am escorting the two most beautiful women in London to dinner. Clearly, I am the luckiest of men.”

  “How clever of you to finally notice,” Lavinia quipped, clasping his hand.

  “Neither of you will stop me from saying what I intend to say,” Eleanor said, putting a halt to the banter. “Roman, I worry that you’ll let your anger at your father keep you from living your life.”

  “My anger? I’ve given up being angry at him. I’m more concerned with what he did to you.”

  Eleanor gave an elegant shrug. “I’ve learned to live with it.”

  “You shouldn’t have had to.”

  “I agree with Rome,” Lavinia said.

  “Well, that’s certainly a first,” Rome said, with a roll of his eyes. Lavinia slapped his arm with her fan.

  “Will you please both of you control yourselves?” Eleanor pressed a hand to her forehead. “I swear the two of you will give me vapors with your constant warring.”

  “He started it,” Lavinia said, but a stern look from her mother silenced her. With a pointed sigh, she returned to her seat on the sofa.

  Ignoring her daughter’s pout, Eleanor laid a hand on her son’s arm. “Roman, I know what the scandal did to you, and I’m sorry for it.”

  Rome patted the back of her hand. “Don’t trouble yourself.”

  “But I must. Even from the grave, he still hurts you.”

  He couldn’t think of a glib reply and settled for truth. “Mother, our father ruined his reputation and the reputations of all of us with it. But you will notice I have not let it destroy me.”

  “Right or wrong, he was still your father, and you must accept that. He wasn’t a bad man.”

  “No, just a foolish and selfish one.”

  Eleanor shut her eyes and shook her head in defeat. “You must put that behind you and think about a family of your own.”

  “In good time. I’ve only just resigned my commission, Mother,” he said, brushing a kiss over her forehead. “First I must secure some way to increase my fortunes.”

  “Henry tells me you’re seeking a position with Edgar Vaughn,” Lavinia said.

  Rome raised a brow. “Gossip spreads quickly through the government offices, I see. Yes, I plan to speak to Mr. Vaughn about a position.”

  “That’s splendid!” Eleanor exclaimed, clapping her hands together. “Will you move in the diplomatic circles, Roman?”

  “It all depends on Mr. Vaughn. At least he didn’t slam the door in my face the instant he heard my name.”

  “Devereaux is a fine name, an old name,” Eleanor reminded him. “And you do it proud.”

  “Not all people associate the name Devereaux with scandal and gossip,” Lavinia pointed out, earning a look of astonishment from both mother and brother. “Well, they don’t! Roman has had to work harder than anyone else to atone for Papa’s sins, and he’s restored honor to the Devereaux name.”

  The clock chimed the hour, and Rome seized on the distraction. “Ladies, I am neglectful of my duties. If we don’t leave straightaway, we will be late for dinner with Haverford.”

  Lavinia gave a squeal of alarm. “Henry will be so very vexed if I am late to an earl’s dinner!”

  “And where is Emberly this evening?”

  “His presence was required at a political gathering with the Duke of Wellington.” Lavinia flashed him a saucy grin. “Which is why you must be my escort this evening, dear brother.”

  “Will my labors never cease?” Rome groaned. “Fetch your wrap, brat.”

  Giggling, Lavinia hurried from the room, calling for Hinton. Rome turned back to his mother and offered his arm. “You do realize that any plans Haverford has for a peaceful evening have just been ruined? Vin will chatter incessantly to anyone with the bad luck to be seated near her.”

  “I, for one, plan to enjoy myself thoroughly.” Eleanor slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow. “I haven’t been to an elegant gathering in ages.”

  Because Father’s scandal ruined that for you. Rome forced a smile. “Come, Mother. The carriage awaits.”

  Marcus Devereaux, Earl of Haverford, always appeared charming and well-spoken. A tall man of thirty years, he handled himself with a quiet maturity that belied his youth. His dark hair contrasted with calm gray eyes behind his spectacles, and his face was handsome enough with no pimples or pockmarks to mar it. His clothing was simple yet well tailored, such as the basic black evening clothes he wore tonight.

  All in all, he didn’t make a bad potential husband.

  Anna stood quietly beside her parents as her father engaged Lord Haverford in conversation. Having no interest in the state of the wool market in Yorkshire, she let her mind drift.

  She had known her entire life that she was destined to become Lady Haverford. Her parents had reminded her again and again how lucky she was, that if it hadn’t been for her papa’s childhood friendship with Lord Haverford’s father, she, the daughter of a mere naval officer, would never have been able to look so far above herself for a husband.

  She had accepted her lot. She knew her parents were trying to secure the best possible future for her, and so she had never dared dream beyond what she knew she would receive.

  They had tried to secure Anthony’s future as well, urging him to join the navy like Papa. Of course Anthony had had his own dreams, and he and Papa had fought incessantly about the direction his future would take. How many times had she advised her twin to just accept his lot in life as she had? At the time, she had found it comforting to know her future had been secured.

  And yet now that her betrothal loomed on the horizon, she couldn’t help but wonder what more life might have offered if she’d been able to choose her own destiny.

  Between the deaths of Haverford’s father and Anna’s brother, the betrothal had been delayed over two years. Now here she stood, nearly twenty-one years of age, finally at the side of the man who would be her husband.

  And she didn’t feel so complacent after all.

  The impending marriage was there, right in front of her. Papa had made no secret of the fact that he wanted to finalize the arrangements as soon as possible. She studied the young earl, whom she had only met twice before over the years, and tried to imagine living her life beside this man, managing his home, acting as his social hostess.

  Bearing his children.

  That last brought her up short. Of course he would want children. He was an earl and needed heirs, and as his wife, she would be expected to provide them. But she wasn’t as naïve as she had once been. She knew some of what occurred between man and woman.

  Memories from the night before flooded her mind—sight, sensation, and sound. She grew breathless just thinking about it.

  Would Lord Haverford expect to kiss her like that? Touch her like that? Only years of practice allowed her to keep her expression serene as her mind exploded with panic.

  She found Lord Haverford pleasant enough, but the thought of him undressing her, kissing her, slipping his hand between her thighs…She tried to envision it, tried to feel enthusiastic about it. But every time she formed the images in her mind, Lord Haverford’s bespectacled face blurred and became the hawklike features of a stranger.

  Rome.

  Heat swept over her. She could still f
eel his hands holding her close, his lips on her skin, the pleasure that had coursed through her at his touch.

  Dear God, he was a complete stranger, and yet she could not forget their encounter.

  She should push it from her mind, pretend it never happened. She was not Rose, the poor soul forced by financial circumstances to seek her living on the streets. She was Miss Anna Rosewood, daughter of Admiral Quentin Rosewood, a gentle and well-bred lady who would soon become betrothed to an earl.

  She had no business even thinking about another man, much less the scandalous intimacies “Rose” had shared with him.

  “Are you cold, Miss Rosewood?”

  Had she shivered with the memory? Dear Lord, she had.

  Anna met Lord Haverford’s gaze, able to keep her voice steady only from arduous hours spent learning the skill of self-control. “Not at all, my lord. Do continue with your story.”

  The earl launched back into his tale. An imperceptible nod of approval from her father and the surreptitious pat on her arm from her mother told her she had said the right thing. Thank goodness for that, as she hadn’t been attending to the conversation at all!

  The butler stepped into the room. “Lady Florington,” he announced, then moved aside. A tiny elderly woman with a monstrous purple turban appeared in the doorway.

  “Excuse me,” Haverford said, stopping dead in the middle of his story. He went over to the lady and kissed her cheek, then exchanged a few words.

  “That’s the earl’s great-aunt,” Henrietta whispered to Anna. “She’s a bit mad, but he dotes on her, so do have a care what you say to her.”

  “Yes, Mama.” Anna pasted a welcoming smile on her face as Lord Haverford brought his aunt to meet them.

  “Admiral Rosewood, Mrs. Rosewood, Miss Rosewood, I would like to introduce to you Lady Florington, my dear aunt.”

  The pleasantries were exchanged, and Lady Florington produced a quizzing glass, which she used to examine Anna from head to toe. “This is the one, then?”

  “Yes, Aunt Phyllis. This is Miss Rosewood. You’ve heard me speak of her.”

  “Pretty enough, I suppose.” She dropped the quizzing glass and let it dangle from its ribbon. “Be sure you get an heir on her.”

  “My aunt is rather blunt,” Lord Haverford said, with an embarrassed little laugh. Secretly appalled, Anna managed a nod and a smile.

  “Skinny,” Lady Florington added.

  The earl closed his eyes briefly as if seeking patience, then cast Anna a flattering smile. “Miss Rosewood is a lovely woman, Aunt Phyllis.”

  Lady Florington gave a snort in reply, but said nothing more as she turned and found herself a chair.

  The butler entered the room again. “Mr. Roman Devereaux, Mrs. Oliver Devereaux, and Mrs. Henry Emberly.”

  “Ah, here is the rest of my family.” Lord Haverford turned to her father as a trio of people walked through the doors to the drawing room. “My cousin Rome has just resigned his commission, Admiral, and is newly returned from the Continent.”

  “Indeed?” The admiral looked on the new arrivals with interest, while Anna’s insides seemed to freeze.

  Had he just called his cousin Rome?

  No, it was impossible.

  Lord Haverford went to welcome the newcomers, two women and a man. Anna watched the exchange of greetings without revealing any save the most mundane interest, but her heart pounded like a rabbit’s. That tall, dark-haired man…Those broad shoulders. That blade of a nose. How many men could there be named Rome?

  Then again, what were the odds that Lord Haverford’s cousin was the type of man to frequent a place such as Vauxhall? In her experience, most military men were Spartans at heart, disdaining the careless decadence of Society’s pastimes.

  Over the heads of the ladies, Mr. Devereaux looked up and scanned the room with casual interest. Anna stopped breathing and shrank back a step behind her mother.

  It was him.

  The earl returned with the newly arrived guests in tow. As he performed the introductions, Anna kept her eyes demurely lowered, panic screaming through her mind. It was him. Dear God, it was him, and her secret would be exposed!

  “And may I also present Miss Anna Rosewood. Miss Rosewood, this is my aunt, Mrs. Devereaux, and my cousins, Mrs. Lavinia Emberly and Mr. Roman Devereaux.”

  Forced by good manners to look up, Anna first acknowledged Rome’s mother, a woman about her own mother’s age with kind green eyes. Then she greeted Lavinia, a young woman with an infectious grin and bouncing dark curls. Finally, pulse skittering, she looked into the face of Mr. Roman Devereaux.

  And saw familiar green eyes that held no recognition at all.

  Chapter 3

  Rome had always enjoyed the food prepared by the Haverford chef, and this evening was no exception. As he ate heartily, he listened with interest to Admiral Rosewood expound on his views of the newly restored king of France and the ex-emperor, Napoleon Bonaparte.

  The admiral paused for a breath, and Rome glanced down the table at his mother. She conversed with Mrs. Rosewood, and her laughter carried to him at the opposite end of the table. He couldn’t help but smile as he watched her. His mother hadn’t laughed nearly enough in the last ten years.

  Lavinia was chattering away at Marc. Aunt Phyllis had fallen asleep at the table, and Miss Rosewood stared only at her plate, moving the food about with her fork, though not a bite of it passed her lips.

  This was the woman Marc intended to marry? This quiet mouse who dared not meet anyone’s eyes?

  Society would eat her alive.

  She glanced up at him and caught him studying her. For a long moment she held his gaze. He had expected shyness to be lurking in her wide doe eyes, but instead he saw intelligence and a hint of feminine awareness that took him by surprise. Then she looked away, her cheeks pinkening.

  Good Lord, was she flirting with him?

  He frowned. This woman was going to be his cousin’s wife, so he doubted she was trying to capture his attention. Perhaps he had misread her expression.

  Then she glanced back at him, a very feline look in her soft brown eyes, as if she knew his every secret desire and wanted to make them all come true. It was the look Eve must have worn when she held out the apple, and he could no more resist than Adam. His blood quickened despite the impropriety of the situation. Then Miss Rosewood cast down her eyes and once more moved food around her plate with her fork, biting her lower lip.

  Dear Lord, that mouth.

  Marc laughed at something Lavinia said, jerking him away from his lusty musings. What was the matter with him? Miss Rosewood was his cousin’s fiancée—or very nearly so—and he had no business thinking about her as anything more than a potential cousin.

  But she seemed to have no such compunction. She kept sneaking glances his way. Whenever he caught her at it, she turned away quickly, blushing. The light played over her curling hair, accenting the exotic-looking structure of her cheekbones. Her lush mouth drew his attention again and again.

  Damn it, this was his cousin’s woman! He loved and respected his cousin too much to ever cause him sorrow. Marc didn’t deserve that.

  He wasn’t his father, blast it. There would be no more gossip about a Devereaux stealing another man’s bride.

  But what if the bride was trying to attract him?

  There was no doubt about it—she kept looking his way, and the gleam in her eyes was far too knowledgeable for the schoolroom miss she was purported to be. What sort of female was Anna Rosewood? On the outside she looked to be a demure and proper lady, but no society maiden had ever looked at him like she was starving, and he was a sweet pastry.

  None that were innocents, at any rate.

  Damn it all! Had Marc attached himself to some sort of wanton? Did the jade only want to marry Marc for his money and title? Was she so immoral that she would flirt with her promised husband’s cousin right at Marc’s own dinner table?

  Well, she had picked the wrong man if she thought to exer
cise her womanly wiles. He wasn’t about to stand aside while she cuckolded Marc before they were even wed.

  And he would make sure she knew it.

  Dinner seemed to drag on forever.

  Her mother sent her frantic signals, mouthing silent suggestions and nodding imperceptibly toward Lord Haverford. The admiral regarded her sternly from beneath his thick brows, clearly displeased that she didn’t converse with the earl. But even though Anna knew she would bear the brunt of her parents’ displeasure later, she didn’t dare try and attract Lord Haverford’s attention. Not with Rome sitting right there.

  She tightened her fingers around her fork to stop their trembling. He was regarding her with a considering eye. Did he recognize her? She hadn’t removed her mask, so she’d thought herself safe. But why else would he watch her so closely? Would he declare her a harlot in front of her family? Or would he pursue her further, hold his knowledge hostage in exchange for the favors she’d denied him the night before?

  Her heartbeat thundered in her ears. She ate nothing, heard none of the conversation going on around her. Even if her parents threatened to lock her in her room for the next month with nothing more than bread and water, there was no way she could possibly attempt to comport herself normally. By some miracle, Roman Devereaux had not recognized her. Why betray herself by speaking and perhaps sparking some memory in him?

  Finally, the meal ended. Lady Florington awoke as the ladies rose from their seats. “What’s that? Is it time to depart?”

  “No, Aunt Phyllis,” Haverford said, assisting the elderly lady from her chair. “It’s time to retire to the drawing room.”

  “The ladies?”

  “Everyone. We’re such a small party, I decided to forgo the formality of sending the ladies ahead.”

  “Scandalous,” Lady Florington declared as her great-nephew escorted her from the room. “That was the worst dinner I’ve ever eaten. You must sack the chef, Haverford.”

  “Yes, Aunt.”

  Anna rose slowly. So, there would be no sanctuary for her in retiring with the ladies. No way to escape Rome. He lingered near the doorway, ostensibly to see to the comfort of his mother and sister, but his gaze never left Anna for more than a moment. The longer his gaze rested on her, the more difficult it became to breathe. Her stomach sank as dread swept through her. Why did he stare so? Had he actually recognized her?