It always hurt to know that she was hurting, to see the sorrow and tears welling in her eyes. Sometimes I imagined that I could actually hear her heart cracking, tiny fault lines spreading out.
For her, I fought hard to stand with pride as people gathered around, pointed, whispered, gaped. Once a woman became ill, brought up her breakfast. After that my father decided it best to have hay spread around me, as though I were an animal with no control over my bodily functions. When it was the gawkers for whom the straw was necessary.
I never spoke, never let on that I was mortified by my nearly naked form being displayed as an oddity. Because I ceased to speak, my father thought I’d become mute. But Rose knew the truth of it. In the darkest hours of the night, she would creep over and kneel beside my bed.
“One day, we’ll run away,” she promised with such earnestness that even the boulders after which I was named would have wept. “As soon as I have determined how we can survive.”
Then she would tell me a story of a beautiful place with beautiful people where I was loved, and I would drift off to sleep feeling not quite so ugly.
“Your Grace?”
Avendale jerked his head up from the words he’d been reading, surprised to discover that nearly an hour had passed. He’d meant merely to read a page. He’d read dozens. It was disconcerting to have been caught so absorbed by the tale that he’d not heard his butler enter his library. “Yes, Thatcher?”
“Mr. Watkins is here, sir.”
“Excellent. Send him in.” Avendale stood, walked to a side table and poured a splash of scotch into two glasses. He turned to the doorway just as a man of medium height and width, his clothing impeccable, strode in.
“Watkins.” Avendale extended a glass toward him.
The man staggered to a halt. “It’s not yet noon, Your Grace.”
“Trust me, Watkins, you’re going to need it.”
His tailor took the offered glass and sipped cautiously, while Avendale leaned his hips against the edge of his desk. He downed his own scotch, sighed. “A gentleman is staying with me. A Mr. Harry Longmore. He requires clothing. Something simple for moving about during the day as well as evening attire.”
“My specialty, Your Grace.”
“Which is why I sent for you. I require a man of your skills, but I fear the task will present a challenge. To put it bluntly the man is deformed, hideously so.”
Watkins finished off his drink, licked his lips. “I see.”
“I doubt you’ll be able fit him to perfection, but a close proximity would be well rewarded. And haste doubly so. We need the items within the week.”
“I shall do my best. I can begin straightaway if you like.”
“Excellent. Come along then. I’ll introduce you.”
Harry was busily scribbling at his desk when the duke walked in with a man who had a thick thatch of black and white hair swirling over his head, bushy side whiskers, and a heavy mustache that hid much of his mouth. For a moment Harry knew a spark of despair. Had the duke brought him here to display as a curiosity to his friends as Merrick had thought? If he had, it was without Rose’s knowledge; he was certain of that. She would be furious when she discovered the treachery. She would take Harry away, and he would have to leave all the marvelous books behind, unread.
But the man’s eyes didn’t even so much as widen when his gaze fell on Harry.
“Harry,” the duke began, “allow me to introduce Mr. Watkins, my tailor. He’s one of the most accomplished London has to offer. I would like you to allow him to take your measurements for some new clothing.”
Harry’s face grew hot with shame because he’d jumped to the wrong conclusion regarding the duke’s intentions. He was no different than those who looked upon him and judged what he was. He should have known the duke was only trying to make him feel more comfortable in these elegant surroundings. He knew he walked about in clothes that hung loosely, more like a potato sack, over his odd frame. Sally was a fine seamstress but not one of London’s most accomplished. He nodded with eagerness at the prospect of proper clothes.
“Splendid,” the duke said. He raised a finger. “But we’re to keep this a secret, just between us gents. I have a surprise planned for your sister, and I don’t want her to know about it just yet.”
Harry liked giving Rose surprises. When he was a boy he would pick flowers for her, find pretty rocks. But he hadn’t been able to give her anything since he’d begun spending so much time indoors. His writing was for her, would be a gift to her when the time came. He was filling the pages with all the love he held for her so it would remain with her when he was gone.
But to be able to share a surprise with her now—he was fairly certain it would be a surprise she would like because the duke’s eyes were warm with mischief laced with anticipation. He was looking forward to surprising Rose. Harry put his finger to his lips. “Shh.”
“Precisely. I’ll leave you two to it.”
As the duke strolled from the room, Harry wondered if the duke was even aware that he loved Rose.
After a marvelous sleep, Rose wanted to stroll leisurely through the gardens with Harry, but they got only as far as the fountain where a nude couple carved in stone embraced in such a way that very little was left to the imagination.
“It’s really quite scandalous,” she felt obligated to point out. “The detail”—the taut buttocks of the man; the firm, uplifted breasts of the woman—“is designed to shock those with proper sensibilities.”
“I think they’re beautiful.”
“I quite agree,” a voice boomed behind her, and she nearly leaped into the fountain.
Avendale came to stand on the other side of her, and she had to fight not to reach out to him, not to step nearer and curl against his side. Her resistance where he was concerned was nonexistent. She just didn’t know if she could be content to be a mistress for the remainder of her life. Considering her past, marriage was not feasible. “There is beauty, truth, honesty in the naked form,” Avendale said. “I find it a crime that society is so bothered by it that it must be covered with an abundance of clothing.” With a grin, he shook her skirt as though to demonstrate what clothing entailed, in case she wasn’t aware.
“Would the sight of it not lose its appeal if it were always visible?” she asked, even knowing that she would never tire of seeing him without clothing. “Perhaps we would begin to take it for granted.”
“I continue to find this couple arousing and they’ve been here for years.”
“But then you’re debauched. I’m sure your wife will have them taken away.”
“No doubt, so I must enjoy them while I may. What do you think, Harry? Should I have chosen a fountain that displayed fish cavorting about?”
“Don’t bring him into this,” she chastised.
“Why? He has an opinion, doesn’t he? I’d like to hear it.”
Harry grinned, his face turned red, and he wouldn’t quite meet Rose’s gaze. “I like this one very much.”
“All men do. I think women do as well, but they have been trained to deny it. You like it, don’t you, Rose?”
She could not believe she was standing here discussing the naked form in front of her young brother. “I’ll admit it’s provocative, but decadent.”
“Do you know, Harry, I’ve had gatherings where women have danced naked in that fountain?”
Harry’s jaw dropped only slightly more than Rose’s did.
“I suspected you were a libertine,” she said.
“I’ve never denied it.” He touched her cheek. “Do you want the fountain gone? I’ll have it taken away if it makes you uncomfortable.”
It only made her uncomfortable when she was standing here discussing it with her brother. Otherwise she thought it the most beautiful piece of artwork she’d ever seen. It was a ridiculous offer he made when she wasn’t going to be in his life all that long. “I rather like it, but I enjoy the roses more. Shall we explore the flowers, Harry?”
“Yes, before it rains.”
“Is it going to rain again, then?”
“Yes.”
“Wait a moment,” Avendale said, his dark brown eyes narrowed. “Is he the reason you knew it was going to rain the other night?”
She couldn’t help but feel a bit smug. “He has an uncanny ability to predict the weather. That does not negate our bet as I admitted to having the information on good authority.”
He chuckled low. “So you did. I’ll leave you to enjoy the gardens then, while you may.”
He walked off, and she’d rather hoped that he would join them. She appreciated that he wasn’t constantly hovering, that he was giving her a little bit of time alone with Harry. It was silly that she should miss him. She needed to shore up her heart or she was going to leave here a broken woman.
She slipped her hand within the crook of Harry’s arm. “Shall we go exploring?”
Using his cane for support, he shuffled along slowly, admiring every flower. She thought every sort imaginable had to be in these gardens. Harry stopped to feel the petals, to inhale the fragrances, to admire the colors. The other residences in the area were far enough away that no one would be able to see him clearly. And if they did, she suspected Avendale would handle the matter admirably.
Harry was examining a pink rose when he asked quietly, “Will you dance in the fountain for him?”
“What? No! Most assuredly not.”
He gave her a shrewd look, her brother who had never been shrewd in his life to her knowledge. “Do you dance for him out of it?”
She’d always considered her brother an innocent, had assumed he didn’t know what happened between a man and a woman, but of course he knew. After all he was a man. It saddened her to think he would never experience the closeness of a woman or the sort of love that could exist between two people who weren’t related through blood. What was she doing mooning about? She wasn’t going to experience that sort of love either.
“Avendale and I have an understanding,” she said, quite certain her cheeks were the same shade as the rose.
“What do you understand?”
“That we’re only together for a little while.”
“Because of me.”
Yes. “No. We enjoy each other’s company but neither of us wants anything permanent.”
“He’s doing a lot for us, Rose.”
“Yes, well, he can certainly afford it.”
“I don’t think that’s why.”
She didn’t want to consider that her brother was right, that perhaps she meant something to Avendale. “We shouldn’t examine our time here too closely. We should simply enjoy it.”
Before winter would settle in, we’d return to the farm. Rose was happiest then. I think part of it was because I would not be displayed as much, but more she was able to see Phillip. His family had a farm next to ours and he would often come to visit Rose.
One evening as I was looking for her, I heard voices behind a shed.
“I’m going to Manchester to work in a factory. I want you to marry me. To come with me. It’ll be a good life, Rose,” Phillip said.
I heard her squeal, imagined her hugging him about the neck as I’d seen her do before. Perhaps she was even kissing him.
“Yes! Yes! I love you, Phillip. I think Harry will love Manchester.”
“Why would it matter to him?”
“Because he’s coming with us.”
“No.”
“Phillip, I can’t leave him.”
“He’s not your child, not your responsibility.”
“He’s my brother. My father treats him horribly. It’s getting worse. I promised to take him with me when I left.”
“He’s not coming with us. He turns my stomach. I can’t eat for a day after looking at him.”
“I thought you loved me.”
“I do, but I don’t love him.”
Rose didn’t leave with him. I often think of the life she might have had if she’d gone. It would have been much easier. Sometimes I feel guilty for being a burden, but I am selfish enough to be glad that she didn’t leave me. If our roles were reversed, I don’t know if I would have had the strength to stay behind.
A little over six months later we ran off.
“Your Grace?”
When his butler’s voice intruded, it took Avendale a moment to pull himself from the words, from the images. No wonder Rose hadn’t told him of her brother. He would like to find this Phillip fellow and pound his fist into the man’s face for the pain he’d caused her, the pain he’d no doubt caused Harry by his unkind words.
“What is it, Thatcher?” Was he going to have to lock his door just so he could read in peace?
“A small fellow who insists he be allowed to see Mr. Longmore is in the foyer. Quite formidable for a gent his size. As you instructed the staff to protect Mr. Longmore from any who might wish him ill, I wasn’t quite certain what to do with the chap as he doesn’t seem to fall into that category, and yet he doesn’t appear to be the pleasant sort either.”
With a sigh, Avendale shoved back his chair and stood. Dismissing his coachman the night before had meant relying on Rose’s driver for transportation and thus giving his address to the giant. So now Merrick had known where to find him. “I’ll see to the matter.”
Thatcher had neglected to mention that a woman was also in the foyer. No doubt, the other half of the World’s Tiniest Bride and Groom. She was only a little shorter than the man fuming at her side, her hair black, her eyes brown. Her hopeful expression was quite the opposite of her husband’s belligerent one.
“I demand to see Harry.” Merrick was fairly frothing at the mouth. His wife merely rolled her eyes. Avendale immediately liked her immensely.
“Within my residence you’re not in a position to demand anything. I assume the giant brought you and is still here.”
Merrick looked as though he was on the verge of having an apoplectic fit.
“Yes,” the woman said. “Joseph brought us.” She took a tiny step forward. “You must understand that we’ve looked out for Harry for so long that we just want to see that he’s happy with his new surroundings.”
Even without her explanation, he had planned for his next sentence to be, “Would you care to join us for dinner?”
Books were set on chairs so the tiniest couple were elevated enough to reach the table comfortably. They sat on one side together, Harry and the giant on the other. Avendale had taken his place at the head of the table, while Rose sat opposite him. She seemed rather amused by their dinner guests, or perhaps he was the one who amused her. Because he’d been soft, because he hadn’t kicked the little man out.
On the other hand, he found the entourage quite entertaining. If Rose wouldn’t reveal her past, he was quite certain he could garner information from them. That had been his original plan, and yet he couldn’t quite bring himself to invade the privacy she clung to so tenaciously. Perhaps he shouldn’t even be reading her brother’s writings.
“Caw, wish I could cook like this,” Sally said as she enjoyed glazed partridge.
Avendale sipped on his wine. He was indulging more in drink than food. “I’m certain my cook will be happy to share her recipes.”
“That would be lovely.”
He tapped his glass. “I assume you don’t miss your life from before.”
“Wasn’t so bad,” Sally said, apparently more of a talker than the rest. “Merrick and I would just stand there while people had their fill. Much harder on poor Harry, because he was so different.”
So different. That was a genteel way to describe him.
He studied Rose, the bright hue of her cheeks. She’d been surprised that he’d invited the others to dinner, but had also thanked him. He didn’t want her gratitude. He wanted to know everything about her life. He suspected he would discover far more than he wanted to know within the pages that Harry had written, but he wanted Rose to tell him more of herself. Which wasn’t fair since he wasn’t going to reveal anything about himself.
“Were you ever displayed?” The words were out before he could stop them. He thought he might destroy something if her answer was yes.
Delicately, she blotted her lips with her napkin before settling it in her lap. “Not exactly. My father bottled an elixir that he claimed would prevent any sort of deformities if a woman would drink it before she got with child. He said he had developed it after Harry was born and that his wife had taken it before she was expecting me. Then I would skip across the stage and twirl about. It didn’t matter that Harry was born four years after me. Because of his condition it was difficult to judge his age. So a tuppence to see Harry, and a shilling for the magical elixir.”
“And of what precisely was the magical elixir composed?”
“River water with a dash of gin.”
“From a particular river?”
She shook her head. “Whichever river we were passing.”
“Quite the charlatan, your father.”
“He thought God owed him, and he was within his rights to do what he could to make his life better. It didn’t matter who he hurt along the way.”
Like her father, she had chosen the path of swindling others, yet he was hard-pressed to think of her as a swindler. Selfishness certainly hadn’t guided her. He couldn’t say the same for himself. From the moment he’d met her all he’d considered was his need to possess her.
“He invited these others to join you?”
“No, that would require too much work—to be in charge of the entire menagerie. It was a little traveling circus of oddities. An elephant, a camel, uh . . .”
“A giraffe,” the giant barked out, and Avendale stared at him. It sounded as though his voice came up from the depths of his soles. It was the first time Avendale had heard him speak. He’d begun to think he was mute.
“Joseph liked the giraffe,” Rose said, shaking her head. “The world is full of oddities. I daresay we are all peculiar in one way or another.”
She might be right, although he found nothing about her peculiar. Instead he found her to be quite remarkable.
After dinner, he dispensed with the usual custom of the gentlemen retiring for a bit of port, and invited the ladies to join them in his library. They were sitting near the fire, enjoying a bit of drink, when he became aware of the rain pattering against the window. He met Rose’s gaze. She gave him a soft smile, a moment shared that the others—talking and laughing—missed.
He’d never been one to care about domestic tranquillity or quiet nights or remembering peaceful moments. He’d always favored the ribald, the loud, the coarse. He never wanted to examine the aspects of his life that he’d abandoned.
Strange how, looking at her now, he experienced a flash of contentment, surrounded by this unusual assortment of people.
“I may have seen Tinsdale lurking about the streets.”
Standing on the bedchamber’s balcony, with the fragrance of the earlier rain wafting on the slight breeze, her fingers gripping the iron railing, Rose replayed Merrick’s parting words whispered to her as he and the others were taking their leave, letting the unwelcome refrain tumble through her mind, surprised that after more than a dozen repetitions, it still had the power to cause cold fear to knot her gut.
The former bobby who now sold his investigative skills to those willing to pay for them had been on her trail for several years now, ever since she’d duped a solicitor in Manchester in much the same way that she had fooled Beckwith. It didn’t help that in the north two warrants had been issued for her arrest. Not to mention the promise of a small bounty offered by a widowed landowner who had taken exception to her leaving after he’d provided her with a residence for three months. When she’d first begun her trade, she’d been too young and naive to realize that her efforts were best served by selecting men who had too much pride to let on that they’d been deceived.
Over the years, eluding Tinsdale had become as challenging as swindling.
He wouldn’t search for her within the nobility. He wouldn’t think her bold enough for that tactic. He would scour for her among the untitled wealthy, merchants, railway investors. Briefly she wondered if she should make arrangements for the others to be moved elsewhere. No, they were guilty of nothing. Tinsdale wouldn’t intentionally risk alerting them to his presence by approaching them. Joseph wouldn’t have traveled here without ensuring they weren’t followed.
Still, if not for Harry, she’d begin making plans for her departure. If not for her bargain with Avendale—
She squeezed her eyes shut. If not for Avendale himself. The bargain had little to do with her desire to stay. It was the man who awoke something deep and profound within her, the man who without even being aware of it was revealing to her the incredible cost of the life she’d led. Always looking behind her, waiting for the ax to fall, to be found out, she could never be more than his whore, relegated to the shadows.
“I wasn’t expecting to find you here,” Avendale said quietly.
Glancing over her shoulder, she gave him a soft smile. He’d invited her to join him for a cognac after saying good night to Harry, but needing a few moments to shake off Merrick’s troubling news, she’d feigned a headache and the need to retire. Suspicion had glittered in Avendale’s dark eyes. Why was she so inept at lying to him?
“I thought you’d avoid my bedchamber with your brother in residence,” he continued. “I was prepared to seek you out.”
Escaping him when the time came would involve an inordinate amount of planning and deception. She’d broken a thousand promises in her lifetime, but not keeping the one she’d made with him would cause her the deepest regret. But if Tinsdale were about, she’d have no choice.
“Your residence is large enough that with Harry in the other wing, we won’t be heard,” she said now.
Stepping forward, he closed his arms around her waist and settled his warm mouth against her nape, creating a circle of dew that branded her as thoroughly as scorched metal might. “Are you issuing a challenge, that I should have you screaming rather than crying out?”
The heat of embarrassment warmed her face. “Absolutely not. If you brought me any more pleasure, I might expire on the spot.”
“What of your headache?”
“It’s gone. Preparing for bed seemed to have eased it.” While he was helping her care for Harry, she would give to Avendale all that she could—even if it wasn’t everything.
“This nightdress is ghastly unflattering,” he said.
“But it’s familiar and comforting, like an old friend.”
He moved so he was beside her, his gaze landing on her profile with such intensity that she well imagined she heard a thud. “Speaking of old friends, what did Merrick say when he drew you aside just before he left?”
He would notice that quick exchange, wouldn’t he? He noticed everything. It was one of the things she loved about him: that he didn’t go through life ignoring the little details. “What he always says. He doesn’t like you.”
“Why don’t I believe you?”
“What else could he have said?” she asked as innocently as possible.
“I don’t know, but he looked too worried and you had a moment of looking too frightened.”
She twisted around to face him squarely. Always meet your opponent’s gaze head-on when you’re lying. Or so Elise, a fortune-teller, had claimed. “I’m not one to be scared.”
Again the doubt in his expression, then he shuttered away the emotions. “After all I’m doing for you, for you and Harry, don’t I deserve the truth?”
She almost told him that honesty between them wasn’t part of the bargain. “I told you that I would never speak of my past, yet tonight you caught glimpses of it. Be content with that.”
“And if I can’t be?”
Everything within her went still, quiet, and she felt as though the balcony had disintegrated beneath her feet and she was falling. She almost reached for him, grabbed him, but she had learned long ago that she was responsible for saving herself. “I never should have agreed to bring Harry here. We’ll leave tomorrow.”
“What about all the things you want for Harry?”
“I have the five thousand quid.”
“Not unless you finish out your week. Otherwise all you’ll have is a trip to Scotland Yard.”
“You’re bluffing.”
“So are you. You’re not going to leave. You’re not going to give this up, not as long as your brother is the beneficiary of my good graces. After that, I’m not even certain your promise to me will keep you here.”
It wouldn’t, dammit, but she wasn’t going to confirm it, wasn’t going to confirm that she might have no choice. Even with a choice, she couldn’t swear she’d stay. Hoping to turn them off this path, she placed her palm on his chest. “I don’t like when we’re at odds.”
“Then be honest with me.”
“I can be honest with you regarding my feelings for you, my desires where you are concerned. But not my past. I’m a criminal, Avendale. You need know no more than that.”
“How much of a criminal?”
She laughed lightly. “That’s like asking, ‘How much with child are you?’ ”
“There are degrees of criminality. Murder is worse than picking a silk handkerchief from a gent’s pocket. How many have you swindled?”
“Enough to survive.”
“You were much more forthcoming last night.”
“Last night, I was upset, lowered my defenses for a bit.” Stupidly lowered them, revealed far too much. As kind and generous as he was, he could never truly understand all her transgressions. “I’ve regained control, and the drawbridge has been effectively raised.”
“I don’t like that you continue to hold secrets from me.”
“Ours is a temporary arrangement. My secrets have no impact on it.” Another lie.
“And if it wasn’t?” he asked.
She was again hit with the sensation of falling. “I don’t see how it can be anything else. You’re a duke. I’m a swindler. You might be comfortable introducing me to a few of your intimates in the back room of a gaming hell, but publicly? To every peer of the realm? To the queen? I know precisely what I am, Your Grace, and what my place in your life would entail. I’m relegated to being your mistress. I should hope that when you marry, you would care enough about your wife to send me on my merry way. Care enough to spare me the torment of sharing you.” Dear God, she thought it would be worse than prison.
He slid his hand around her neck; his thumb stroked the underside of her jaw. “It seems you’ve given this a great deal of thought.”
“I have spent a good portion of my life calculating and weighing the ramifications of my actions. I may not be honest with others, but I’ve always been honest with myself.”
“While I’m the opposite. Brutally honest with others, seldom honest with myself.”
“Why aren’t you honest with yourself?”
“It would involve flaying my conscience and I have an aversion to pain. Which I suppose is the reason that I focus on pleasure. If you don’t want that hideous nightdress tattered, you’re going to need to remove it out here. Because once you step into my bedchamber I’m ripping it off.”
It took her three heartbeats to realize that he was abandoning the discussion. That they were moving on to more pleasant things, more daring things. While only the pale lamplight washed over him, she could still see the challenge in his eyes. What was it about him that made her want to pick up every gauntlet that he tossed down? She wanted him to remember her when she was gone from his life, when he climbed into bed with a woman of sterling reputation and gave her children.
She flicked a button free of its mooring, heard his sharp intake of breath, saw his eyes darken. “I suppose the next thing you’ll want is me dancing in your fountain,” she said.
“Would you?” he asked, desire causing his voice to come out raspy with need.
Heat pooled between her legs, and she thought he could bring her to the pinnacle without ever touching her with his hands. It took only his voice, his gaze. Just knowing that still he yearned for her as though he’d yet to possess her. Another button freed. “You should have asked before we had a guest.”
“His room doesn’t look out on the fountain.”
“But he likes to walk about at all hours of the night.” Another button.
“I should make arrangements to keep him occupied one night but . . .”
Her fingers stilled on a button. “But?”
He shook his head. “I’m not sure I want you dancing in the fountain. I grew bored with the ladies who did.”
“You’ll grow bored with me eventually.” She released the final button, eased the nightdress off her shoulders so it could slither down her body. He watched the journey of cloth until it all gathered at her feet. Then he lifted his gaze back to hers.
“Eventually. But not tonight.”
Taking her hand, he led her into the bedchamber.