Withered Rose (Desperate And Daring Book 7) Page 5

  A quiet rumble filled the room.

  “That isn’t coming from this building, is it?” Mr. Connor said.

  “Nonsense. It’s just a bit of thunder,” Lady Belfrost said. She strolled to the window and looked out. The rain pelted the glass loudly. “Why don’t we examine the other rooms,” she said.

  Rose lifted her head. “I’m not finished with this one.”

  “Leave it for now. I want to show you the rest of the rooms. We can form a plan of attack for each room while we take lunch.”

  Rose set her sketchbook aside and stood. She followed in Lady Belfrost and Mr. Connor’s wake. The second-floor landing overlooked the entry hall. Rose put her hand on the banister and shook it before leaning over. It felt sturdy enough, but she did not linger with her weight on it. They entered each room, opening the drapes and inspecting the bedding.

  Lady Belfrost was not pleased. It looked as though the lodge hadn’t been cleaned in years, and rodents had taken up residence in the mattresses, creating odd lumps and craters under the stained counterpanes. When they reached the final room, they stood in the doorway in silence.

  Rose had a running list of things to be replaced. She waited for Lady Belfrost to speak.

  “I will speak to Mr. James at once and find out how this lovely lodge came to such disrepair,” she said angrily. She finally stepped into the room. “This room used to be my favorite. The view was lovely in the morning.”

  Rose cocked her head to the side. “Did you spend much time here?”

  “We spent our honeymoon here,” Lady Belfrost said absently.

  Rose felt a pang of sympathy. This place must mean a great deal to her. She’d trusted someone to care for it, and they had failed her. Rose stepped forward to the window and inched the curtain aside. The rain was coming down so thick one could barely see through it. Rose turned away and looked about the room. “It just needs a bit of love. New fabric, new mattress, and a deep cleaning, and the whole lodge will shine like new.”

  Lady Belfrost spun around with a smile. “How right you are, Rose. I was rather melancholy there for a moment, but now I see the light. This lodge can be revived and be better than before.”

  Mr. Connor stepped forward. “If this room is your favorite, let’s begin here.” He put his hand on the post of the four-poster bed and ran his hand over the hanging. He pulled his hand away and shook off the dust. The velvet disintegrated under his touch.

  “First item on the list… new velvet hangings for the bed.” Rose smiled as she started the list. “New mattress, sheets, and counterpane,” she added. She pressed on the mattress, pleased to feel it felt almost normal. “Perhaps its needs only to be cleaned.” She lifted the counterpane and swept it back. The sheets looked untouched.

  “Gabriel, help me move these drapes. This side won’t open all the way,” Lady Belfrost called out.

  He moved to his aunt’s side and gave the drape a firm yank. There was a splintering crack, and then the whole thing fell.

  Rose screamed. Lady Belfrost just barely managed not to be clobbered by the rod, but only because Mr. Connor had deftly caught it.

  “My lady!” Rose came to help her out from under the heavy fabric. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes, but Gabriel?”

  “I’m fine,” he said from under a mountain of heavy velvet. “But this is quite heavy… and dusty.” He coughed.

  Rose tried to lift some of the weight, but it was impossible to move off him. “Does this help?”

  “Somewhat,” was his muffled reply.

  “I’ll fetch Richard.” Lady Belfrost hurried from the room.

  “What did she say?” Mr. Connor shouted

  “She went to fetch help,” Rose shouted back.

  Her arms were already protesting under the weight of the draperies she was holding, but she wasn’t going to let go until someone came to help. They waited… and waited… and waited some more.

  “What the devil is taking so long?” Mr. Connor shouted after a particularly violent sneeze.

  “I don’t know,” Rose said anxiously. Her muscles were screaming now. She tried to adjust her hold.

  “Can you hear anyone coming?”

  “No, but I’m sure they are.”

  He started shifting under the drapes. “Something is crawling on me.”

  “Oh, God.”

  “I—stand back, Rose!” he shouted.

  “I don’t want to let go!”

  “Stand back!”

  Rose let go and ran back toward the bed.

  With an animal grunt, he heaved the drapes and rod over his head, and then shuffled out from the last bit of fabric, aggressively swatting at his neck and shoulders.

  “Oh, my God!” Rose gasped.

  He was covered in… SPIDERS.

  She took a pillow from the bed and began to hit him frantically. He was yanking off his coat in the process and cursing wildly. Finally, he put his hand up to stop her.

  She looked around frantically—at the floor, at her skirts. It may have been her imagination, but she felt like she could feel them crawling on her as well.

  “There must have been a nest in the drapes,” he muttered.

  Rose shivered. “I’ve never seen such a thing, except perhaps in my nightmares.”

  “I wish I could say it was my first time being covered in spiders.”

  “It’s not?”

  “No.” He chuckled. “I must say you took it marvelously well. Most women would have run screaming from the room.”

  “Don’t think I didn’t want to.”

  “My thanks for not deserting me.”

  “You are welcome. Now, let’s leave this room. There are still hundreds of spiders in it.”

  “Do you think my aunt would notice if we burnt this place down?”

  “Perhaps, but I think she might understand.” They hurried downstairs. Rose expected to be intercepted at any moment by either Richard or Lady Belfrost, but as they came to the bottom of the stairs, it was oddly quiet.

  Rose looked around. “Perhaps they are in the kitchen?” She went through the swinging door. The picnic basket was on the table, and a small fire had been lit in the hearth, but there was still no sign of the footman or Lady Belfrost. The only sound was the steady rain pummeling the roof. Mr. Connor hadn’t followed her. She returned to the entry hall, now empty, and went into the drawing room.

  “Mr. Connor?”

  “Here.”

  She spotted him by the window.

  “Don’t say they are outside.”

  “The carriage is gone,” he said.

  She came to the window and looked out. “Did they go for help?”

  He was silent as he stared out the window. Then he turned to her. “Did you notice the luggage in the entry?”

  Rose frowned “Luggage? No, but perhaps Lady Belfrost brought items to help redecorate?” Rose went into the hall. She could feel Mr. Connor following her. She gasped and covered her mouth. “That’s my portmanteau.” Her cry was muffled. She dropped to her knees and opened it. Inside were her nightgown, dressing gown, brushes, and a single day dress.

  Mr. Connor came around her and kicked over the small brown leather trunk. “If I open this, will I find my clothing?” he asked dryly.

  “What is going on?” Rose sat on the cold tile, too dumbfounded to move from the floor. “This must be a misunderstanding. The coach will return later.”

  She could hear him moving about. But her gaze was stuck on her portmanteau.

  “It appears we are meant to stay the night here… alone.”

  Rose looked up. He was holding a note. He looked down at her forebodingly. She stood, but her stomach felt like it remained on the floor. Her hand was shaking as she took the note and read it.

  Here’s your chance to discover your next great adventure…

  The note slipped from her fingers. Her gaze wouldn’t focus at it drifted softly to the floor. She felt numb at first, but then, a burst of energy filled her, and she
lurched for the door. She tore it open and ran into the rain. She stopped dead in her tracks when roaring filled her ears. The creek was no longer a creek. It had quadrupled in size, swallowing the little ravine that had only hours ago contained it. The bridge was a mere island of stone in the middle of a racing, churning river.

  “Come inside, Rose. We will figure this out better if we’re dry.”

  She turned back to look at him. He held his hand out, his eyes pleading. Rain plastered his reddish blond hair to his forehead. Her heart ached. If this were a dream, she would take his hand and seize the adventure. But it wasn’t a dream, and the reality was cold and wet, making her shiver as rain slid down her back. She couldn’t seize anything. Her life was not her own.

  She was a paid companion, a respectable and safe position for a woman, but now she would be ruined. She would have no good name to barter for safety and security. What was Lady Belfrost thinking?

  “No,” Rose shouted above the roar. “I can’t stay here with you.”

  He looked past her to the raging water. “You can’t go, either.”

  “I have to try.” Rose turned and slipped out of his reach. It couldn’t be very deep if the bridge was still visible. She ran into the water, the frigid temps stealing her breath, and the water tugging at her ankles and skirts like shackles.

  “Rose!” he shouted behind her. “It’s too fast. It will pull you under.” He charged forward to snatch her back, but Rose cut to the side, out of his reach.

  Her foot slipped out from under her, and she pitched backward. The water snatched her up greedily and tossed her against a tree on its edge. Rose couldn’t suck in a breath, but she grabbed that tree with everything she had in her. The water dragged at her with invisible skeletal hands of death, tearing and clawing at her skirts. She closed her eyes and started to pray.

  Gabriel felt his heart stop as she was swept away, her fragile body tossed against a tree like a ragdoll. It happened so fast, and in the blink of an eye, she was gone. She held to the tree, and he burst into action.

  “Hold on!” he shouted. He looked for anything to help him reach her. He ran around the side of the lodge, his heart racing, his mind picturing her slipping from the tree to her death a thousand different ways. In a small shed, he found a rope. He ran back to her, elated to find her still clinging to the tree, shivering violently. Tying the rope around a tree out of the waters reach, he tied the other end to his waist and waded into the freezing water. The cold wasn’t the danger. It moved, sweeping victims off their feet and toward their death with swiftness.

  The rope wasn’t long enough to reach her, but if she reached out to him, he could take hold of her hand and pull her to safety.

  “Rose, take my hand.”

  She turned her head toward him, her face ghostly pale and her lips purple. Her lips moved, but he couldn’t hear her. He planted his feet, locking his legs to fight the drag of the water. It was barely up to his knees, but it was a fight to remain standing.

  “Take my hand. I will pull you to safety.”

  Her gaze refocused on him. For a heart-stopping moment, he thought she might let go and let herself be carried away. “Rose, please,” he begged.

  She tightened her hug to the tree, and then she reached one hand out to him. He grabbed it. Her hand felt like a chunk of ice.

  “Good. I’m going to use the force of the water to swing you back toward the edge. Don’t let go of me, and I won’t let go of you.”

  She dipped her chin once.

  “Let go of the tree when I say three. One. Two. Three!”

  She let go, and the water yanked her hard, but he didn’t let go. He swung her wide and up to the water’s edge, digging his heels into the ground as he closed the distance between them and wrapped his arms around her. He walked them free of the water until they were clear of danger. She was shaking in his arms, and his own muscles were beginning to stiffen from the cold. He struggled to untie the rope from his waist with numb fingers. Finally free of it, he scooped her into his arms and carried her back inside.

  Once in the drawing room, he set her down before the fire. His hands shook as he worked to remove his shirt, then his boots and stockings. Then he turned to her. She sat staring at the fire, shaking like a leaf. He pulled a blanket from the sofa and shook it out. He kneeled at her back and undid her dress.

  “Wh-What are you doing?” was her slurred response.

  “You will catch ill if you stay in this wet clothing. I promise to leave everything else, but the dress must come off, or it will be the death of you. I have a blanket to cover you.”

  She didn’t move or respond again, so he continued. He quickly undid the back and pushed the sleeves over her shoulders. He roughly rubbed the tops of her arms to warm her. He put his hands under her arms to make her stand, quickly shoving her dress down and then helping her step out of it. He kicked it away. He threw the blanket around her shoulders, and without giving it too much thought, he hugged her tightly to his chest, covering them both with the blanket. They both sank down to their haunches, not speaking.

  He let his cheek rest on her head and sighed. He could feel the heat of the fire through the blanket. She was cold and stiff in his arms, like a marble statue, but after a few minutes, she relaxed and no longer felt like ice. Her shivering eased to occasional shivers, rather than a steady vibration. Her face was turned toward the fire, and when he looked down, he saw that her eyes were closed.

  Chapter 7

  Rose was lulled by the steady beat of his heart. She couldn’t be asleep, not when that perpetual rhythm continued despite her lids weighing two stone and the glorious heat of his body pressed against hers. The warmth was like a drug. She wanted to succumb. She would wiggle closer, but her body was too tired to move. She grew conscious of his hand moving over her back in gentle sweeps. The swell of his chest against hers as he took deep, languid breaths soothed her.

  Rose shivered in his hold, and he squeezed her tighter. She wasn’t cold any longer. His skin radiated heat everywhere she touched him, which felt like her entire body. She dared not move. Her cheek pressed against his chest, his nipple, puckered tight and bare. Had she seen a male nipple before? She couldn’t remember now. It was absurd.

  Her shivering subsided as his warmth seeped into her bones and his hands moved over her back. With each stroke of his hands, warmth rippled through her skin. She was coming awake, her body coming alive to the subtle spell he was weaving with his hands. She was afraid to move now because, if she did, she might do something reckless, she might do something to encourage more touching… she might do something ridiculous like beg him to kiss her.

  As if he’d heard her silent plea, she felt his lips brush her hair with a kiss.

  She was done for. An ache filled her, hollow and course, begging to be filled with heat and passion with the rough touch of a man. She closed her eyes tightly, fighting herself, fighting the urge to move as memories and sensations flooded her. She shouldn’t want this. How could she? She was not a wanton, and she was not in love. What was happening to her?

  He brushed a kiss against her temple and Rose nearly moaned. Her hands curled into fists against his taut belly and then she pulled them away, locking her hands together behind her back. She must not touch him. She must not go down that road.

  His hands stopped their exploration of her back and adjusted the blanket around them. He pulled back just a little and looked down at her.

  “Are you warm now?”

  Achingly so. She managed a nod but kept her chin tucked to avoid meeting his gaze. His knuckles brushed her cheek, and she just barely stopped herself from nuzzling his hand like a cat.

  “You frightened me, Rose.”

  She was frightening herself.

  “The way that water ripped you off your feet, I thought you’d never been seen again.” He tipped her chin up.

  His voice was so deep and grave she immediately felt shame. He’d risked his life to save hers, all because she didn’t want to b
e alone with him.

  She swallowed. “I’m sorry.” She hesitantly met his eyes. Firelight bathed half his face, casting the other in shadow. “I don’t know what came over me. I hadn’t realized the danger of the water.” It was the truth. She hadn’t feared the water half as much as she feared being stranded alone with him.

  “I promise you, whatever half-cocked plan my aunt has derived, I am not an accomplice, and we will not be forced to do anything—you will not be forced.”

  Rose nodded. She wanted to believe that. He said it with such certainty. But he was not a young woman of no means. He was not desolate and without family. And he was not being driven by years of pent up longing and desire. He wasn’t struck dumb by his presence and tortured with awareness and unbridled arousal. Rose was bewitched. How could he begin to understand what she was feeling? She must be doing an excellent job of hiding it. His every breath aroused her, even the light freckles shading his nose begged for her to kiss and adore them. She was going mad, all her restraint disintegrating the longer he held her. What would he do when she could no longer hide her feelings? He’d only arrived yesterday, and here she was salivating like a dog at mealtime.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “We’re even. You saved my life, and now I’ve saved yours.” He smirked, but it quickly faded. “Promise me you won’t try to cross the river.”

  “I won’t, I promise,” and she meant it.

  “My pride can’t take the slight,” he teased again, his sly grin returning.

  She bit her lip and looked away. “I meant no personal affront.” She remembered what she had said out in the rain before stupidly trying to cross the bridge.

  “I suppose we should change into dry clothing and see what resources we have at our disposal.”

  Rose nodded. She looked around the room in dismay. At least they had fire and dry wood, but how long would they have to remain here? “What was that crazy woman thinking?” she muttered.