So saying, he leaned back on the seat and closed his eyes.
He opened them again when Rose leaned over him and kissed him. She’d been cold all day, until he’d come to her and held her, and now she wanted to imbibe all of Steven’s warmth.
Steven’s strong hands closed on her wrists, and he pushed her back a little, his gray eyes steady. Before Rose could be surprised that he was rejecting her advances, he gently eased her down to her seat, rose, and pulled down all the shades to their compartment.
Rose’s breath caught as Steven returned to her, his eyes dark in the half light and full of promise. Her heart beat even faster as Steven resumed his seat and lifted her onto his lap. Then he proceeded to show her that what he’d had in mind for the journey went beyond more than a few simple kisses.
***
Rose and Steven entered the parlor of Steven’s hotel suite upon their arrival in London, and Rose halted in surprise. She’d supposed Steven had led her there, instead of parting for her to go to her own room, because he’d wanted to continue the seduction he’d begun on the train. Rose still wasn’t certain her bodice was buttoned right, in spite of his reassurance, and she was sure her bustle had gone back on crookedly. She reflected that Steven was a proving master at what a man and a woman could do together in tight spaces.
She stopped on the threshold now, flushing, because the parlor was full of people.
One was Mr. Collins, his flame-red hair mussed from the continued inclement weather. Near him stood Lord Ian Mackenzie and his wife, Beth, and Steven’s brother Sinclair. A woman with the same blond hair as Steven’s greeted them with a wide smile, and another Mackenzie, a bit older than Ian, towered behind her.
“Thank you all for coming,” Steven said, in no way surprised, confound the man. He led Rose inside, out of the way of the porters arriving with the broken settee. “Ainsley, Cam, this is Rose. Rose, my sister Ainsley and her husband, Cameron Mackenzie.”
Ainsley, the blond woman with eyes the same shade as Steven’s and Sinclair’s, came forward. “How do you do, Your Grace? I hope you don’t mind—Beth has already told me all about you.” She winked at Rose and took her hands. “Don’t be cryptic, Steven. Why did you summon us?”
And when had he? Rose realized now why Steven had been such a long time in the cloakroom at the train station—he must have slipped to the office to wire his friends.
Ian Mackenzie was staring at the settee which now rested in the center of the carpet. As well he might—it was a mess. Albert had finished wrecking what the weather and animals already had done.
“Redecorating, are you?” Sinclair asked in a dry voice.
“Let the man speak,” Cameron said in a voice that filled the room. “We’ll never have the answer if we keep interrupting.”
“I brought you here to make it official,” Steven said. He took Rose’s hands in his scratched ones, which he’d battered in effort to rescue her. “My sweetest Rose,” he said in a quiet voice. “Will you marry me?”
Rose’s stared at him. She could have sworn he’d just asked her to marry him, but the world was tilting, and she wasn’t quite sure. “Wha—?”
Steven’s hands anchored her, and she clung to them, the floor still unsteady. His eyes, clear and gray as the stormy November skies, held no teasing, no joking, only sincerity, and hope.
“Steven,” she whispered.
“You’ll have to be plain with me, Rosie,” Steven said, his grip tightening. “Is that a yes or a no?”
“Steven,” was all Rose could say. If she let go of him, she’d fall. If she held on to him, she was still in danger of falling, because hope and happiness were bearing down on her, threatening to sweep her away.
Beth Mackenzie broke in through the silence. “I believe that is a yes, Steven. I can tell by the way she’d looking at you.”
“Is it?” Steven asked Rose.
Rose’s throat closed up, and tears flooded her eyes. She nodded, unable to speak.
Steven let out a long breath of relief. “Thank God.” He pulled Rose into his embrace, his own body shaking. “Thank you, God.”
He leaned to Rose, wiping away one of her tears with his thumb, then he kissed her lips.
The warmth of his mouth snapped Rose back to her senses again. This was real, not simply a sweet dream she’d wake from all too soon. Steven McBride, the warm, passionate, wonderful man, had asked her to marry him, and Rose had nodded in answer. She’d had to nod because the joy of the moment had closed up her throat and choked off her wild Yes!
She broke the kiss and smiled down at him. “Yes,” she whispered.
Steven laughed. His laughter was always real, deep, and warm. He kissed her again, and the room spun around Rose as she kissed him back, the people in it dissolving into a colorful blur.
“It’s wrong.” Ian Mackenzie’s voice was as harsh as Cameron’s but a little more stilted, as though he had to force words out.
Rose turned from Steven to look at him. Ian was staring, not at Steven and Rose, but at the settee.
“Of course, it’s wrong,” Beth said next to him. “Someone’s smashed it.”
Rose wiped her eyes and managed a laugh. “I agree, it’s a bit of a wreck now. I am hopeful a furniture maker can put it back together, but I imagine its value is lost.”
Ian glanced at Rose as though she’d gone utterly mad and hadn’t understood a word he’d said. He moved to the settee and went down on one knee in front of it, lifting the broken bits of wood to fit them together again.
The others watched him a moment, then moved their attention back to Steven and Rose, as though finding nothing unusual in Ian’s behavior.
Steven put his arm around Rose as his friends and family surged forward to congratulate them. Ainsley and Beth kissed Rose, both excitedly talking about wedding clothes and where and when the deed should be done. Sinclair McBride took Rose’s hand once the ladies finally let her go, and kissed her cheek.
“Thank you, Rose,” he said. “My unruly little brother needs someone to keep him tame. God knows the rest of us have never been able to.”
“I didn’t fall in love with her because she keeps me tame,” Steven said, giving Rose a look that reminded her off the naughty things they’d done in the train. “The opposite. She brings out the wickedness in me.”
“Lord, help us all,” Sinclair said, but the bleakness in his eyes fled a moment before his warm smile.
“You must let us take you shopping,” Ainsley said. “We’ll bring Isabella along—she’s dressed all of us, and she’ll have to dress you too. Your wedding gown will be the stuff of legends.”
Steven slid his arm protectively around Rose’s waist. “Enough of that. I didn’t bring you all here to help plan the wedding. I brought you because I want to marry her right away, and you are the best to help me procure a special license.”
Lord Cameron nodded sagely. “Wondered why you wanted the drama. I’ll see to it. McBride?” he nodded at Sinclair and Mr. Collins, as though proposing they rush away and hunt up a bishop on the moment.
“Could you exercise a few seconds of patience, Cam?” Ainsley said to her husband. “I’d like to at least toast the happy couple. I’ll ring for champagne. Or did you telegraph for that as well, Steven?”
Ian Mackenzie continued to piece the settee back together. He’d torn off the tatters of the cushion but pushed the legs and arms back into place, fitting broken bits into place as he would a puzzle. The settee looked forlorn without its padding, the wood scratched and splintered, but somehow it wasn’t as ugly as it had been. The ebony was strong, and the pure gold glistened in the lamplight.
Beth went to Ian, as though to tell him to leave off, but Rose broke from Steven and joined them.
“I think I see what he means,” she said, her interest rising.
Ian didn’t stop working. He fitted the last large piece against another, the settee held up by its own tension. Ian ran his large hand along one side, then moved around it and touched the
other side. He sighted down the length of the seat and gently touched one of the gilded heads that adorned the corners.
Steven came to examine the thing with Ian, Steven half-bent with his hands on his thighs. “What are you looking at?”
Ian glanced at him, then realized that everyone was staring at him. His cheekbones flushed, but he fixed his gaze on the settee again.
“This.” Ian pointed at the head he’d touched, then touched a second, walked to the other end and touched a third. He paused—if he’d been anyone else, Rose would have thought he’d hesitated for effect—then he touched the fourth head, and they all saw.
It was different from the others, but only minutely. While the other three had eyes that stared rather unnervingly outward, this sphinx’s eyes looked down slightly and to the left. Also, the feminine face was rounder than the others, more human-like, while the remaining three were rigid and fixed.
Ian closed his hand over the carved head and started to turn it. Rose leaned in, holding her breath, while Ian kept turning. All at once, the head came away, and with it a part of the post. It had been seamed so neatly that the crack was invisible when the head was attached. Even the damage the settee had suffered hadn’t destroyed its secret.
Ian peered inside the opening, then he slid in his fingers gently inside and pulled out a rolled sheaf of papers. He handed them to Steven without a word.
Steven unrolled the pages, Rose leaning to look. When she saw Charles’s handwriting, her heart skipped a beat. Steven studied the top sheet a moment, then quietly passed it to Rose. “For you,” he said softly.
Rose took it, her breath quickening, and read.
My dearest Rose,
If you are holding this paper, I have gone from the world. I have made my peace with it, and my only regret is leaving you alone to face what you must. I have tried to provide the best I could for you, but I unfortunately know that a great lot of money, especially when it is tied to land and a lofty title, brings out the worst in people. My family has had a long history of fighting each other for the smallest scrap, and I fear this will happen again with my son. To that end, I have fixed upon with a way to provide for you independently, and hopefully make you smile in the process. I stumbled across the lovely cottage, which its owner charmingly called “Rose Cottage,” but he had no idea what to do with. It had been in his family for ages, and he, a city man through and through, was a bit embarrassed by it. It was free and clear of any entail, and I offered to purchase it from him, with the sole purpose of giving it to you. The deed to the property is enclosed here, and you are to use the house or do with it whatever you see fit. A copy of this deed has been filed with a solicitor of my choosing in case there is any doubt. I know that any will I make that names you will be contested, for which I apologize, my Rose. But as you know how much I love my little games, I made one for you that you’d easily solve. I knew you admired the Bullock cabinet, which is worth much, and we made such a joke about the Egyptian settee that I knew you’d find that too. Rose Cottage is yours, as is everything in it. As a private purchase it has nothing to do with my estate, and so I can bestow it on whomever I wish.
I have always loved you, my Rose. I can only hope that you find as much happiness in your life as you brought to me at the end of mine.
I remain, ever your devoted,
Charles
The last words blurred. Steven gently tugged the paper from her fingers and pressed his lips to her wet cheek.
“I’m sorry, love,” he whispered. “For losing so much.”
Rose swallowed on her tight throat. “Much of it found again,” she said softly.
The property deed, which made up the rest of the papers, was quite detailed, and long. Mr. Collins reached around Steven and plucked it out of his hands.
“It seems in order,” he said after he’d skimmed through. “But I’ll go over it carefully back at my offices. The minister who can say that the parish record listing Her Grace as previously married was forged has arrived as well, so that mess will be cleared up at once.”
“Good,” Steven said. “Then there will be nothing to prevent Rose from marrying me this evening.”
“Only the rain slowing us up,” Cameron rumbled. “Come on, Collins, McBride. Let’s find a license and put Steven out of his misery.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Ainsley said. She hurried to the door as a footman came through it bearing a tray of glasses, followed by the hotel’s croupier with champagne. “Let us at least wish them well. I don’t think Rose is about to change her mind.”
“No, indeed,” Rose said. She held Steven’s hand again, borrowing his strength, blessing him for righting her world.
“To the happy couple,” Ainsley said after they’d all received full glasses.
“Aye,” Steven agreed quietly. He clinked his glass to Rose’s. “Thank you, Rosie.”
“My pleasure.” Rose sipped her champagne, but the enormity of the change in her life swept upon her all at once, and her knees buckled.
Steven caught her in alarm. “You all right?”
“Yes.” Rose hastily set down her glass and contented herself with holding on to Steven instead. “I beg your pardon—it’s rather overwhelming. I’ve been a long time alone, you see. Never had much family.”
“That’s all right, love,” Steven said. He gestured expansively to the others in the room. “Welcome to mine.”
Suddenly, Rose’s shaking evaporated. She saw her life before her, not narrow and barren, lined with people who condemned her, but one full of promise, in the company of those who held together against the world.
Steven’s kiss on her lips held more promise still, of a slightly more sinful kind. Rose pulled him close, and surrendered.
Epilogue
Steven lay beside Rose in the comfortable bed of their hotel suite the next afternoon, having made her Mrs. Captain Steven McBride a few hours ago.
He’d agreed to delay at Ainsley’s insistence, she backed by his four sisters-in-law, that poor Rose should at least have a decent dress to be married in. Steven gave in to the barrage of ladies, to his brothers’ and brothers-in-law’s amusement.
Somehow the women had managed to come up with a gown for Rose to wear when she and Steven wed at the bishop’s house the next morning. They’d chosen a light blue, which brought out the flush in Rose’s cheeks, the gold of her hair, and the aquamarine flecks in her green eyes. The fine cloth of the gown hugged her body perfectly, and Steven didn’t waste time wondering how they’d cobbled together something so quickly. She was beautiful, and that was all that mattered.
Rose repeated her vows without hesitation, though Steven couldn’t remember what the devil had come out of his own mouth. But soon the ring, which he’d borrowed from Ainsley until he could buy another, was on Rose’s finger. She was pronounced by the bishop—witnessed by his family and solicitor—to be Steven’s wife.
The journalists loved it, of course. This time, when Steven found them all waiting outside the hotel upon their return, he stopped and asked for their congratulations. Steven, with Rose smiling next to him, revealed that he’d fallen so hard for his perfect Scottish Rose that he’d begged her to marry him, and she’d done him the honor of accepting.
They were instantly surrounded by a sea of men and women in black, all bellowing questions, such as What about the comte? Has he threatened to kill himself? Or Captain McBride? But most of them looked happy, as though pleased to be able to report good news for a change.
They were equally happy to have the rest of the scandalous Mackenzies walk into the hotel past them—Ian, Cam, Mac, and Hart ignoring the journalists as they always did. Steven had no doubt the men and women of the press were busily making up things about the Mackenzie brothers and their wives, as they so enjoyed doing. All in all, a full day for London’s scribblers.
The hotel gave Steven another, larger suite, and the family helped Steven and Rose move into it.
Steven had the devil of a time getting
them all to go after that. His leave lasted only until after Christmas, and he wanted every second with Rose.
But food and drink flowed, the Mackenzies and McBrides pleased to welcome the newest addition to their family. At last, after several hours of buoyant celebration, Sinclair and Cameron, perceptive men that they were, ushered the others out.
Now the pretty blue gown was in a puddle on the bedchamber’s floor, and Rose dozed next to Steven, her skin warm under his fingertips.
As though she felt his gaze, Rose opened her eyes, their green depths drawing him in.
She gave him a languid smile. “There’s something decadent about lying in bed together during the afternoon.”
“I like decadence,” Steven said, brushing the hair back from her face. “I always have.”
“Good,” Rose said decidedly. “If the newspapers are going to write about me, I want the fun of having done what they say I’ve done.”
Steven grinned down at her. “That’s my Rose.” He gave her a thorough kiss, one that had him hard and ready again.
“Speaking of decadence,” Rose said. “What shall I do with my cottage?”
Steven shrugged. “It’s yours. Collins has proved that. The trust means I can’t touch it. So you decide.”
“It’s very pretty,” Rose said. “I wouldn’t like to rush to sell it, but I don’t see the pair of us settling down in it anytime soon.” She caressed the back of his neck. “You promised to show me the world.”
“The world is what an army wife sees, every facet of it, the beautiful and the ugly. If you’re willing to see it with me.”
The sparkle in Rose’s eyes was eager. “I am. I don’t want to be left behind when you go.”
“And you won’t be.” Steven kissed the tip of her nose. “I won’t lie, Rosie. It’s a hard life. You now have the little jewel box to settle down in—a peaceful life with people to look after you.”
“I don’t want that,” Rose said quickly. “Not alone. I’d rather have hardship with you than ease without you.”