“I am relieved to hear it. But believe me, Rose,” Mr. Blake went on, “I know more about his past than you ever could. His reputation is of the worst kind. He has no respect for anything and regards women as…” Her mother coughed loudly. “Mere diversions,” her father concluded lamely. “You could not know this, and I realize that he of course would keep you ignorant of his sins.”
“I only wanted to enjoy myself,” Rosalind said quietly. “I do not usually have the opportunity to do such a simple thing as a ride in the park.”
Her mother sighed, now saddened. “I know, dear. Your lapse in judgment is understandable, and it seems that all is well. You are forgiven this time. But please consider your family’s standing as well as your own desires. No more rides with gentlemen, and no more doing anything unsanctioned.”
“Yes, Mama,” she replied, chastened.
“Now go upstairs and rest. You looked flushed.”
Upstairs, Poppy embraced her cousin. “I’m so sorry. When your mama looked out the window and saw it was Norbury’s carriage, she nearly had a fit. What really happened with Mr. Evans? That was no full story you told.”
“Evans’s carriage wasn’t in trouble,” Rose said. “He drove me to a secluded place and stopped it deliberately so he could get me alone.”
“That seems quick,” Poppy muttered. “He just met you, and it’s not as if you were wildly in love with him and hoping to be compromised.”
“Eww,” Rose said, wrinkling her nose. “No, and certainly I would not choose Mr. Evans for the honor. He was rather boorish.”
“But Norbury was not?”
“He was a perfect gentleman, and I am grateful beyond words that he happened to pass by and rescue me.”
“‘Rescued by the Rake,’” Poppy said. “My goodness, it sounds like a title of one of those dreadful stories in those dreadful journals.”
“Snob,” Rose accused. “And anyway, you love those journals.” (Rose knew this to be true, since Poppy paid Alice to buy them for her, and she hid them under her bed, reading aloud to Rose on late nights when the girls didn’t want to sleep.) “Mama is being quite overblown about all this. It was just a ride.”
“I know. But, well, he is a rake.”
Rosalind sighed.“ And now I’ll not be able to talk to him ever again.”
“I’m not so sure of that,” Poppy murmured, squeezing her cousin’s hand. “I don’t think Norbury is the type who is easily discouraged.”
Chapter 8
After Adrian had returned Rose safely to the Blake house, he drove toward the park again. His expression was impassive, but he was furious. To think that if he’d chosen a slightly different route earlier, he’d never have noticed the carriage off the path, and not recognized the distinctive figure of Rose inside. Oh, Evans surely wanted to be caught with her…but not by Norbury.
Following the incident with Mr. Evans, Adrian realized that he’d have to be even more careful around Rose, and more diligent about assessing potential threats to her. He dispatched Carlos to a few gaming hells to learn what he could about the specific men making wagers on Rose. Carlos was the perfect man for such a job, and Adrian was confident that he’d return with a whole list of names.
As for Adrian himself, he had to figure out how he could stay close enough to Rose to protect her without adding fuel to the fire of the rumors. Which would be difficult.
Not that he anticipated any trouble getting into the Blake house. After all, he was a gentleman, and had (more or less) a proper acquaintance with all the ladies of the house. He hadn’t actually planned on spending so much time with Rose today, wishing not to appear too attentive. For his solo ride in the curricle, he had dressed with his usual care, wearing a navy coat over a simple white shirt. His pants were as plain as possible. He disdained faddish colors and embellishments, considering them the purview of dandies. Happily, his curricle could easily accommodate one more, and he was glad that he looked as presentable as he did, taking Rose around the park in public view, mostly to establish that nothing scandalous could possibly be happening.
But that young Mr. Evans. What an ass. Adrian hoped Miss Poppy would be extra vigilant about letting other men (excluding Adrian) from dallying with Rose. But he didn’t press the matter—Adrian didn’t know what would happen if Poppy learned about the drunken bets in the gaming hell the other night, but he guessed it might be…loud. He did not want the young lady to take any action on Rose’s part. She might do something everyone would regret.
Adrian drove back to his town house, hoping that Carlos would be there. His friend had rooms at one of London’s finest hotels, but he also was a frequent guest at Adrian’s home, and the servants had strict instructions to treat him as a resident. Adrian liked it when Carlos stayed at the house, since it was far too quiet and empty with his mother out of town.
Luckily, Carlos was there, lounging in the garden with his feet on the low stone wall of the terrace, staring moodily out at the blooming garden with a glass of rum in one hand.
He looked up when Adrian joined him, then gestured to the bottle on the table.
“I’ve already asked for a brandy,” Adrian said, sitting down. “What did you discover?”
“There are two sorts of wagers,” Carlos replied. His eyes unfocused as he cast back to his memories. Adrian was familiar with the look—Carlos had a mind like a steel box, holding every scrap of information tightly, and all he had to do was sort through it to recall the specific fact he needed. “The first is the slightly less offensive, and is a pool that simply offers bettors the option to choose a date by which Miss Blake is ruined.”
“How are they to know that?”
Carlos held his response, because one of the footmen had come out with Adrian’s brandy. After he withdrew to the house, Carlos continued.
“She either gets caught in a compromising position, or there is physical proof of the deed, like a bloodied sheet, though how the hell anyone could prove where a sheet came from without the lady to confirm it, I’ve got no idea,” Carlos said a little doubtfully. “Or general condemnation of society following a big enough scandal that the Blakes cannot deny it, which is the outcome most are expecting. To be honest, after the initial flurry of wagers made the day after you were seen dancing with Miss Blake, very few men have placed a bet. I think most of them have steered clear of it, knowing that there’s such murkiness about the actual event…not to mention that the whole notion is disgusting.”
