Dorian stopped dead, his heart skipping a beat and not through excitement. He shivered and stepped back, feeling as though something more of the winter cold had suddenly entered the room. Rose might be an innocent by his standards but she was neither a child, nor a fool. What else might she see of him that he had thought well-hidden behind his charming smile?
He nodded stiffly, unwilling to lie and unable to deflect at this moment. Rose stepped forward, cupping and caressing his face in her small hands.
“You don’t have to hide those things from me, Dorian. I would rather know all of you. I am married to all of you, the neglected boy as well as the charming man of the world and the rakish Wolf of West London.”
“Rose,” he said, closing his eyes and uttering the only word that came to him.
A moment later, Rose’s warm lips pressed softly, seekingly on his, and seemed to drive away the sensation of metaphysical cold that had threatened a few seconds earlier. Comfort and lust both surged through him again, neither emotion under control as he returned her kiss desperately.
Without any explanation, Rose seemed to understand his turmoil and held him close, returning his kisses with equal passion.
“You need not hide from me,” she murmured again, stroking his jaw and shrugging down the shirt from her shoulders so that his hands could lie easily over her full and sensitive breasts.
When Dorian pulled back and looked into her large blue eyes, he saw an immensity of feeling that both attracted and unnerved him. Was Rose’s understanding something more than her natural kindness and appreciation of his sensual attentions?
Had Cassius in fact been right and Rose had very naturally fallen in love with the man who rescued her from ruin and then introduced her to the pleasures of the bedroom? Of course she had. Rose had been waiting for her entire life to fall in love with someone, hadn’t she?
Dorian scented danger and disaster in this idea, his mind shrinking from the notion of love, even as his body craved his wife’s warm curves and yielding depths.
If Rose loved him, he could not in conscience continue to feed that dangerous emotion in her with their ever-growing closeness. It would be wrong and cruel. He had already done more than enough in recent weeks to hopefully fulfill his duty of giving her a child. Once she had a baby to love, perhaps Dorian would fade from her heart and they could begin again, more calmly.
In any case, how could he stop now when his whole body ached for Rose’s touch? Tomorrow it might seem easier to draw the line. Tonight, one more time…
Lifting his wife into his arms, the Duke of Ravenhill carried her back to the bedroom.
Chapter Seventeen
“The food is definitely all ordered, isn’t it?” Rose asked Mrs. Jennings as they walked through the Ravenhill House ballroom where maids with feather dusters or polishing cloths were working assiduously to shine the long-covered chandeliers, door fittings and window glass. “Including the salmon we discussed?”
“Everything is in hand,” the housekeeper assured her. “The salmon will be arriving on ice the day before the ball and will stay perfectly fresh in the present weather. You may view the order and delivery book in my room any time you wish to reassure yourself of what is still to come… Agnes, you have missed a spot on that window!”
“And the champagne?” added Rose, drawing the sharp-eyed housekeeper back again from her inspection of the maids’ work. “Did we need to order more or not?”
“No, Mr. Smithers checked the cellars and there was certainly enough for a winter ball of this size,” reported Mrs. Jennings, mixing efficiency and respect admirably in her words and tone. “The previous Duke of Ravenhill, God rest his soul, laid in a good supply when he first inherited the estate. Then, the poor man was dead within the month before he could give any hospitality.”
“Very sad,” murmured Rose, who had not known the man and understood that Dorian himself had barely known his cousin either.
“Well, it is of excellent quality and will not be wasted in any case,” remarked the practical housekeeper. “Did you require my help in writing the last set of invitations? I believe we have replies now from all the earlier invitees.”
Rose shook her head.
“They are all done, including those for neighboring estates whom we’ve already talked to about the ball. I will need your help with some last addresses however, and it would be good to know which neighbors might expect a personal delivery.”
“Why, none of them, I shouldn’t think, although most of them would be honored. Until you and His Grace went about at Christmas, none of the neighborhood had met any of the Dukes of Ravenhill for years. It is for you and His Grace to decide how well you wish to be known in the neighborhood.”
Turning away to hide her expression, Rose repressed a sigh.
“Thank you, Mrs. Jennings. I will think it over. That will be all for now. You may return to your work.”
“Very good, Your Grace,” responded the busy little woman, giving a brief curtsy and then a bright smile. “This won’t just be your first ball as hostess. It will be the first at Ravenhill House in over fifty years! The whole household is excited and I dare say the county and the ton will be equally so.”
Rose smiled back and watched Mrs. Jennings withdraw to the ballroom windows, presumably to check that Agnes was now giving proper attention to the glasswork.
Alone again, Rose bit her lip and thought about the question of calling on neighbors with invitations to their ball. A week ago, she would have simply found Dorian and asked him for his thoughts. Since Christmas, however, his mood had been strange. He seemed cooler, almost as avoidant as when she first arrived, often skipping meals or going for long, solitary rides.
Nor had her husband once come to her bed. He had not even laid a finger upon her arm, or a kiss upon her lips in the five days since Christmas. As they had not argued, Rose was baffled and hurt by this withdrawal of physical affection.
Was it something she had said or done? Was it something to do with that conversation about Dorian’s unhappy early life? Perhaps he was sorry to have revealed so much. But Rose was his wife. Whom else could he talk to if not her? And why should he regret it? She was not unkind or indiscreet.
