Page 17 of Cocky August Rake

Rose’s mind moved fast. She could not admit she had been looking for him.

“On occasion,” she said carefully, “a gentleman asks one of us to attend him elsewhere. A supper. A private gathering. A ball.”

It was not wholly untrue. It had simply almost never happened.

Nell would have words to say about this later.

“So you were working.”

The quiet disapproval in his voice made Rose’s stomach drop.

“Not when I met you,” she said quickly. And then added. “The gentleman I’d attended for, had, er, left already.”

His eyes narrowed.

Rose pressed on before he could misunderstand further.

“I was preparing to leave, if you’ll recall. I didn’t even know who you were.” Her throat tightened, though she kept her voice even. “And I swear I would never tell anyone.”

He stared at her.

“About the garden,” she added softly. “What happened there.”

His expression closed.

Whether he regretted how eagerly he had responded to her—or simply could not bear knowing what she did for a living—Rose could not tell.

But one thing was plain.

He did not wish to speak of it.

Not now.

Rose forced herself not to fidget beneath his scrutiny. She was not ashamed. She had no cause to be. But now was not the time to push.

In that moment, instinct urged her to smooth this over. To make herself useful to him, and through him, to everyone at The Domus.

Those issues from the garden would have to be handled in time, but for now, he needed easing past his discomfort. Made comfortable. Calm. Willing to listen.

And so, Rose fell back on what she knew. She relaxed and gave him a smile meant to put him at ease. “Have you visited The Domus before, Lord Reginald?”

His gaze sharpened. “No. I’ve never had reason to do so.”

“Until your brother gifted it to you.”

“A gift I never asked for.”

Rose nodded. So that was how matters stood. “Nonetheless, it is yours now.”

She did not ask what he intended to do with it. Not yet. She simply waited.

His distaste for the business was obvious. There was no denying that. But he had barely crossed the threshold. Once he examined the accounts and saw how the house was run—how much care, order, and skill went into it—perhaps that would change.

“Perhaps you’ll appreciate it more,” she said, “once you’ve looked it over properly.”

Lord Reginald’s eyes narrowed slightly. “It is a brothel.”

Rose refused to let that end the matter.