Page 41 of Cocky August Rake

Rose’s pulse quickened.

There was something different about Lord Reginald Preston. Something she had never felt with another man. Something that ought to make him easier to persuade.

Instead, it made everything far more dangerous.

Because there was also the possibility that drawing him closer meant she’d draw closer as well…

Rose pushed the thought away.

They were running out of choices. At the end of the month, they might lose not only their home, but the family they had made inside it.

She could not allow that to happen. At the very least, she’d try.

But Rose would not pretend it was anything more than a desperate chance.

“The sea will always be his first love,” she said at last. “Even if I turn his head for a night—or a fortnight—he still intends to leave London.”

Her throat tightened.

“He will leave The Domus. And he will leave me.”

Nell smiled gently.

“If the seas is his first love, Rose Darling,” she said, “Then you must become his mistress.”

OPEN FOR BUSINESS

The women wasted no more time debating Nell’s plan. Rose would carry it out that very night.

And if she was going to seduce Lord Reginald, they meant to prepare her properly.

Which was why she was promptly marched upstairs and subjected to the sort of attention usually reserved for one of Mayfair’s fussy debutantes before her come-out.

Marianne brought out scented oil, followed by enough jewels to ransom a minor prince. While she considered pearls against sapphires, Violet filed Rose’s nails and rubbed cream into her hands.

Maisy took charge of her face.

When she was satisfied, she turned her attention to Rose’s wig, pinning and rearranging it until every dark curl fell precisely where it ought.

Rose had prepared herself for countless men.

This should have felt no different.

But it did.

By the time they finished, she scarcely recognized the woman in the mirror.

Her own hair had been tucked away beneath the brunette wig she usually favored, styled with thick shining curls tumbling over one bare shoulder. The gown they’d settled on was ivory silk, cut low in the front and much lower in the back. A narrow ribbon of gold circled her throat. Her mouth had been tinted the soft red of crushed rose petals.

She looked polished. Luminous.

And… available.

Rose drew one last breath, left the dressing room, and made her way downstairs.

By the time she entered the main room, the heart of The Domus had come alive. Cards snapped against the faro tables. Dice tumbled over green felt. Music drifted from the pianoforte, nearly swallowed by laughter, clinking glasses, and the low hum of gentlemen eager for the evening to begin.

All was perfectly normal until raised voices sounded near the entrance.