Page 59 of Cocky August Rake

It was a proper mess. With Lord Reginald gone, Rose could do nothing to persuade him, challenge him, or make him understand the house. And having promised not to receive any gentlemen, she could not even return to the work that had always made her feel useful.

Nonetheless, though he seemed to have forgotten his promise to learn about The Domus, Rose kept hers.

She had not entertained a single client.

She told herself this was the source of her discontent. A woman did not enjoy having her choices taken from her, even temporarily. Even with compensation promised.

But the truth was far less convenient.

After those few moments with Reginald, Rose found it impossible to even imagine entertaining anyone else.

Nothing was going as planned!

On the third day, she took matters into her own hands and marched across to the offices. “When is he returning?” she demanded.

Frowning deeply, Mr. Huxley looked up from his desk, spectacles sliding down his nose, and informed her that his Lordship had failed to provide him with a schedule.

Rose wasn’t sure who was the most upset by this, her or Mr. Huxley.

She told herself it did not matter. She still had plenty of time to convince him. He could not hide forever. Could he?

By the fourth afternoon, Rose’s patience was worn utterly thin.

The house seemed too warm. Too close. As smothering as her own impatience.

Even Nell, who had been pleased when Rose told her a little of what had happened in the receiving room, seemed more on edge.

Rose had not given her details. She had not described Lord Reginald on his knees, or the way his hands had held her, or how close Rose had come to forgetting why she had brought him there at all.

She had simply told Nell that she had left him wanting.

That she had given him pleasure enough to remember without giving him satisfaction enough to be done with her.

She had not mentioned that she had dreamed of him every night since.

She told Nell the part that mattered.

Even so, a cold flicker of guilt moved through Rose. The report felt like a betrayal. Here she was, trying to prove that The Domus did not use women, all the while using herself as a means of changing his mind.

Rose pushed the thought away. The distinction did not signify.

Could not signify.

She’d grown so restless that when Nell mentioned that the small blue bottle in the locked cupboard was nearly empty, Rose snatched at the errand as though it were a lifeline.

“I’ll go,” she said.

Violet, curled in the corner of the chaise with a hot brick wrapped in flannel pressed against her belly, opened one eye. “You?”

Marianne looked up from her magazine. “You should send one of the maids.”

“That’s not necessary. Really.”

“You’ll purchase the laudanum?” Violet asked faintly.

“And chamomile. And more lavender water, if Mr. Hale has any worth buying.” Rose reached for her gloves, and then flicked the folded list out of Nell’s hand.

“Take Denny,” Nell suggested.