Page 67 of Cocky August Rake

“Take the rest of it off,” he said at last.

The yardmaster grimaced. “It’ll add a week. You’d be lookin’ at the first of September if we’re lucky.”

“We’ll lose a lot more than time if she takes water halfway down the Channel.”

Rose looked up at the ship once again, taking in the scraped-up hull and the broken mast… September first. One day after Lord Reginald promised to make his decision.

That the two dates nearly coincided didn’t feel like a coincidence.

Reginald straightened. “Recaulk from here to here. I want the copper sound before she goes back in.”

“Aye, Captain.”

Captain.

The word fit him better than lord.

Rose folded her hands before her and studied him.

Lord Reginald had spent most of his adult life at sea. It was the life he’d chosen. And now he was stuck on land, trapped by both the damage left by that storm and the obligation his brother had placed on him.

So he’d never truly meant to consider saving The Domus.

He’d only agreed to thirty days because he was stranded in London anyway.

Devious man.

Rose watched him for another moment, then cast her gaze beyond the ship, toward the city waiting behind them.

London was full of things to see and do. Shops. Parks. Bridges. Tea rooms. Book sellers. Ordinary corners of life that had nothing to do with The Domus at all.

If she wished for him to stay, first, she needed to show him that London was more than a place to escape.

It was alive. Exciting. Worth staying for.

Then, perhaps, she could persuade him to save The Domus.

Reginald turned then, as though he had felt her watching. And when their eyes met, the heat, the hammering, and the river stink all seemed to fade.

His gaze dropped to her mouth.

Only briefly.

Then returned to her eyes.

Rose’s pulse answered.

Yes, she thought. There was more than one way to make a man reconsider where he belonged.

ANYWHERE BUT THE DOMUS

Reginald liked seeing Rose away from his brother’s legacy.

Away from the brothel, the receiving rooms, and all the reminders of the institution she defended with such maddening conviction. Out here, she was not Miss Darling of The Domus Emporium.

She was simply Rose.

So when, the following morning, Mrs. Smith mentioned that Miss Darling required one of The Domus coaches to carry several gowns to her seamstress, Reginald seized the opportunity to accompany her.