Page 13 of My Darling Rogue
“Aren’t you worried you’ll become hopelessly freckled, Lady Celia?” Lady Lydia West inquired. “A lady should always protect her skin when in the sun. An application of Olympian Dew can only accomplish so much.”
“Not worried at all,” Celia replied, giving her hat a few extra twirls. “A few freckles should hardly be considered flaws. I honestly don’t understand why they are.”
“Says the girl without a single freckle,” Ivy laughed. “Knowing your habit of going without hat or parasol, I find it vexing you do not possess a single spot on that perfect complexion of yours.”
“You are too kind, Lady Ivy.” Celia grinned at her friend. “And you know very well your freckles are enchanting.”
“Ravenswood certainly thinks so.” A dreamy expression crossed Ivy’s face when speaking of her husband.
“Celia, I overheard Sir Beeson declare your skin to be the exact likeliness of thistle weed milk,” Sara teased.
“A compliment I could live the rest of my life without hearing ever again,” Celia said dryly.
“He once compared the shade of my hair to that of a dying primrose.” Lydia examined a lock of her pale blonde hair with a frown. “Perhaps he means to be poetic, but rarely do his words come out that way.”
“He means no harm, truly.” Ivy smiled at the group of ladies and linked her arm with Celia’s. “I believe his earnestness is genuine.”
“What of Mister Rose?” Lydia asked Ivy with a tilt of her head. “He is a most interesting person, for all his scowling and habit of ducking into the shadows when a lady approaches. Is it true Lord Ravenswood saved him during a drunken brawl behind a Paris brothel after which he promised your husband eternal gratitude as repayment?”
The sudden resentment rising in Celia’s throat was surprising, her muscles tensing with some unknown emotion. Why would Lady Lydia inquire of the man when he was hardly one of their social standing? Worse, why should Celia even care?
“Mister Rose’s story is not mine to tell, and I’ll not betray his loyalty to my husband or myself by gossiping of his past.” Ivy glanced at Celia, her brow knitting the tiniest bit. “True, he is one of our closest friends and a valued, although unconventional, member of our family, but he is also an extremely private man.”
Celia forced her body to relax as they continued along the graveled path leading back to Beaumont. But she felt like growling at Lydia when the girl blithely continued.
“It has been said he is the illegitimate son of an English lord. Or maybe it was a French count. It’s all so mysterious and fascinating. The man is quite handsome, and reportedly rich as Midas to boot.” A dreamy expression passed over Lydia’s face. “I’ve never seen him actually take part in any social events, but the man is hardly a peasant. Would it be beyond the pale if he took a lady’s hand for a waltz or two? I mean, Lady Elise married a commoner and she’s the daughter of a marquess.”
“The daughter of a penniless marquess,” Ivy clarified. “There are many reasons Stalling accepted that offer for his daughter’s hand in marriage.”
“And all counted out in pounds,” another lady said with a giggle. “But it’s said the marriage is agreeable to all parties. Indeed, it’s rumored Lady Elise’s husband is quite in love with his new bride and she with him.”
“I wonder if Mister Rose has ever shown an interest in a woman of the upper class?” Lydia mused aloud.
“You could ask Mister Rose these questions yourself, Lady Lydia,” Sara invited with an amused chuckle. “In fact, here is your chance, for I believe he rides toward us along with Lord Bentley and Lord Ravenswood.”
“No, thank you!” Lydia waved her hand so quickly it loosened a few tendrils of hair. The wisps flew around her pretty face as she dramatically declared, “I would fear for my reputation and perhaps my personal safety if I spoke so boldly. Mister Rose does not appear he would invite prying into his affairs in any form, even if for the sake of harmless curiosity. I merely speculated aloud. My father would never approve of such a man, even if his coffers are deep.”
“Wealth does make it easier to excuse a lack of title,” Lady Caroline Robertson remarked with a sly smile. “But perhaps Mister Rose is better suited as a lover, rather than as a husband.”
“That scar of his nearly frightens me half to death,” one lady commented with a shudder of distaste. “Although the rest of his form quite makes up for that one flaw.”
Ivy shot the women a quelling glance. “Remember we do have a few unmarried ladies among us, please.”
Lydia smoothed the front of her gown and straightened her elaborate bonnet. “Anyway, one must admit he is handsome, even with the scar.”
“Yes,” Caroline agreed in a sultry voice. “We can all agree on that point, at least.”
More than a few of the ladies craned their necks for a better view of the men advancing across the meadow.
Celia’s annoyance increased as the three horses galloped closer. She’d always believed her own interest in Gabriel Rose to be a singular thing. After more than a year of watching the man from beneath lowered lashes, she never considered someone else might also find him attractive. Nor had she thought another might seek his attention.
He sat atop his horse as if born to the saddle, his size suited to the massiveness of the dark gold gelding. While Ravenswood and Bentley were large men, Gabriel surpassed them. Taller and heavier, he possessed a brawny elegance, comfortable in his skin and unashamed of the muscles bunching beneath the dark brown breeches he wore.
Yes,Celia grudgingly admitted, a strange twinge of desire rattling her composure.He is certainly handsome.
Sebastian Cain, the Earl of Ravenswood, reached the group first, swinging off his black stud horse with a flourish. Ivy barely had time to slide her arm from Celia’s waist before the earl was sweeping his wife up against him. He planted a quick, open-mouth kiss on Ivy’s lips while the other women twittered behind gloved hands.
All three men were dressed for a casual ride across the estate’s rough terrain, not a single one wearing a coat or hat. In fact, crisp white shirts were open at the throat, the material revealing far more than was proper.
