Scandal And The Duchess (MacKenzies & McBrides #6.5)(30)
Author: Jennifer Ashley

They talked of dreams they had for now and later, and laughed about things they’d seen together. They had only a few memories, two days of them, but it gave them so much to talk about.

Steven could talk to her forever.

The coachman and his wife left them alone. The two downstairs had to know what the two upstairs were doing, and yet, they gave them their privacy. Miles and his wife must have recognized that Steven had come to take care of Rose, and they were letting him get on with it.

“Sittford House tomorrow,” Steven said, kissing her shoulder. “I want your legacy in your hands—I don’t trust Albert not to sell everything sellable before we can go through it.”

“You’re still determined to help me win against him?”

Steven noted the surprise and faint worry in her eyes. “Yes. Why wouldn’t I?”

“Our bargain will soon be at an end,” Rose said wistfully.

“Endings are sad.” Steven brushed his fingertips along the softness of her br**sts. “I don’t like them. Beginnings sometimes can be good. But the middle of the story is always the best part. I like middles.”

Rose laughed. “I like the middle of this one.”

“That’s because all the villains are leaving us in peace.” He pressed his palm against hers, their splayed fingers touching. “So are our friends. I’m enjoying it.”

The look in Rose’s eyes said she was enjoying it too. “We’ll have to go back to the real world sooner or later.”

“Later,” Steven said. “Not right now. Right now is for . . .” He released her hand and slid over her again. “Right now is for loving you. I’m going to do it for as long as I can.”

“Good,” Rose said with a smile.

That was all Steven needed. He was already aching for her again, a pain that eased only slightly as he eased himself inside her one more time.

***

The bloody settee was nowhere in the house.

Steven sat on a dusty couch in one of the attics—the be-damned mansion had five—and looked with disgust at the furniture crammed into it. Couches, divans, chairs, tables, bedsteads, most of it rickety and broken. Nowhere had they found an Egyptian-style settee in ebony and gold, decorated with sphinxlike heads.

Rose stood, dejected, near the dusty window. She’d resumed her black clothes, which hid every inch of her. All very proper, but Steven would never look at her the same way again.

He’d seen her beauty. It glowed from her even now until it filled all the spaces in this dingy attic, and all the spaces inside Steven.

“It’s not here,” Rose said. She made her way carefully through the mess to Steven and sank down next to him. “Albert must have sold it. How could he have known?”

Steven shrugged. “We’ll find him and pound its whereabouts out of him.”

Rose did not look hopeful. She leaned into Steven, an intimate move, one she did unselfconsciously.

Steven turned his head and kissed her cheek, which led to a kiss on the lips. That kiss lingered, brightening the gloom around them.

They’d arrived while Albert had been finishing his midmorning tea. The man, it seemed, rarely left the estate—he’d told his housekeeper he’d be in London the day Rose and Steven had first come searching, only so the servants wouldn’t bother him.

The man was a fool, Steven thought in contempt. He obviously had no respect from his staff, or else he’d have told them he wasn’t to be disturbed, and they’d have obeyed. Steven knew that if servants didn’t like an employer, they could find plenty of little ways to irritate him without going so far as all-out rebellion. A man who had no control over his household was a sorry thing indeed.

Steven, brooking no argument from Albert, took Rose on a search of the house. Rose led Steven into every room on every floor, and they looked into every cabinet, cranny, closet, nook, and niche. They’d searched the cellars, rooms down there no one had opened for years. They’d even looked in Albert’s private rooms when Albert had gone off with his steward to the home farm.

The home farm would be next. Steven wouldn’t put it past Albert to try to hide a priceless antique in the garret of a leaky farmhouse.

The settee, however, was nowhere in sight. They did find the two Egyptian-style chairs depicted in the sketches from the cabinet, but that was all. Steven turned each chair upside down and stuck his hands under the upholstery but found no further clues inside them.

“You can always take one of these,” Steven said, motioning to the chairs, which were right side up again. “They’d bring something at a sale.”

“I know.” Rose eyed them disconsolately. “But I want to know why Charles pointed me to the settee. Why he wanted me to have it, in particular.”

Steven slid his arm around her and pulled her close. “No disrespect to your husband, Rose—he was a fine man—but I wish he’d written you a plain note that told you where he’d left you a cache of diamonds.”

“Albert would have found that, wouldn’t he?” Rose shook her head. “Charles had no illusions about his son.”

“Which is why I don’t understand why Charles didn’t make your settlements and what you received in the will more clear. Why he didn’t confound Albert before he began.”

Rose sighed. “I don’t know. Charles was fond of little jokes, but truth be told, they were jests child could see through. That’s because he had a kind heart, did Charles. Not a mean bone in him.”

Steven wondered if he could ever live up to the paragon Charles seemed to be. The man had been kind, yes—Steven had seen that in him, even on brief acquaintance—but Steven had also noted that Charles had not been advanced in intellect. Steven had often been praised for his quick wit and clever mind, but Rose valued softness of heart over cleverness.

Steven cupped her cheek as she looked up at him, and leaned down to kiss her again. He couldn’t help himself.

Rose tasted of sunshine and summer days. He’d never be cold with her next to him.

Someone cleared a throat. “Begging your pardon, Your Grace.”

Chapter Twelve

Rose started, but Steven took his time lifting away from her. Let the staff of this house know Steven was looking after her now.

The young footman John stood in the shadows near the door, uncertain whether to advance into the room. Rose struggled to her feet, and Steven, trained to be a gentleman even if he forgot most of the time, stood up beside her.