The lady gathered her trailing veil and left the room. A maid came out of the shadows in the hall as she emerged, taking her mistress by the arm to lead her away. The lady leaned on the maid, as though depending on her.
Rose’s own maid came forward and stood deferentially, waiting for Rose’s orders. “I never learned her name,” Rose said, watching the pair disappear through a door to the front of the hotel. “Did you?”
Alice shook her head. “Her lady’s maid was properly trained. Never betrayed her with a word, no matter how much I tried.”
Rose had to smile. “Curiosity killed the cat,” she said, shaking her head. “Perhaps we should be ashamed of ourselves and feel better by having a large tea.”
“I’ll have one ordered, Your Grace.” Alice returned the smile, and departed to find the kitchens.
***
Steven walked back into his suite to find Rose there. Two sensations went through him at the same time—a flash of joy that she was there, and a wash of frustration.
She was going to kill him. Steven had been forced to walk around cold, rainy London a long while this afternoon, before his arousal gave him any peace. Once he believed he’d regained a modicum of control, he’d traveled to a street off Chancery Lane to find Tavis Collins and show him the drawings he and Rose had discovered. The errand had taken care of the rest of his impatient desires.
Three cups of tea and a dram of whiskey later, Steven had summoned the courage to return to the hotel.
To find Rose in his parlor, waiting eagerly for him. His desires sprang forth with rampaging enthusiasm, proving they’d been dormant, not tamed.
Steven tried to remain businesslike as he tossed his hat and coat to the rack inside the door. “Mr. Collins suggested what you did—that you return to Sittford House and scour it for your furniture. He agrees the hand-drawn rose is a clue directing you. He also telegraphed a minister in Dundee who will come in person to declare that the page in the register with your marriage recorded is a forgery. The man didn’t want to travel down—Collins suspects he was heftily paid off.”
“That would surprise me,” Rose said. “Albert is nothing if not tightfisted.”
Steven shrugged. “He might pay a lesser sum in order to hold on to a greater one.” He moved to a table where a decanter of whiskey had been left for him, and poured himself a fragrant glass. Rose watched him, a sparkle in her eye. The way she held herself, as though barely containing something, made him stop before he took a drink. “You seem robust this evening. Had a good rest, did you?”
“A lady came to see you,” Rose said. “Newly widowed. I don’t know who she was.”
“Ah.” If anything would kill his burning need for Rose it was that. “She came here? Why on earth did she, I wonder?”
“She didn’t say,” Rose said. “She was rather surprised to see me. She told me to tell you that you needn’t bother to visit her.”
Steven turned the whiskey glass in his hand. “Did she?” He studied the amber contents, debating whether to pour it down his throat and erase the rising pain or opt for staying sober. He chose, and emptied the glass into his mouth.
“I’m sorry, Steven.”
Steven swallowed the burning liquid and thumped down the glass. Rose was looking at him in true contrition, her words almost sad. “For what?” he asked.
“It was clearly a private matter between you and the lady, and none of my business. I went to speak to her because of my own silly curiosity. I should not have.”
Steven reached for the whiskey decanter, then let his hand fall from it. He shook his head. “No need to flog yourself, lass. If a gentleman had come here asking to see you, I’d have had him against the wall, demanding to know what he wanted.”
“But it distressed her, and she wasn’t feigning her grief. For that, I am sorry.”
“No, she’s not feigning.” Steven let out a sigh. “She is the appointment I have tomorrow. She told me not to come, did she?” He fingered the empty glass then firmly pushed it from him. “I’ll tell you the whole sad story, Rosie, but not tonight. Tonight, I’d like to forget all about it.” He gazed at Rose, taking her in, letting the beauty of her soothe him. All the black she wore couldn’t shut out the vibrancy of her, couldn’t even mute it.
Steven abandoned the whiskey and went to her. “You and I are engaged to be married. We have no need to hide ourselves in this hotel as though ashamed of the fact.” He caught her hand and raised it to his lips. “So put on your best dress, my love. I’m taking you out on the town.”
***
Out on the town meant dinner at a restaurant and an evening at the theatre. The restaurant was the Albion in Russell Street near Drury Lane Theatre, where Steven ordered a lavish meal and champagne. He lounged in his chair, looking relaxed and unashamed, caring nothing that so many people stared at them.
Steven focused all his attention on Rose and no one else in the room. Rose’s blood heated as she found herself the subject of Steven’s gray gaze, especially when he leaned forward slightly to speak to her. His irises were ringed with deeper gray, like the dark lining of a sunlit cloud.
He asked her about her life in Scotland with her father. Rose had thought her existence in rural Scotland then Edinburgh dully domestic, but Steven hung on every word, as though her stories fascinated him. He told her a little about his life in the army, making light of what must be hardships—heat, insects, diseases, exhaustion, and living in danger of attack even in quiet times. Steven painted a picture of Africa that was nothing but beauty, of its huge skies, endless rivers, and expansive lands.
“I’d love to see it,” Rose said wistfully. The world that she knew, in spite of being a lofty duchess, was small. Charles hadn’t enjoyed going out to restaurants like this one, or even coming to London—he’d loved staying home by the fire. Their only outing during Rose’s married life had been rambling walks in the countryside. They’d been climbing in the hills near Sittford when Charles’s heart had given out. He’d felt unwell during the walk, they’d gone back to the house, Charles had taken to his bed, and he’d not lasted the night.
“No reason you shouldn’t,” Steven said. “Africa is dangerous for a lady, but some wives do manage it. As a married man, I’d be entitled to larger quarters.”
“Indeed?” Rose asked with a sly smile. “Now I understand your quest for a wife. A bigger tent.”