Regency Improprieties. Diane Gaston

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СКАЧАТЬ ‘I love the bubbly wine.’

      Rose picked up her glass and took a sip. She had tasted champagne before at Miss Hart’s, so its fizzy taste was not a surprise.

      She watched Letty dig into the prettily displayed food as if she had not consumed a large dinner a few hours before. Mr Flynn’s food was fine, Rose thought, nibbling more delicately. The cheese tasted good with the strawberries and cherries.

      Mr Flynn sat himself next to her and she discovered that she was very aware of each small movement he made. In a way she was glad she could not see his eyes. It was hard to be thinking when she could see his eyes.

      Signor Rivolta’s lively music drifted over to their ears, his gay tune seeming out of place in the tension-filled supper box.

      ‘When is the marquess going to make his offer for our Rose?’ Letty bluntly asked.

      Rose stilled, hating that Flynn would be associating someone so ill mannered with her.

      Flynn paused, just one beat, before directing his answer to her father. ‘To speak of an offer is premature, sir, but I should like to discuss with Miss O’Keefe a possible meeting.’

      ‘Oh, there will be an offer all right,’ Letty broke in, waving her fork at Rose. ‘Look at her! What man could resist our lovely Rose?’

      She reached over and not so gently patted Rose on the cheek. It was all Rose could do not to flinch.

      ‘I am most interested in my daughter’s welfare,’ her father added in an earnest voice. ‘This must be worth her while.’

      Rose disliked being discussed like this, as if she were goods to barter.

      Mr Flynn put down his fork. ‘I am instructed to tell you, Mr O’Keefe, that the marquess insists I speak with the lady herself in such matters. He must be assured his interest suits her before he proceeds in the negotiation. I am sure you understand.’

      Her father’s brows knitted. ‘But I must also agree to any arrangements. She is still my responsibility, sir.’

      ‘She knows what is expected of her,’ added Letty.

      Rose knew exactly what Letty expected. Letty expected a great deal of money to come into her pocket by way of this marquess. She glanced at her father. His motives were more unselfish, but still distasteful.

      ‘We will speak later,’ Flynn said to her father.

      Rose rather liked the way Flynn simply passed over Letty, as if she had no say in the matter, which she certainly did not.

      ‘She’s still young, Mr Flynn,’ her father added, sounding genuinely worried.

      Flynn turned to Rose with a question in his eyes, but Rose had no idea what he was asking. ‘I will see no harm comes to her.’ His gaze changed into something that made her feel like fanning herself.

      She glanced down at her food. Imagine that a mere look from a man could make her feel like that.

      Signor Rivolta’s music ended and the faint sound of applause could be heard. Soon the orchestra would play again.

      ‘I must get back.’ Mr O’Keefe rose.

      Flynn stood as well. ‘Miss Dawes will wish to go with you, I am certain.’ He walked over to help Letty from her chair, giving her no oppportunity to argue. ‘I will safely deliver Miss O’Keefe to you before the night is done.’

      Mr Flynn escorted them both out of the box, then returned to the table, sitting opposite her this time.

      Rose gazed at him with admiration. ‘You do have the silver tongue, do you not, Mr Flynn? I believe Letty thought she wanted to go with Papa.’

      He frowned. ‘Only one of many talents,’ he said absently.

      He’d rattled her again, making her wonder what had suddenly made him frown. She picked up a strawberry and bit into it, slowly licking its juice from her lips.

      Mr Flynn’s eyes darkened and he looked even more disturbed.

      Rose paused. Could it be she had captured Mr Flynn’s interest? That idea made her giddy.

      She took another sip of champagne and lowered her eyes to gaze at him through her long lashes. He reached over to retrieve his glass, downing the entire contents.

      Rose felt light headed.

      He gave her an intent look. ‘We must talk, Miss O’Keefe.’

      But she was not finished flirting with him. She leaned forward, knowing it afforded him a better glimpse of the low neckline of her gown. ‘Will you not call me Rose?’

      His eyes darkened again. ‘Rose,’ he repeated in a low voice that resonated deep inside her.

      Their heads were close together, his eyes looking as deep a blue as the Irish Sea. The air crackled between them and he leaned closer.

      A reveller, one who no doubt had been drinking heavily, careened into the supper box, nearly knocking into the table. The footman quickly appeared and escorted him out, but it was enough to break the moment between them.

      He frowned. ‘I apologise for that.’

      She hoped he meant the drunken man. ‘You could not help it.’

      He gazed at her in that stirring way again. ‘I could not help it.’ He set his jaw. ‘About the marquess—’

      But Rose could not bear losing this new, intoxicating connection between them. She daringly put her hand upon his arm. ‘Let us not speak of the marquess. Let us simply enjoy this beautiful night.’

      He stared at her hand for a moment. Slowly he raised his head. ‘Your father—’

      ‘I will tell my father that I put you off, but that you will be back.’ She squeezed his arm. ‘What say you? Can we walk through the gardens? I have seen so little of Vauxhall. I have been confined to the gazebo, really.’

      He stared at her, then released a long breath. ‘Very well.’

      With a leaping heart, she finished the rest of her champagne. She grasped his hand in hers and led him out of the supper box. He offered his arm. ‘Hold on to me, Rose. I must keep you safe.’

      It was a fair warning. Vauxhall could be a dangerous place for a woman alone, but that did not keep Rose from enjoying the feel of his muscle beneath his sleeve.

      They joined the throngs of people enjoying the clear, warm night. The music of the orchestra filled the garden, the sound ebbing and flowing on the summer breeze. Night had fallen and the lamps glowed like bright stars. Flynn escorted her through the arches painted to look like the Ruins of Palmyra. He showed her the Pavilion with its allegorical paintings. They strolled down the Colonnade past the fountain sparkling in the lamplight. What had seemed false to him two nights ago now seemed magical. He was under her spell again, he had to admit, but that last exchange with her father gave him pause. Her father treated her as if she’d just come out of a schoolroom.

      As if she were an innocent.

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