Dear readers, thank you so much for your lovely comments and encouragements. I can't tell you how much they mean to me. I hope you will enjoy this new chapter with Rockdale and Eliza.
Much love,
Emmeline
*****
The last thing Rockdale wanted, or expected, to see upon re-entering his bedchamber was Lady Pelham sitting in a large armchair by a cheerily burning fire. She regarded him with one raised eyebrow.
He stared back at her, irritated to feel a flush of unaccustomed embarrassment rise up his neck.
"To what do I owe this unexpected early morning visit?" Rockdale asked, fighting the urge to be sure his banyan was closed properly. If his aunt found an eyeful of a man's cods distasteful then she ought not to be sitting in his bedroom before breakfast.
Lady Pelham inclined her head, somehow managing to appear regal dressed in a frilly and beribboned white dressing gown covering every inch of skin from chin to floor.
"Your valet was kind enough to get a fire going to dispel the chill in here. I had hoped to converse privately with you this morning, but I see..." She glanced toward the bed, still undisturbed. "You haven't managed to find the bed as yet...your own, at least."
A muscle ticked in Rockdale's jaw. For a moment he entertained the idea of counting to ten as Eliza had recommended.
"What I do in my house is none of your affair," he said, struggling to keep his patience. "I am not a naughty schoolboy to be scolded."
"Perhaps you shouldn't act like one," she retorted. She gestured toward the balcony doors. "Sneaking into your room at dawn? You've been tupping that young governess, I have no doubt! For shame, Rockdale."
Temper ignited in a flame of hot anger in his gut. "You have forced yourself into my home, and now you force yourself into my private chamber...to berate me? I am a grown man and you are not, and have never been, my mother."
Her face leached some of its color, and she turned to face the fire burning in the grate for a few moments. "Though she was ten years my elder, I loved my sister so dearly." The viscountess smiled faintly. "You have your mother's eyes, you know. But none of her endearing personality, I'm sorry to say."
Rockdale folded his arms across his chest and regarded his fingernails. "Shall I get dressed? I'd hate to catch a chill waiting for you to finish."
"Why bother now? I'm sure you've been cavorting in the nude all night."
"I wonder if you're taking your ire out on me, Aunt Louisa. Has Pelham been disciplining the maids with a strap to their bare arses again?"
Lady Pelham's eyes narrowed. "How old is that governess? Seventeen? Eighteen?"
"Miss Lockhart is nineteen, and she is not your concern."
"What are you going to do after you've put a babe in her belly? Are you going to be raising a bastard in your nursery? Or do you plan to cast them to the side when you're finished?"
Rockdale felt the heated flush of irritation drain out of him replaced by an icy fury. "You have overstepped yourself, Lady Pelham."
Her back ramrod straight, his aunt stared at him broodingly for a moment then sighed. "I suppose I have. My dear mama and papa begged that old horse's arse Rockdale, your grandsire, to raise you when your parents died. But the old bastard wouldn't even permit us to see you." She looked down for a moment. "He made you into what he was...arrogant, cold-hearted, and selfish."
She shook a finger at him. "One day you'll regret not treating your only family with more regard. Other than your children, Caroline and I are all you have left."
"Yes, yes, I'm Satan's spawn and I'll die alone, sobbing regretfully into my glass of whisky." Rockdale rubbed at his temples where a headache brewed. "Aunt Louisa, why are you here in my chamber at such an ungodly hour?"
Lady Pelham sniffed. "I want to know why you object to the prospect of Caroline marrying Atherton. The matter is practically settled already."
Despite the early hour, Rockdale found himself wishing for a stout drink. "I discovered the cad in my wife's bed, but I will not relive the event with you," he said tightly.
Her lips pursed then she shrugged. "It's unfortunate, but affairs do happen."
"That may be so, but you can rest assured, I'll be speaking to Pelham about the character of this so-called suitor of his daughter."
"Don't you dare, Rockdale! You're going to ruin this opportunity for Caroline. She deserves to marry well."
"She deserves someone better than the likes of him."
"The
beau monde
used to say the two of you were scoundrels cut from the same cloth."
"They were right," Rockdale agreed. "And this is why Caro shouldn't marry him."
She stood up, frills and ribbons quivering with indignation. "But he has changed and matured where you have not," she said. "This is not your decision, nephew! I'll thank you to stay out of the matter."
"As you've so kindly stayed out of mine?" he asked caustically. "Damned if I will."
***
"Mademoiselle, you must not move," the seamstress admonished.
"Ouch! Well, stop jabbing me with pins, and I won't," Eliza answered crossly.
The petite dressmaker harrumphed and muttered something uncomplimentary under her breath.
Eliza sighed and tried to remain still—no mean task standing on a wooden box in one's shift while a glaring French woman measured, draped and pinned in a furious flurry of movement.
The afternoon sun streamed in through the large window of Eliza's new bedchamber. The draperies had been shoved wide to accommodate Madame Bissette, who demanded bright lighting to envision her masterpieces.
"I need only two modestly-cut dresses," Eliza informed the milliner. "And dark colors would be best."
"His lordship says you should have many dresses," she countered. "And beautiful undergarments..." She paused her pinning and slanted a sly look upward at Eliza. "I think he must be your paramour, mademoiselle."
Eliza turned her face away, shame and embarrassment heating her cheeks. "Of course, he is not my lover," she lied. "He is simply...generous. I plan to repay him for the expense, of course."
Madame Bissette raised one slim eyebrow. "Men are never generous without reason."
The dressmaker stepped back and assessed Eliza with a critical eye then shook her head. "Your giant bosoms will ruin my exquisite designs," she said mournfully.
"I don't need exquisite designs," Eliza told her with gritted teeth. "I need serviceable, plain dresses fit for a governess of young children."
Both females looked up, startled, when Rockdale strode unannounced inside the room.
"Do not listen to Miss Lockhart, Madame Bissette. She can choose two dresses of her own preference, and the rest are to be approved or chosen by me."
Still smarting from their parting early that morning, Eliza scowled at him, her arms crossed over her breasts. "You cannot barge into my room while I'm being fitted!"
He opened his mouth to reply, and she stayed him with a finger. "Don't even spout that usual rubbish about it being your house," she said tartly. "Even you must bow to propriety on occasion."
She noticed the dressmaker had frozen, eyes wide, gazing up at Rockdale.
Rockdale regarded Eliza narrowly for a moment, and Madame's eyes grew even wider.
Suddenly, the earl burst into deep laughter that slithered round Eliza like a feathery caress that raised the fine hairs on her arms.
He swept into a low, courtly bow. "So sayeth the queen," he intoned.
Eliza sucked in a surprised breath when he swiftly crossed the distance between them, grasped her waist with both hands and drowned her burgeoning protest with his mouth. Hard and demanding at first, the kiss turned coaxing and sweet, jumbling her thoughts.
Her senses seemed to spring to life whenever he touched her, and despite their rapt audience, she felt the languorous tingle of desire between her legs, and her nipples peaked against the thin muslin of her shift as though begging for his caress. She sighed and laid a limp hand against his lapel.
Finally, he lifted his head, and she noted though his wicked smirk was fully in place, his breathing was not quite steady.
Still holding her close, Rockdale murmured, "And to the queen I say—propriety can be damned." He trailed a lazy finger down the curve of her breast.
Grimacing, he released her and lifted his finger to his mouth.
"And he repents in thorns that sleeps in beds of roses,"
he quoted wryly and peered down at the bead of blood on his forefinger.
Annoyed with the quickening of desire still pulsing through her body, Eliza longed to set the cocky bastard down a peg or two.
"Oh, poor man, did you find one of Madame's pins?" she cooed then added with some asperity, "I think you're going to find I have lots of thorns."
A smile spread slow and devilish across his face. "Your thorns won't deter me, darling. Besides, I have one as well, and I can hardly wait to give you a big prick later."
Her mouth snapped shut, and she flushed, glaring at him.
Rockdale chuckled softly. "Remember what I said, Madame—consult with me before you leave today."
"But, of course. It shall be as you say, my lord," the modiste said with a simpering smile.
Rockdale turned back to Eliza. "Our guests wish to have tea
al fresco
on the garden terrace and take a stroll afterwards around the estate grounds. When you're done here, retrieve the children and join us."
Eliza wanted to snatch the paper of pins away from the dressmaker and plunge a fistful into his chest. "Yes, master," she replied with all the false sweetness she could muster.
