Page 52 of Undercover with the Heiress
Chapter Twenty-two
It was better this way.
Rosanna rested her forehead against the glass. Thin fingers of cold leeched into her skin. In the courtyard below, rain dotted uneven puddles amongst the pavers. Thunder rumbled low in the distance before building to groan and grumble against the windows and walls.
London wept the tears she would not cry.
The pain of watching Phineas climb out of the cab and make his hesitant hello to the woman he’d lost felt more at home in a rainy city. Occasionally, regret burst in her stomach, and she had to blink through the haze until it quietened. While she knew she’d never be happy if she hadn’t found Imogen, part of her scolded her stubborn self. Something had been growing between them, in an awkward and slightly haphazard way. But if she hadn’t told him the truth, she’d always have known that she’d been his second choice. And she hated being second to anyone.
Either way, she was bound to lose.
Rosanna picked up the travel book she’d taken from the library downstairs and thumbed through it until she found anentry for Brighton. They could expect warm, clear days, the odd drizzle, sometimes a slight sea breeze. Three light blouses, two jackets, just as many skirts, and one formal dinner dress should be sufficient.
Johannes would keep her busy looking at possible buildings to renovate, and hopefully he’d be too occupied with having a project of his own to make her talk about any of it.
Maybe the salt air would ease the ache in her chest.
This had always been the plan, and Phineas had kept his promise to see it through. Now he could start over with the woman he’d lost. He’d take on a new name, build a new life, and find some peace. He’d be happy. She wanted him to be happy.
As for herself and her plans—Father would process the paperwork, and the marriage would be annulled. She would move home and continue working at the Aster. And no matter what her stationery said, she’d be Mrs Babbage, possibly for the rest of her days. How could she imagine a future with someone else when she’d lost her stubborn heart to him?
Rosanna shook out a blouse, folded it, and placed it in her trunk. Thunder cracked again, so loud now that its vibrations filtered through her slippers. As it faded, a new chorus echoed against the incessant rain on the windows and the wind butting the sash. Thumping feet and shouts, high and panicked, reverberated through the house.
‘Rosanna! Where are you?’ Rain pelted the glass, and the wind screeched as it tried to pry through the gaps. ‘Rosanna! Mrs Babbage! Are you here?’
Dear Lord, he had returned. An anxious tremor rattled her bones, more potent than the grumble of the thunder. He hadn’t brought Imogen here, had he? Would he force her to leave to make room for his beloved in this house? She couldn’t stand the shame.
The door banged open, its crack against the wall accompanied by a flash of lightning that lit the walls with white clarity. Phineas stumbled into the room. Mist clung to the crests and points of his dishevelled hair, and he wiped a hand across his thin-set mouth to flick little droplets of water onto the floor. A splattered trail of mud ran from his hems to his thighs. Rosanna stared, transfixed by his disorder, her mind whirling with questions while his gaze jerked around the room, from her cupboard to her clothes spread across the bed, and on to the open trunk before finally landing on her.
‘Where is Felix? Letitia and Hugh? And the other one, the singing one?’ He pointed at the trunk. ‘Where are you going?’
‘Johannes and I are heading to Brighton tomorrow. A scouting trip to find a new location for another hotel.’ She dumped the blouse into the trunk. ‘I may be a spoiled shrew, but I can pack my own things. I gave the staff a half day. I needed some quiet.’
‘I looked out the window, and you had just gone. I was—’
‘Worried? As you can see, I am perfectly well. And with Lord Richard’s debts settled and the company with Iris, there is no reason for anyone to come after me.’ Rosanna crossed to the cupboard. She would not be sad in his presence. If she could not have his love, she would not settle for his pity. ‘Where is Imogen?’
‘At her cottage. Her home.’
‘When are you going back there?’ Rosanna flipped through her hangers in the closet. Maybe three jackets and another two skirts. That’s what she needed. More changes of clothes. More things to pluck from hangers and fold into rectangles and place in the trunk to keep her eyes and her hands busy.
‘I’m not returning. Imogen has built a new life. A neighbouring farmer brings her flowers. She’s happy.’ He pulled at his coat-sleeve, reached out, then curled his fingers into his palm. ‘Thank you for finding her.’
Rosanna willed her hands to keep sliding between the hangers, but her stupid fingers refused to cooperate. Her blue blouse, she should pack her blue…
Only his breath, still harsh and uneven, gave any indication that he had moved and was standing behind her. That and his scent, the familiar starch and fresh linen mingled with damp wool and wet hair, which collided with the lavender and cedar of her closet. A cocoon of familiarity, of comfort, ofhomesurrounded her.
The lightest touch—not even a touch, just an indentation of fabric—sent a shiver over her skin. A sigh betrayed her, and no sooner had it made its traitorous escape from her lips than Phineas rested his hands on her waist, firm, anchoring, and possessive. Another soft breath of yearning, and he moved closer. Pressed a cheek to her ear. Rested his forehead against her neck. Flexed his palm and dared to pull her into him.
Rosanna forced a shallow breath. She would not lose herself. She would not lose.
‘If you think I will stay your wife because she is unavailable, you are wrong,’ she rasped, every syllable grating her throat as she willed her pride into silence. Still, even now she failed. ‘I will not be the woman any man settles for.’
A confident creeping, a sneaking embrace… and with a stolen kiss to the pocket behind her ear, in the secret place only he had discovered, he’d ensnared her in his arms.
‘My darling, when did I say I loved Imogen? I worried about her. I thought I had failed her. And when I was young, she was someone I could care about. Someone I could save. I loved the idea of her, of being needed, but it wasn’t love. I know it wasn’t because I have never in my life felt the way I feel for you.’
Rosanna clutched ineffectually at her blouse as it slipped from her grasp. Phineas captured her hand and interleaved her fingers with his own.
