Page 35 of Ruthless with a Rogue
“Wentworth,” Derek murmured tightly.
Rafe’s gaze dropped to the floor, and he shook his head.Guilt twisted his features.“The sacrifice…” Rafe murmured.“It’s too great.”
A sad, sardonic smile spread across Derek’s face.“I’m a selfish bastard, Rafe.I’m rude and arrogant, and I’ve made it so every one of the salacious rumors whispered about me carries some truth.Usually with you by my side.”He raised his glass in salute.“That’s easy to do when it’s just me who faces the consequences.I can’t do that if others depend on me.”
“We’ll try to find another way.Let me go to—” His words cut off, and his face tightened.He threw back the rest of his whisky, letting out a hiss between his teeth.He shuddered and then met Derek’s gaze.“Let me go back there.Assess the damage.Maybe Theo and hisideaswill prove able to cut the losses enough I can still contribute…something.You explore other alternatives while I’m gone.”
Derek nodded jerkily.“We can only delay so long.We need to break ground long before winter or else…”
Rafe looked away, understanding settling over both of them like a suffocating, humid fog.Or else they were looking at a year minimum before construction could begin.Some of those children were with fosters.They could only be housed for so long.Their current home had the others, and,fuck,the children were practically living on top of each other, the house was so bloody full.
Soft greetings drifted to them as the wenches approached.Rose sidled over to Derek, while Shelley and Kitty made themselves comfortable with Rafe.Excellent.They both could use a distraction right now.
Hopefully, this would be enough to distract Rafe through to the wee hours of the morning before he inevitably had to leave for Ironcrest.Rafe had never let on as to why he detested Ironcrest.All Derek knew was that Rafe had left Ironcrest, with the dowager in tow, when the previous Duke was still alive eleven years ago.And hadn’t returned since, not even upon the Duke’s death.
“Relax, my lord.”Rose settled on Derek’s lap, running her hands up and down his chest.Derek’s hands shot out to Rose’s waist, his entire body tensing as a knee-jerk reaction to throw her off hit him.It took every ounce of self-possession to check his movements.His grip tightened, and he drew her closer to hide his lapse in composure.Bloody hell, he was losing his mind.Rafe’s news clearly had shocked his system.
Rose purred in approval.“Are we feeling aggressive tonight?You know I love playing the submissive.”
She slid her hands up his neck and guided his head to her ample bosom, which was now easily accessible thanks to his attempted cover-up.But his body rebelled.Apparently, he wouldn’t be joining in on said distraction tonight.Sighing, he brushed his lips across Rose’s chest to soften his rejection, before gently taking her arms and pulling them away from his neck.
He had no idea what was wrong with him, but he felt—he rolled his shoulders—itchy.The weight was rushing back, heavier than before.Usually, a shag helped, but tonight… He needed to get out of here.
“Not tonight, Rose.”He indicated with a tip of his head in Rafe’s direction.“But His Grace needs cheering up.”
He pulled a purse from his coat pocket and slid it into Rose’s hand.Her eyes lit up as she took the weight of its contents.“I want the three of you to take care of him tonight.”
Rose slid off his lap.“Of course, my lord.Consider it done.”
He nodded and strode over to Rafe.Catching Rafe’s eye between the two women, he signaled toward the exit of the club.“I forgot; I have an errand to run.Have fun tonight.The wenches are on me.”
He strode away, raising his hand in farewell over his shoulder as he went.
21
Livy
Livyreadthenotethat had arrived for her earlier that morning from Lord Dunmore for about the millionth time.
“I will come to collect you and your aunt at half three for our sojourn to Hyde Park.Wear the yellow one.”
– M of Dunmore
She had only brought one yellow dress, and it was the one she’d worn when he’d called a sennight ago.He couldn’t possibly mean for her to wear that.Furrowing her brow, she read the note again.Her yellow dress was also quite simple, not what one would choose for an outing to Hyde Park, where the entirety of the ton would be.The point was to flaunt.Not be frumpy.
At least he was keeping his promise.She’d worried at first that he’d wash his hands of her once he realized she wasn’t going to capitulate.But the man was more determined than ever.Her eyes slid shut with a grimace.She may have found it in herself to tell him no, but she hadn’t wanted to.
She folded and unfolded the note absently.She’d tried to fool herself before.It wasn’t the man she was interested in; it was the strength of his desire she found appealing.And she needed to be strategic.So it only made sense to give in occasionally.
Her teeth sank into her lip.Heavens, she was going to do permanent damage to the thing with how much she was gnawing on it lately.No one had ever looked at her like Lord Dunmore had back in his private rooms atThe Devil’s Eye.It was the first time she’d thought someone had truly seen her.And liked what they saw.
Memories of back home flooded her.Five years of memories.Rides in the country with Warren, his golden blond hair wind-tousled after a race, cheeks flushed, a smile just for her.Warren spinning her in his arms in their makeshift ballroom in her stables, what had started out as him helping her master the waltz had turned into a raucous country reel.All the boys in their little friend group had been there—goodness, Quint had accidentally spun her right into a hay pile.Her stomach had been sore for days from how hard she’d laughed.And Warren hadn’t once been ashamed to make it clear she was his.He was hers.That’s always how it had been.
But every year Warren had let small things slip, about what a lady was expected to be and what they weren’t.Maybe it was because, with each passing year, they were closer to their innocent time in the country ending.She’d never truly thought it would end, though.Just that it would shift…from flirtations to marriage, from carefree to assuming the responsibilities of viscountess.
She’d taken note of all Warren’s hints.Hiding her intelligence, holding her tongue—as much as she was able.Any time he called, she’d hastily stowed her texts away.Every country dance they’d attended, she’d done her best to prove she could be prim, demure.She’d even tried her hand at ladylike activities.Her needlework was atrocious, but she’d still learned.Something Warren had always praised.
She didn’t want to lose what they had.The feeling of being held, like she was important, wanted.Having someone’s arms around her wasn’t a sensation she’d experienced often in her life.Papa wasn’t affectionate.Mother was long gone.Aunt Mellie had been off with Uncle Nigel.But for five years, she’d had Warren.Tender touches.Warm, strong arms.Soft declarations.They’d spoken of the future as if it were a given.Until the future finally arrived and, apparently, she couldn’t be a part of it.Not as she was.
