Miss Lacey's Last Fling (A Regency Romance) (23 page)

"Now, there you're out, sir," Robert said. "Can't possibly mean our Rosie. Got her confused with some other female."

"Must have. She ain't exactly the fun-loving type."

"Good sort of sister and all, but dull as ditch water and about as much fun."

"Always busy doing things, looking out for everyone. Never one to go on a lark or get into a scrape."

"Rosie's what you might call a sensible sort of female. A bit prim around the edges, if you get my meaning."

"And she ain't exactly young, you know. Couldn't be. Our Mama died when we were two and Rosie raised us. She's way too old to have beaux."

"Got the wrong female, sir. Must have."

Max had lost track of who was who in this fascinating recital of their sister's character. He wondered if the twins' perception of Rosalind was typical of the rest of her family, perhaps even of the neighborhood. It would certainly go far in explaining her current mortification over her London behavior.

"I believe I have the right person," Max said. "Miss Rosalind Lacey of Wycombe Hall, sister to Mr. Thomas Lacey."

"Gad, sir, I daresay you've been taken in. But there's the herb garden, just down the path, and that's her with the basket."

"I am once again obliged, gentlemen. Perhaps we will have another opportunity to chat later."

"I'd give a monkey to learn how to tie an oriental like that."

"Stubble it, Davey. You ain't even got a monkey."

"I should be happy to offer what advice I can," Max said. "But first, I must speak with your sister. In private. Could I impose once again and ask that you take my horse to the stables? Thank you, gentlemen. Until we meet again, your servant."

Max watched them walk away, heads bent together, commiserating, no doubt, on the strange case of mistaken identity. What a pair. And Rosie had been a little mother to them. No wonder she had never had time for a Season or anything else ... until there was only one last Season left to her. Or so she'd thought.

She did not see him approach, so he had time to study her. He almost began to believe the twins had been right. Could this be Rosalind, in a shapeless brown stuff dress and hideous straw bonnet?

He had to see her face. He stepped inside the garden gate. The sound alerted her and she turned to face him. She let out a gasp and dropped her basket.

Dear God, what had happened to her? Beneath the ugly bonnet, her color was wan, her eyes sunken and framed in dark circles, her cheeks were drawn, and her mouth pulled down into a frown. Where was the vibrant, radiant, beautiful woman he'd known in London?

"Rosalind?"

*          *          *

Why had he come? She wished he hadn't. It made it so much worse, to have him see her here, like this. At least now he will know without question that she was not Rosalind. She was not his minx. Maybe he would develop such a disgust for her that he would go away and never come back. She hoped so.

"Rosalind, my love." He stepped toward her, arms outstretched.

Oh God, how she wanted to fall into his embrace. But she could not, would not. Why did he have to come here? She stepped back and made a gesture for him to stay away.

"Why are you here, Max?" She was surprised at the even tone of her voice. Her insides were quaking.

He looked so devastatingly handsome. He smiled, and those heavy-lidded eyes reminded her of last time she'd seen him. He had been sleeping, naked, beside her.

"I thought you'd run away because of something I did," he said, "that I had hurt you somehow."

"Oh no, Max, it was not that. Never that."

"I have just learned why you left."

"You have?"

"Yes, and it gives me hope that you do not despise me.

"I could never despise you."

His soft smile broadened. "I am exceedingly glad to hear it And so I have come here, ridden all the way, just to say to you now what I came to say to you at Fanny's that next day. But you were gone, and my heart was broken."

Just as hers was breaking now. Please don't say it, she silently pleaded. Don't say those words again, those words that are meant for someone else.

"Our night together was pure magic," he said. "So much so that I want to spend every night for the rest of my life with you in my arms. I came to Fanny's the very next morning to tell you that, and to ask you to be my wife."

Rosie's hands flew to her cheeks in horror. "Oh no."

"Oh yes, minx. If you hadn't bolted, you would have heard my impassioned offer. I was so disappointed you weren't there to receive me. I had dressed most particularly for the occasion, you see. Fanny told me I looked like a Christmas goose."

"Max."

"You really did break my heart, you know." His expression grew more serious. "When I learned why you left—"

"How did you find out?"

"Your father wrote to Fanny and she told me."

"Oh." She might have expected it, though Papa had not communicated with Fanny in years. She supposed her aunt deserved to know why she left. Now that she did know, Rosie would write herself and try to explain.

"I cannot, of course, know what you must have felt." His dark eyes studied her intently as he spoke. "But I would wager that our night together was high on the list of transgressions plaguing your conscience. When we made love, you did it freely and willingly and without concern for the consequences. Perhaps that's one of the reasons it was so special. You were able to completely abandon yourself to pleasure. Leighton's revelations must have shaken you to the core, to suddenly realize there might be consequences after all. You were ruined. You might be pregnant."

"I am not pregnant." Her voice sounded thin and strangled.

"No?" He regarded her thoughtfully and a hint of sadness flickered in his eyes. "I'm so sorry."

Her brows rose at the note of sincerity in his voice.

"I would not have minded, Rosalind. In fact... in fact, I think I should have been very pleased." He looked as if the idea took him by surprise. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "But there will be many other opportunities, my minx, when we are married. If you will have me, that is. Will you marry me, Rosalind?"

He still did not understand. He thought nothing had changed. "No, Max."

He flinched as though she'd slapped him. "No?"

"No. I'm sorry, Max."

"Rosalind." He reached out for her hand. She pulled away, but he grabbed her and held her in a tight grip. "I thought you loved me. You know that I love you. I told you so, over and over as I recall."

"In the heat of passion."

"Passion, desire, love. It all became one."

"You told me once that you often fell in love in the heat of passion, but that it always passed."

"Not this time. That's one of the reasons I know it is real. I haven't held you in my arms in three weeks and I'm still hopelessly in love with you."

"With someone else, not me."

"What?"

"The woman you fell in love with does not exist She was a role and I was the actress. It was all a pretense, a part I played for a brief time. But it was not real. It was not me. This is me." She swept her free hand over the drab brown dress and apron. "I am not Rosalind. I never was. I've always been just plain Rosie."

He loosened his grip and entwined his fingers with hers. "My dear girl, you may have thought you were playing a part, but you cannot have been acting the whole time. I daresay some of your actions may have been pretense; after all, you had nothing to lose by being as outrageous as you pleased. But the vibrant, radiant core driving all those actions came from you."

"Max, I—"

"You may have had to reach deep inside just plain Rosie to find it, but the spark was there. It had to be, my dear. You could not have done it otherwise."

She jerked her hand free. "You're wrong, Max. You have no idea how easy it is to don a mask when you think you are dying. When one has no future to answer to, it is remarkable how flexible one's character becomes. I suppose it is akin to someone unaccustomed to spirits becoming thoroughly inebriated, with total loss of inhibition and judgment. But inebriation is temporary. Death is not. There was nothing to stop me from being anyone I wanted, so I became the dashing Rosalind."

He offered an indulgent, almost patronizing smile, as though he did not believe her. "It pains me, Max, to know you fell in love with Rosalind. I am more sorry than you'll ever know. But she is gone."

"She is not. I am looking at her."

"At Rosie."

"What's in a name? Rosie, Rosalind, Ross—I'll call you by any name you want. You're still the woman I love, no matter what you may think."

"No, I—"

"Yes! Yes, you are, Rosie. Do you know how special you are to me? Do you know that I never once in all my life told a woman I loved her? Until you. And you know my history. You know how many women have been in my life. Doesn't it mean anything to you that you are the first, the first and only?"

"It only makes it harder, knowing that. I'm sorry, Max."

"There has always been something eternal about the whole concept of love that frightened me. I never allowed any relationship with a woman to endure for fear it would change my life, my selfish, pleasure-seeking existence. Well, by Jove, it
has
changed my life.
You
have changed my life, and I am forever grateful to you for it. Did you know I was ready to end my life before I met you?"

"What?"

"I had become tired and bored beyond measure, and planned to put a bullet in my head at the end of the Season. But then you came into my life and made me want to live again."

The blackguard. He was being overly dramatic, hoping to play on her sympathy. Well, she wasn't buying. Max commit suicide? Never.

"And you think life with me, with Rosie, would relieve your boredom, your fatal ennui? I am a country person, Max, with country notions. Shall I tell you what life here is like? I get up early because there is so much to do, and go to bed early because there is nothing to do—no parties, routs, balls, operas. We fall asleep after dinner out of sheer tedium. It is quiet and uneventful, thoroughly humdrum. The highlight of the week is meeting the neighbors after church on Sunday to critique the vicar's sermon, compare crop yields, and exchange recipes. There hasn't been a scandal in the neighborhood since the time of Charles II. This is my milieu, Max, my real life. I am a product of this world and a part of it. I belong here, not in the glittering world of London."

"I grew up in the country, too," he said. "I even own a little farm in Suffolk and a hunting box in the shires. But a country upbringing never kept me from enjoying London or any other place."

"I have had my adventure in London, and it brought me nothing but shame and guilt. I can never belong to your world, Max."

He took her hand once again. "But you did once. And you can do it again."

"No. I'm sorry. I cannot be the woman you want me to be. I cannot marry you, Max."

"Will you think about it a bit longer? My visit has surprised you, caught you off guard. You do not need to give me an answer right now. I have a room at the King's Head and will stay as long as you want. We can spend time together, get to know one another again." He brought her hand to his lips. "Give me a chance, Rosie."

Chapter 15

"You confound me, sir." Rosalind's father was near to wearing a path in the Turkey carpet as he paced back and forth in front of the library windows. "All I knew of you before today was that you were a rake of the first order who'd taken my daughter's virtue." He stopped and looked at Max. "Or is it more accurate to say she gave it away?"

"Despite her belief that there would be no consequences to her actions," Max said, "Rosalind was no wanton, Sir Edmund. She engaged in one or two playful flirtations, but she did not discard all judgment, regardless of what she may now believe. She came to my bed willingly, but I do not think she made the decision lightly."

"My sister, who takes a lot of the blame for what happened upon herself, believes losing her virginity was just another thing Rosie wanted to do before she died."

Max could not suppress a smile. "It's quite possible. She did have a list."

Sir Edmund chucked softly. "That's my Rosie. Efficient and organized to a fault. She's kept this place running smoothly for years with her lists. So she wants to experience physical love before she dies, and has the good fortune to have an accommodating rake at hand. An easy conquest for you, I daresay."

"No, sir," Max said. "It was in fact the most difficult decision of my life."

Sir Edmund lifted a skeptical eyebrow. "Because she was a virgin?"

"No. Because I loved her. I would not have made love to your daughter. Sir Edmund, without believing I was making a commitment to her by doing so."

"Persuasive words. They must come easy to a practiced seducer."

Max looked at the man earnestly, willing him to believe what he said. "I am sure it must seem that way, knowing the sort of life I've led. I've made a career of seducing women. But I tell you quite frankly, sir, your daughter complicated that career by turning my world upside down. It is the first time in all my long years of pleasure-seeking that I have fallen in love. I want to marry her, Sir Edmund, but she won't have me."