Free The Viscount's Rose (The Farthingale Series Book 5) by Meara Platt Page A

it into her bosom.
    Julian rolled his eyes. “And you, Rose? Has no one approached you either?”
    Hoping he didn’t ask to see her dance card and discover his likeness on it, she glanced down at her ankle as though to point out the obvious. “I can’t possibly accept anyone until you claim the first dance. Do you recall your—”
    He groaned inwardly. “Yes.”
    But Valentina would run him through with her sharpest blade if he dared to dance with another young lady. He’d been foolish to suggest it and would now have to disappoint Rose. Either that or claim that first dance in the privacy of this isolated moonlit garden. He’d still have to wait for Valentina and her cohorts to be reliably distracted before he’d ever dare attempt it.
    Lord, he was mad to even consider such a thing.
    A year’s work tossed away for a pair of beautiful blue eyes. “Rose, you’ll get your first dance once we’re out in the country.” He turned away from her before she could accept or issue protest.
    Now in ill humor, he trained his annoyance on his sister. “Nicola, I had better see you dance at least once this evening with a proper suitor or I’m going to take it upon myself to find you a husband. So, unless you wish to be forced into a marriage with someone of my choosing by the end of this season, you had better get out there and find yourself a duke or earl or some other pimple-arsed nitwit who’ll find you tolerable.”
    She scowled. “You’re bluffing. You’d never saddle me with an unwanted match.”
    He folded his arms across his chest. “Wouldn’t I?”
    As Nicola folded her arms to mimic his pose, Rose attempted to intercede. “She finds your friend the Duke of Edgeware interesting. Perhaps you might encourage—”
    “Stop protecting my sister, Rose.” He shook his head and sighed. “Everyone knows the duke has no intention of ever marrying. You’ve craftily mentioned the only bachelor in London who will never be conquered. It won’t buy Nicola a reprieve. I know she has no interest in him.”
    “You do?” Rose tipped her head in confusion. “How can you possibly be so certain?”
    “Nicola is terrible at hiding her thoughts. So are you, by the way.” A slow grin stretched across his face. “I know exactly what you’re thinking.”
    “Crumpets!” she muttered, her eyes rounding in alarm. “If you’re so clever, then tell me what I’m thinking right now.”
    “Easy.” He arched a devilish eyebrow. “You’re wondering whether I’m bluffing about Nicola. I’m not. And wondering whether I’m on to the scheme you and she have contrived and were most busily whispering about in your own little corner of the Winthrop ballroom. I am.” She gasped and her eyes once more rounded in alarm. Bloody nuisance. His guess had been squarely on the mark. They were indeed still scheming, but about what?
    As the girl recovered from her surprise, she met his gaze in challenge. “An obvious guess. If you’re truly that perceptive, then what am I thinking about now?”
    His grin broadened and turned rakish. “You’re wondering whether I would truly kiss you if you asked me.”
    She inhaled lightly. “Nicola, let’s go inside. The gnats are rather a nuisance this evening and so is your brother.”
    Julian watched Rose skitter back into the townhouse with his sister following closely at her heels. Only once she was out of sight did he release the breath he’d been holding. “Bloody nuisance,” he muttered again, desperately wishing she wasn’t quite so beautiful.
    “Indeed,” the Duke of Edgeware said, stepping out of the shadows. “Chatham, should I be heartbroken that your sister doesn’t desire me?”
    “Oh, bollocks. Ian, I didn’t know you were out here.” He’d been working with Ian Markham, Duke of Edgeware, another agent for the Crown, for many years and had long since stopped calling his friend “your grace” or Edgeware.
    “I often sneak away,” Ian said with a nod, “sometimes for