Free Debra Mullins by Scandal of the Black Rose Page A

overlook.
    “What lovely roses,” she said, sending him a nervous smile.
    Roses? Was she mocking him? Or was she testing him?
    “Roses are my favorite,” he replied, watching her carefully. “No scent is sweeter.”
    Her eyes widened and her lips parted as if startled, but then she looked quickly away. Guilt? Or modesty?
    The late-morning sunlight brought out the gold highlights in her brown hair and silhouetted her fair profile in orange, like a halo for the angel she appeared to be. Her dress was a pale green, quite appropriate for a young lady of her age and station, and yet he couldn’t forget another green dress he had recently admired, a soft verdant satin that had adorned the slim body of the mysterious Rose.
    Were the women one and the same? His intellect argued that such a thing was impossible, and yet he couldn’t deny the evidence before his eyes. Anna Rosewood bore a certain remarkable resemblance to his Rose. If only he could kiss her, he might know for sure.
    But one generally did not go about accusing gently born young ladies of masquerading as prostitutes.
    She glanced at him again as the silence stretched on, her dark eyes wary. “Mr. Devereaux, you said you wanted to speak to me, and yet you say nothing. I should go.”
    She turned to do just that, and he stepped forward, cutting off her escape before she could move more than a pace. “Please wait.”
    “What do you want of me?” She took a step backward and gripped the top of the chair, her fingers creasing the leather.
    “To get to know you better.” He attempted a charming smile, but his head spun with the scent of her, the nearness of her. “Marc is my favorite cousin, and I am curious about his future bride.”
    “Not quite his bride,” she corrected. “Nothing has been formalized.”
    “Does that mean you do not consider yourself betrothed to my cousin?” Drawn closer despite his resolution to remain aloof, he rested his hand on the back of the chair beside hers.
    “There is an understanding between our two families.” She inched her hand away from his.“However, no formal settlements have been signed. Until that happens, I would not presume to call Lord Haverford my betrothed.”
    Did that mean she considered herself fair game for any available man? Was she the flirt he suspected? Or worse, was she the sort of woman who would pretend to be a doxy?
    He moved a bit closer to her. Attar of roses teased his senses, bringing back the Vauxhall incident with vivid clarity. If he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine himself back there. She resembled Rose; she even appeared to be the same height. And heaven help him, she smelled the same. But that was still not enough to prove his outlandish theory. Many young ladies of quality wore the same scent.
    “No doubt your parents are pleased that you are to make such a smart match,” he murmured. “But how do you feel about the situation?”
    She flicked him a cautious glance. “I am content.”
    “Are you? Marc is a good man, but his passion lies with his estate and his account books. Will you be happy married to such a fellow, I wonder?”
    “Sir, you overstep.” Pink swept into her cheeks, and she turned away from him.
    She was right. “My apologies.”
    Her spine looked so stiff, he thought she would flounce away on the spot. Instead, she turned back. “I have no desire to insult a member of Lord Haverford’s family, but I must tell you I find your questions most disturbing, Mr. Devereaux.”
    “And I find you most disturbing, Miss Rosewood. You seem very familiar to me. I cannot help but wonder if we have met before.”
    She paled. “I’m certain I would have remembered if we had met before the earl’s dinner party.”
    “A gentleman fancies that a lady will find him more than merely memorable.” Following an impulse, he took her hand and raised it to his lips, his eyes intent on her face.
    He was testing her. Trying to trap her.
    Anna’s blood froze like ice in her